Predators

"So, if I ran from Maybank to Lombardy, killed Walker there, where would I go next?"

He looked through the trees to his right. He could just see the tire store, there beyond the drainage ditch. And the crime scene on Maybank -- was at the far end of an imaginary line running from here through the tire store.

"Well, I'd keep on running, away from the scene on Maybank."

He drew a line on the map in his head, and it led to right here. He pulled the BMW off the road, parked under a shade tree and walked down the sloped concrete to the drainage ditch, then over to the bridge that carried traffic on Denton Drive over the ditch. He saw a couple of water moccasins in the shallow, brownish water and skirted them warily, then walked under the low bridge.

He saw it immediately.

A white towel, folded neatly on top of a small blue duffel bag.

He walked over to pile, took a pencil and unfolded the towel.

A blood-soaked knife. A notepad.

And some writing on the notepad.

"Better luck next time, Ben," was written on the pale yellow pad, and in a daze Acheson ran up to the BMW and called dispatch.

The mobile crime scene unit arrived before anyone from CID, and they secured the scene while Acheson paced 'round and 'round, obviously agitated.

One of the techs came up a few minutes later.

"Any idea who this 'Ben' is?" the tech asked.

"Yeah. Me."

"No shit? That's fucked up, man."

Acheson looked at the guy, cold smoldering fury in his eyes.

"Well, right, anyway, the camera is in the duffel, along with a bunch of shots of that Walker dude, probably from the CF card."

"That sounds about right," he said as the implications of the note pounded away inside his head. He went to the radio again, shook his head, took a deep breath.

"141," he said into the mic.

"141, go ahead."

"141, would you contact Captain Dickinson, advise him he needs to come to this location."

"141, at 1347 hours."

Acheson walked over to a telephone pole and put his hands out, leaned against the creosoted wood as his head began swimming in the currents of his doubts and fears.

Then he vomited. Again.

Chapter 6

Dickinson arrived on the scene about an hour later; Acheson led him down into the ditch and over to the bridge. The CSU techs had left everything pretty much as they'd found things, primarily to let Dickinson look things over before they tagged and bagged the evidence and took it all down to Central Evidence.

Dickinson read the note, then whistled.

"Holy fuck-a-doodle-do," he said. "I didn't see this one coming."

"No, sir. Neither did I."

"So, how the fuck did you find this shit?"

"I worked a major accident first thing this morning. When I cleared I decided to come over here, just poke around. I thought, well, I tried to picture a vector, a trajectory, from the crime scene on Maybank to the tire store, and I carried that line forward. I, well, it pretty much leads to the bridge, sir. I came down there, and bingo. Here it is."

"Are you, like, a weirdo, or some kind of fucking genius?"

Acheson shook his head. "Not hardly."

"I guess there's no memory card in the camera?"

"Uh, no sir," the CSU tech replied, "it was in the bag. Probably wiped, but there are images on it."

"And no fingerprints?"

"None."

"Fuck-a-doodle-do," Dickinson said again. "Any theories, Meathead?"

"It's either a cop, sir, or an ex-cop. And maybe she put this stuff here yesterday, or saw me a while ago and dumped it then."

"Damn right it's a cop, and a pissed off cop, too. Fuck-a-doodle-do." He walked down the ditch towards Harry Hines. "Anyone check the area for footprints?"

One of the detectives from CID answered that she and her partner had just finished walking both sides of the ditch down to Harry Hines and back, and had found nothing.

"Figures. Well, fuck-a-doodle-do. Guess we'd better send the towel and the bag over to the Federales, see what the fuck they can come up with."

"Yessir," the CSU tech said. "Can I bag it now, sir?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Acheson, let's go grab some chow. If I can't sleep, we might as well eat."

"Sir, one of my Academy friends is cooking steaks this evening. Meeting her around five. Could we head over there?"

"Steaks? Well, why the fuck not. Never turned down a steak in my life."

"It's not far from here, sir, if you want to follow me."

"Lead on, boy. Just don't lose my ass. That fucking bike looks like it's going a hundred miles an hour just standing still. Hey, come to think of it, we'd better stop off and pick up some extra meat. I'm fucking hungry!"

Chapter 7

"So, just what did you run into over on Denton," Carol asked when Ben and The Duke had settled down in lawn chairs out by the pool behind her apartment building.

Ben looked at Dickinson, who nodded it was okay to talk about it.

"Some evidence. From the thing, uh, yesterday."

