Predators

"Hey, look! It's...Dallas!" The Duke cried when he saw the map. "Holy shit, what a clue!"

Acheson ignored him, put the map down on the concrete, spread it out to show most of the city.

"Okay, sir. Here's how I found this scene. I drew the line..."

"Yeah, from Maybank to the drainage ditch. You told me that. What of it?"

"Well sir, I extended the line. It leads to the runway over there," he said, pointing to the threshold of 1-3 Right, "but veers into the garage. Right here, as a matter of fact."

The Duke kneeled down to the pavement and studied the map. "I'll be damned."

"Now, that bearing is roughly 130 degrees true. My guess is if we take the heel and the tip of the toe on that shoe print and use that as a vector, we'll get roughly 130 degrees."

"Do it."

Acheson walked over to the print and gently placed an edge of the map along the heel-toe axis, then placed the compass on the axis. "132 degrees, sir."

"Fuck-a-doodle-do," The Duke said, looking at Acheson. The tech nodded, clearly impressed.

"So...?"

"So, think she's pointing us to her next kill? What's along that axis, Ben."

Acheson placed the map on the pavement again and extended the line on the map to the very edge of the paper. "Condos and high rises on Turtle Creek..."

"Gucci Gulch, you mean?"

"Yessir. Then along Haskell, on to the other side of Central, and then out to the north side of Fair Park."

"A lot of potential kill zones in there. Anything stand out?"

"Besides the fair grounds? No, nothing jumps out at me, sir."

"What about the shoe? You were about to say something. What was it?"

"Well sir, it's feminine. The shoe, I mean, and it's a woman's size. She's either telling us something about herself, or her next victim."

"Assume it's hers. Then what?"

"First, we find out about the shoe, find out who carries that brand, then try to find anyone in the area who bought one in that size, then cross check that info with women in the department, with that shoe size."

"Like we have that kind of information on file, Meathead!"

"Then we get it, sir. Daily briefings. Shouldn't take more than a few days."

"Okay. So I think we should extend that line north and south, plot it out on a really accurate, really big fucking map. Start patrols along that line. Like, today."

Acheson shook his head again. "Probably isn't going to matter much, sir. Whoever it is, she's probably inside, very dialed in to what we're doing, my guess is she's monitoring all our frequencies, and my guess is she has whatever equipment she needs to de-scramble every channel we use. She'll know the patrol districts, squad numbers, you name it."

"Ben, you and I are going downtown, talk to the Chief. Leave that piece of shit car here, ride with me. Give the keys to...what's your name?" The Duke asked the tech.

"Logan, sir."

"Logan, have someone get that unmarked back down to Central when you clear."

"Yessir."

"I'll go get my stuff out, sir," Acheson said as he jogged over to the old clunker. Then...

"What the FUCK!" he cried.

The Duke and an army of detectives and crime scene techs ran over to Acheson's car.

Down on the driver's seat was another notepad, open to a fresh page.

Acheson leaned over, read it aloud:

-- Not bad, Ben, but you're not there yet. And time's running out, so don't waste any more of my time. Luv, C --

Everyone stood up and looked around. Whoever planted the notepad had done it in the past few minutes, while the group had been over next to the body looking at the shoe print, only now the car's passenger door stood open -- and there was a stairwell just beyond the car's open door.

Thirty cops and detectives took off running for the stairs; half ran up, half ran down, and nobody found anything or anyone in the least bit suspicious.

+++++

"You know," the Chief said as The Duke looked on, "you took the sergeant's exam, scored high, could have had your stripes but you turned 'em down. I'm curious. Why?"

"I would have had to give up motors, Chief. I like Traffic, I like what I do."

"I can relate to that," he said. "I was on motors in LA for nearly fifteen years. Still, no ambition beyond motors?"

"I'm not sure, Chief," Acheson said as he looked away.

The Chief opened Acheson's personnel file. "Oh, yeah, you're one of the pilots. I understand now. Southwest's hiring. So are United and Delta, maybe American, too. When are you going to apply?"

"I haven't decided what I want to do yet, Chief."

"You mean, you might stick it out here?"

"Yessir."

"You miss flying, son?"

"Something awful, sir."

The old man nodded. "Yeah, once it gets in your blood it's hard to shake, and life's short."

"Did you fly, sir?"

"Me? Yup, a little -- 'Nam. Navy. RA-5C, recon bird. You know it?"

"Yessir, probably the prettiest aircraft ever made. Must've been a hoot and half, sir."