"What Mr Articulate here is trying to say, Officer Denison, is that he found the missing camera and the murder weapon."

"Really? That's, uh, pretty wild. How'd you put that together?"

"I can't wait to hear this," The Duke said. "I swear to god, Meathead, you ought to go into politics. You could bumfuzzle a raccoon."

"Yessir. Uh, well, I had a picture of the area, uh, in my mind. I just drew, well, a line. Well, in my mind..."

"I just fuckin' love this guy," The Duke interrupted. "He's like Cary Fuckin' Grant. Suave, man, I mean fuckin' grace under pressure."

Carol laughed, then looked at her watch.

"Heard from Brad," Ben asked.

"Nope."

"Well, I'm starved," The Duke said. "Got some charcoal handy? I'll get us a fire going..."

Carol's cell phone pinged, she answered, walked away from the pool while she talked, then came back a few moments later.

She did not look happy.

"Well, I guess that's that," she said.

"What's up?" Ben asked.

"Brad. He's done with me, with us, the whole police widow thing."

"Hot damn!" The Duke yelled. "A purdy girl all to ourselves, and an extra steak for me! Fuck-a-doodle-do!"

Chapter 8

"That guy's a trip," Carol said a few minutes after The Duke left.

"Kind of a force of nature. And a legend in Texas law enforcement, from what I've heard."

"You know, he kinda looks like John Wayne, too. Spooky."

"I think he's even bigger," Acheson answered. "How're you holding up?"

She shrugged, turned away, walked into the kitchen.

Ben heard tears from the living room, walked into the kitchen, stood behind her. "You going to be alright?" he asked.

She turned, walked into his arms and buried her face in his neck. "I don't know. It's kind of hard to blow off two years. You know what I mean?"

"I reckon so."

"Haven't you ever had a serious thing with a girl before?"

"Yeah, once."

"Once? When..."

"In college. Well, we were together from our second year 'til we graduated."

"And you split up after..."

"No."

"What happened?"

"Killed. An ice storm up in the panhandle, on 287. She was headed home for Christmas, a truck lost it on the ice, hit her head on."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't...you never..."

"Nope, no reason to. Never been a big fan of pity parties."

"And, well, has there been anyone since?"

He shook his head.

"No one?"

"Nope. Not a soul. Actually, I thought I'd make a decent priest, gave it some serious thought, too."

She laughed, then stopped. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, but see, the thing is, I'm not big on the whole God thing. I figured that might not be the best way to approach the ministry."

"I can see that might present a few problems," she said gently, almost smiling again.

"A few?"

"You know, Amy and I were both in love with you. Back in Academy."

His eyes didn't register the words, but his head shook a little. "What?"

"We were both in love with you. Amy and..."

"You?"

"Me. I. Yes."

"Sorry. I had no..."

"Idea. Yes, we figured that out. It still surprises me, though. I thought we were kind of obvious."

"That's so...weird. I just never thought..."

"Of me that way. Yup, I know."

"But..."

"Yessiree. Good ole Carol, the invisible girl."

"What? Why do you..."

"Why do I say that? Well, Officer, let's look at the evidence before the court, shall we? See? There's this girl in his arms, this suddenly available girl, and this girl's had like a mad crush on him for like five years, and you aren't even going to kiss me, are you? You aren't even going to, like, throw me down on the kitchen floor and fuck my brains out, even though she's just standing there, right in front of you, practically begging you to do just that?"

"You want me to kiss..."

"Oh-my-fucking-God! Do you like have some kind of brain tumor or something, some weird-ass-fucking-thing in your head that makes you totally stupid when it comes to girls?"

"A tumor?"

"Would you just shut the fuck up and kiss me now, you moron?"

Chapter 9

"So, did you and Officer Carol swap some spit last night," The Duke asked when Acheson made it into CID the next morning.

"What?"

"Are you, like, totally stupid? Or are you some kind of fuckin' space alien, from, you know, like Mars or someplace like that?"

"What?"

"Jesus H Fucking Christ, Meathead! I have never, and I mean never, ever seen a girl as crazy in love with a guy like that gal is with you! Tell me, really, you weren't like, you know, picking up on that even just a little bit?"

"I think she kinda got me dialed into that, sir. Took a while, though."

"Man, and I thought you was like half way smart, too. Shame on fucking me." The Duke shook his head, grinned a little, then said: "You'd better go wash your hands again, son. I think I can smell a little, well, you know, on them fingers."