"You flew, what, the C-17? Then for American? What did you fly with them."

"Right seat, 757s, then 777s, just before things turned south."

"Pretty bird, too. Still a lot of carriers using 'em," the Chief said, pointedly. "Bet you could get a job tomorrow."

Acheson shrugged, looked back at the man.

"What could I offer you? To keep you here?"

"I don't know, sir."

"What about...if you could have 'em both. Would that work?"

"Sir?"

"Go get your job, just keep yourself based here in the Dallas area, work some days off as a Reserve."

"Could I stay in Traffic, Chief?"

"Maybe, sure, but the Duke wants you pretty damn bad. Over in CID."

"Maybe Traffic for a few more years, then jump over to CID?"

"Duke? Would that work for you?"

"Hell, Mike, we're short downstairs, and I could use him full time, right now. I'd bump him up to sergeant tomorrow, get him on the list to take the Lieutenants Exam in September. I'm retiring in five years. He's got the chops to take my place, the only one I've been around the past few years that has the mind for the job. Anyway, that's what I want, Ben."

"Ben," the Chief said, "I'm not a high pressure type of guy. You want to fly, you go fly. Do whatever you can in this life that makes you happy. I believe if you're happy, your family will be happy, and the people you work with will be happy. That said, we can sure use you. We need men and women that can think on their feet. Hell, the world's changing faster than ever and, well, we need officers like you more than we ever have. Ya know, the days of redneck policing are over, the job is simply getting too complex. Anyway. We need you. Please think about that...before you make any decisions. Okay?"

"Yessir."

"Oh, one more thing. I've got a complaint from a rookie about you. Says you threatened to blow his head off?"

"Yessir, I did."

"Oh? I guess I'd kinda like to know why...?"

"He was right seat, in a patrol car, saw him pick his nose, and I think he was getting ready to eat a pretty big bugger, sir."

The Chief's and The Duke's eyes went round, the Chief made a small retching sound.

"Tell you what, Ben; you see that sumbitch do that again you put that pistol of yours right in his mouth, and tell him I told you to pass along that's his last warning. We clear on that, Officer?"

"As a bell, sir."

The Chief stood, held out his hand. "It was good to meet you, son. I hope you decide to stick around, and if you do just let Duke know. Now, Adios you two."

"Yessir. Thank you sir."

The Duke and Acheson walked in silence down the hall to CID, the old man stopping once to look at a particularly nice pair of legs, then they went into the briefing room and sat down.

"Nice set of stems on that one, eh?" The Duke said.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. That your secretary?"

"Yup. New gal. Took her on a few months ago. Sweet as can be, had a sad life. Well, nice chat with the Chief. Guess you know where things stand."

"Yessir. Thanks. For what you said in there. I appreciate it."

"Well, you've got a report to write, me too, for that matter. Then why don't you get over to that gal's place, Carol, and take her out to dinner? You two might have a few things to talk over tonight, too."

Acheson smiled, nodded. He hadn't thought about her all day.

"Oh, by the way, I've got her detailed to dispatch for the time being, until we get this little fracas settled, anyway. In case you want to drop by or call her or something."

"Sir?"

"Oh, man, you do disappoint the shit out of me sometimes, Meathead."

"Yessir."

+++++

"Sounds like you had another weird day," Carol said as they settled in a dark corner booth at a decent little Mexican place close to her apartment.

"Yup. Weird's a good word."

"You found...another body?"

"You want some guacamole or something?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Sure. Maybe about ten Margaritas, too!"

"Yikes! Hope you got kneepads, and your plumbing works!"

A waiter came by and Ben ordered a couple of Maggies and some green stuff...

"Anyway, I had a 'two-on-one' with Dickinson and the Chief this afternoon."

"Uh-oh," she said, turning serious. "About my rookie and that stuff about picking his nose?"

"Oh, no, not really. More the 'are you going to stay with the department?' kinda stuff. Am I going to go back to flying, in other words, and Duke wants me to move to CID as of yesterday, will bump me to sergeant right away if I do, and as much as said he wants me working towards taking over CID when he leaves."

"Holy shit, Ben, that's wonderful news. What did you tell them?"

"Nothing, yet. It was more a 'you need to go home and think about this for a few days' kinda thing, but Duke seems to think you might have something to do with this decision."

"Oh, really? Me?"

"Well, he seems to think you love me, and that I'd be crazy not to jump all over you..."

"Or maybe he's just using me to manipulate you?" she said.

He shook his head. "Maybe, but I doubt it."