Acheson turned a deep crimson purple, put his hands behind his back.

"I'm serious, slick. That hand smells like a can of tuna that's been sitting out in the sun for a week. Now, git! And use some soap this time, too."

Acheson took a leak, washed his hands, then went back to CID.

"So, did y'all set a date yet?"

"What?"

"Jesus, this is fun."

"What?"

"Okay, Meathead, okay...where do we go with this case? Any ideas?"

"Forensics. On the bag and towel. Any idea when we'll get those back?"

"Probably a week. Thereabouts, anyway, but I don't feel like waiting. So? What's next?"

"We bait a trap."

"And how would we do that?"

"We find another perp, another Walker, get CID onto him, put a tail on the guy."

"Tether a goat, wait for the lion?"

"Yessir."

"Might work. What else?"

"Unmarked patrols around the bookstores and arcades. Clear out all the marked units from Harry Hines, for a while, anyway."

"Oh. Did you finish that accident report? From yesterday?"

"Yessir. I came in early, 0600, and wrapped it up."

"She's seems like a helluva girl, Ben. You figure that out yet, or are you going to pass?"

"Carol?"

"God, I'm sure there's a fucking brain in there somewhere," The Duke said as he squinted hard and looked at Acheson. "Yes, Carol. Did she say how long she's been in fucking love with you?"

"Since Academy. She's says, sir."

"That fits. What district is she working?"

"She's floating, Field Training Officer this month. Working with a rookie around Love Field, I think."

"I'm going to pull her off the street, until this is over."

"Sir?"

"Well, first Breedlove is killed, then the note to you. It could be random, or you might be the common denominator in this case, and if that's true then she's at risk."

"Unless she did it, sir."

"Already checked that one, slick. Last night, while you had your fingers in the pie, so to speak. She was here in the station when you checked out on Maybank, doing paperwork, and she didn't leave until it was all over. So..."

Acheson nodded, felt a chill run down his spine. "Have to wait until the woman strikes again," he almost whispered.

"No way, Meathead. No fuckin' way, and don't ever let me hear you thinkin' like that again, not even to yourself. We don't wait for people to get killed, got it?"

"Yessir."

"Now, don't make a fuckin' stink about it, but go check your bike in, write it up on a mechanical or something, then check out an unmarked and head over to Harry Hines, just start setting up, scoping out those dirty movie places, them glory holes where the hookers hang out. My bet is she's going to hit some guy who's about to take out a hooker."

"What about the pedophile angle, sir?"

"Possible, but we've got the district squads handling that, putting pressure on the parks, so maybe that'll push her to the peep shows. Assuming she's smart, but I'm assuming that's her kill zone."

"Sir, if she's inside, she probably knows every unmarked car we have."

"Hadn't thought of that," The Duke said as he looked out a window while he stood by a water cooler in the corner of the room. He bent over, took a little paper cone and filled it with cold water, then tossed it down while he looked out the window. He filled it again, tossed that one down too, then crumbled up the little cup and threw it across the room to a waste can by his desk.

He didn't miss; the wadded paper flew straight in the can, and The Duke smiled.

"That's kind of like life, kid. You gotta take the shot, every time. But you can't afford to miss."

"Yessir."

The Duke looked around the room, walked over to a long table, opened up a white donut box sitting by some folders.

"Empty! Motherfuckers! Not one fuckin' donut left! Bunch of goddamned vultures! What kind of fuckin' police station is this! Where are my Goddamn donuts!" The Duke screamed as he rambled off down the hall...

Chapter 10

Acheson was driving an old, impounded Toyota past Love Field, on his way out to Harry Hines, and he stopped by the old Braniff hangers on the north side of the airport and watched as a Southwest 737 flared over the threshold and roared to a stop. He looked at the jet and had to admit that he missed it. Flying. Being in the cockpit. The economy that had ruined his career had turned around again -- and he wasn't too old, yet. He could get back on with a major again, or even Southwest, if he really wanted to. Get a type rating on 737s, or go back to 777s.

Still, he really loved police work, and he'd never expected that. He loved riding motors, working wrecks. Even arresting people from time to time, those that really needed it, anyway. He could see himself doing the work, doing it for the rest of his working life, but every time he saw a 737 coming in to Love, or a heavy out at DFW, his heart fluttered a bit. It was a lot like loving two women, each with a lot of good things going for her, and then being forced to choose between them.