"You like him, don't you."

"Kinda reminds me of my grandfather. Hard around the edges, but a real softie inside."

"You trust him, then?"

"I think so. He's a natural leader, but an honest one, too. Rare, in other words."

"Loves donuts, or so I hear."

"Loves? Shit, he drinks 'em down. I mean it, in like one bite. And he inhales a pint of milk after almost every one. Fucking amazing. Amazing he doesn't weight four hundred pounds. Anyway," he leaned forward, took a folded up letter from his shirt pocket and opened it. "It's from United. Got it today. First officer's position, 757s. Probably Seattle, maybe Denver. Pay is about twice what I'd make as head of CID five years from now."

"Uh-huh? But?"

"But the Chief said I could fly and, if based out of Dallas, still do motors in the Reserves."

"But aren't you still in the Air Force Reserves?"

"Yup."

"So, you'd be flying three days a week, then maybe a day or two per week on the street, and what is it, a weekend a month driving C-17s for the Air Force? Sounds an awful lot to me like you'd be burning the candle at both ends."

"To me, too."

"So, you've got a big decision to make, don't you?"

"Yup."

"And do I fit in there, somehow?"

He sighed, nodded his head. "I, well, I guess that's the question. I say we give it time, see where it goes."

"Yup, no need to rush."

"So, this stuff...when you say you loved me in Academy? Were you serious?"

She smiled, shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't making that up, Ben, but maybe it was more an infatuation, for a while, anyway. But over time, as I watched you, well, I don't know. I began to feel something more, as I got to know you better. Amy did too, but I never thought it was anything like love -- with either of us. It was more like we respected how you picked yourself up after getting dropped by American, how you didn't give up. But it was more than that, too; it was how seriously you took becoming an officer, like you really respect the job, the problems we deal with, that people have to care enough about the world to try and make a difference. The funny-sad thing about Amy, though? I think she fell for you, hard. Like she really wanted to love you, somehow needed to...but she never really got over the idea when it looked like, well, you two just weren't going to happen. I tried to move on, tried to tell her to, too, but really, it's funny, I could never commit to Brad, and I think he guessed the real reason why. But Amy? Like I said, she never really tried to move on. I think she wanted to be near you any way she could, maybe even just to talk to you every now and then. Who knows, maybe she thought if she was around you long enough she'd get an opportunity."

"That sounds sad. And it's like, well...I never had a clue."

"She was poor, I mean her folks never had anything. She never had anything, either. Then she met you."

"Why didn't she say something? To me?"

"What would you have done if she had?"

"I don't know. She was nice, I guess, but not my type. A little too wild."

"She could be. Remember the party, after graduation? When she started stripping?"

"Not sure I'll ever forget that. She was toasted."

"And she did come on to you, didn't she? That night."

"Yeah, but she was coming on to everyone that night."

"No, Ben, she wasn't. She was, well, she was making her play for you."

"Drunk people are a real turn off -- to me. Maybe if she had...well, no, we just never clicked."

Carol nodded. "Did you feel anything last night? With me?"

He looked at her, wasn't sure what he wanted to say. "Kinda hard to put into words."

"You're off the next three days, aren't you? What are you going to do?"

"Going up to Denver, to United, and talk with them."

"It must be like a dream come true for you."

"In a way, yes. I never thought the choice would be anything but clear...like I always knew I would fly for a living. It's what I always wanted to do."

"Then you should, Ben."

He nodded his head. "If that's the choice I make, well, would you stay with the department?"

"It's too soon to make those kinds of decisions, Ben, but if you want me there with you, I will be. If not, I'll understand, and I like what I do. Life goes on."

IV

"So, Ben," The Duke said as Acheson walked into the CID briefing room, "how was Denver?"

"Decent. Good package. Shitty city."

"Oh?"

"Uglier than this place, and I always thought that would be just about impossible."

"But the mountains..."

"They're there, all right. I guess. Smog was so thick I couldn't see 'em."

"Well, the Rockies are something else. Best motorcycle roads in the country."

"Yeah, imagine so."

"So. United? Good pay package, you say?"

"Decent. Yessir."

"Did you sign with 'em?"

"No, not yet. Hung up on how long I'd have to wait before I could make Captain. I was due at American. United wants me there five years before they'd consider it. Not sure I want to wait that long."

"Hallelujah!" The Duke said as he slapped his desk. "Their loss! Anyway," he said as he walked over to the wall behind his desk, "here's the map, with your 130 degree vector drafted on it. City surveyor did it, so it's accurate."