He shook himself back into the present, got back on Lemmon Avenue and headed toward Northwest Highway -- then that instinct hit him in the gut again and he swung off Lemmon into a parking lot, cursing himself as he jumped a curb. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a map of the city, penciled in a line from the initial scene on Maybank to the tire store on Lombardy, then extended the line out in both directions.

"Fuck!" he said. The line extended south, straight to Love Field, right through runway 1-3 Right until it veered slightly into a new parking garage across from the remodeled main terminal building. His stomach lurched as he got back into traffic, then he U-turned and backtracked on Lemmon until he hit Mockingbird Lane, then after another half mile he turned right on Cedar Springs and into the airport.

"Now what?" he asked himself as he drove on to the terminal area. He slowed, looked at his marked-up map again, looked where the line crossed the runway and veered through a new parking garage, and so he headed for it. He came to a pay gate and took the time-stamped card the machine spit out at him, then drove inside.

The garage looked to be three, maybe four stories tall, so he started cruising the lanes, looking between parked cars as he worked his way up to the next level. There were construction trucks parked on the second level, and construction materials were stacked in a few corners of the building, but there were still a lot of parked cars, just normal airport traffic mixed in with the trucks and pallets...

"What the hell is that?"

He stopped near a corner of the garage on the second level, and while there was some sunlight flooding through other parts of the building, this corner was dark, almost pitch black. He could just make out a large pile of what looked like garbage stacked in this corner, some construction debris maybe, but a blue plastic tarp covered a large part of the pile -- but something else caught his eye.

Acheson picked up his flashlight and got out of the car, then walked over to the pile, lifted the tarp, fell to his knees and started vomiting. Again.

_______________________________________

Captain Dickinson got to the scene fifteen minutes later, along with a few dozen patrol cars, and he made his way up to Acheson's location as quickly as he could. The Duke got out of his Ford and walked over to the CSU van; he saw Acheson standing away from the scene, then he saw the fresh pile of puke Acheson had just deposited on the concrete.

He walked over to the victim, looked at the poor fucker and turned away before his own stomach started to heave.

"Fuck-a-doodle-do-do!" he said as he made his way over to Acheson. "Man-o-man, she field dressed that poor sumbitch. Phew-whee, poor fucker must've eaten at Taco Bell. Wow! You ever small anything like that?!"

Acheson stifled a heave. "Could you stop it, please?"

"So, what got you this time? The olives? Or the sour cream?"

Acheson dropped to knees again, and The Duke walked away with a big grin plastered all over his face, then 'high-fived' a CSU tech as he walked inside the van.

"Got anything interesting?"

"Nothing much, but a few differences. Same MO. Cut his head off, probably same type of blade, maybe a Special Forces K-Bar. Disemboweled, as before, only this time looks like she took a bite out of the large intestine."

"No shit? Hungry little bitch, I guess. Bite marks worth a damn?"

"Still working on that. Anyway. Cut his penis off, same type knife, then put the pecker in the guy's mouth, tip sticking out, just like the one yesterday. Another something different. She took the guys testes, put them where his eyes used to be."

"Now, that's a nice touch. Find the eyes?" The Duke heard Acheson ask.

"Not yet," the tech replied.

"Oh, you back among the living, Meathead?"

Acheson was standing behind The Duke. "Yup."

"So, what do the eyes tell you?"

"She thinks we're blind. And we're thinking with our balls, or think like men, I guess you'd say."

"Uh-huh. We probably are, but that's the problem with having nuts. Anything else?"

"Yeah, the shoe-print."

"She left...a shoe-print? Didn't see that..."

"Well, it's over here, and I'd say it's a plant. It's too perfect."

"Show me."

The tech, Acheson and The Duke walked over to the corner by the body; there were bright work lights set up now, and a team of techs was dusting everything down for fingerprints. A few feet away, bright yellow tape on the concrete demarcated a dark red shoe print on the concrete, and a tech was photographing it when the three of them approached.

"So, what is it? Blood, or paint," The Duke asked the tech.

"Best guess right now? Blood."

"The shoe?"

"Woman's high heel, probably size 7. Imprint on the sole says Pepe Jimenez."

"An imprint?"

"Yeah, that's the giveaway. Probably a new shoe, never worn."

"Search the building. I'd make bet it's in here somewhere." He turned to Acheson. "So, what's that shoe supposed to mean?"

"Either, uh, wait a minute..." Acheson said as walked back to his unmarked car. He rummaged around on the floor, then came back carrying a compass and a map of the city in his hands.