Acheson walked over and studied it, slid his finger along the line. "Oak Lawn, Holland, Turtle Creek, then...that Frank Lloyd Wright building. The Dallas Theatre Center, it's right on the line."

"Theatre? Why -- is that important?"

"Maybe, but, well, this is, in a way, someone's scripted drama unfolding slowly, isn't it? What better place than a theatre!"

"Let's go!"

____________________________________

They came down Blackburn, turned left on Sylvan and approached Wright's cream colored masterpiece slowly, then turned up the hill into the little parking court and got out of The Duke's Ford. Acheson walked up the stairs and over to the glass entry doors and peered inside. He tried a door -- it was locked, so he walked over to a little fountain and stopped dead in his tracks.

"I think this is what we're looking for, Captain!"

Duke walked over, looked down into the water and saw a woman's shoe; it was already in a department evidence bag, sealed from the water. "The bitch is playing with us now, isn't she?"

"Gotta camera?"

"In the trunk."

They both heard it, at the same instant. Footsteps, running on gravel, then on pavement. Acheson ran to the car, looked on the front seat.

"Mother fucker!" he yelled. Duke trotted up right behind him and looked down into the car.

A note pad, open to fresh page.

"What's it say, Ben?"

Acheson read it silently first, then aloud:

-- What? No back up? You guys are pathetic. Ben, you most of all. Expected more from you. Come on, get with it. Oh, Ben. I hope you enjoyed Denver as much as I did. Luv, C --

"What the fuck?" The Duke said.

"She followed me?"

"Okay, let's grab some pictures and bag that shoe, then get the fuck out of here..."

"You think I should try to follow her?"

"There?" The Duke said, pointing at the bamboo, and the trail beyond.

"Used to be a railroad track up there, now it's a jogging trail. She ran towards Lemmon..."

"There are hundreds of joggers on that trail every hour. Forget it; let's get to work. And I want to get you out of here, out of the city, before she nails you."

"Calm down, Duke. She wasn't in Denver. It would be too damn easy to check passenger manifests against our employee roster, and DHS could run that down in about two minutes flat. Remember, look where we are. This is theatre, she's the director, and she's fucking with us."

The Duke turned and stared at Acheson. "If you go to Denver it's gonna be a black day for law enforcement in this town, Ben."

"Come on, let's get the camera."

"Yup. We were stupid, Ben. Shoulda had the area surrounded before we got here."

"She would have known, Duke, and wouldn't have shown up here, or maybe just jogged on by when she made us."

They got back to the fountain, and Acheson looked at the shoe for a moment, then looked up and drew his pistol. Dropping into a combat stance he moved forward toward some deep bushes at the periphery of the building, then stepped into the undergrowth. He looked back at the shoe once, then pushed his way deeper until he came to the next body, then he jumped back out of the bushes, fell to his knees -- and vomited.

V

"So, the shoe is made by Pepe Jimenez, style is 'Lola,' a 4-inch pump, size seven, made in Spain and imported into the US by a firm in Illinois called Classic Pumps; in the past 12 months they've shipped this size and color to 21 addresses in the Metroplex. If you look at all sizes and colors shipped here, then it's to almost a three hundred addresses in the region. None of these addresses collate in any obvious way to any officer in the department."

"What about P O Boxes?" Duke asked.

"Just six, sir," the CSU tech advised.

"Let's get to those POs, pull the cards, see who signed for those boxes," The Duke said to the detectives from CID, "and let's get those by lunch time, okay?"

He motioned to the tech by the video projector to move on.

"Now, the bodies," the tech resumed. "The victim at Love Field was one Jonah Feldman, 42, lived in an apartment over off Northwest Highway. Mister Feldman is, or was a registered sex offender, three convictions for child pornography, a couple misdemeanors for lewd conduct, exposing himself in adult movie theaters..."

"Sounds like my father-in-law," someone said.

"Knock it off!"

"Anyway, his parole officer noted some porn in his apartment on his last home visit, wrote him up..."

"Parole officer?" The Duke sat up. "Cross check all female parole officers with the shoe data, and the post offices."

"Maybe we should cross check with female sheriff's deputies too," one of the detectives added.

"Do it."

"Right on it, sir."

"What about his computer? Anything on it?"

"About twenty thousand encrypted images sir, mostly young boys being sodomized, but there's a bunch snuff porn, again, young boys, looks like southeast Asian stuff, some south of the border stuff too, and more recent. His email contacts were sent to the FBI, and to Interpol."