When All That’s Left is Revenge

Vengeance

FRANK McRAE

Vengeance

After successfully stopping one of the Midwest’s most heinous serial killers Mark Shaw, Inspector Ed Cassidy finds himself on the short list for Lieutenant. The celebration of his promotion would be short lived however, as the deceased serial killer’s torch was picked up by a zealous admirer. She seeks justice for Shaw’s demise by flawlessly executing a diabolical plan while taking on the persona of a black widow spider leaving no witness behind. The scorned lover is a brilliant chemical engineer who develops three versions of a deadly drug, which along with Mark’s stolen journal, are used to impose her own brand of justice. The journal contains explicit details of the infamous killing spree and will now aid in her exacting revenge on all those she holds accountable. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned on the pathway to Vengeance!

Frank McRae continues the intrigue with his new murder mystery thriller Vengeance. He spent his adolescence and adulthood marveling at the talents of many of his favorite writers, found himself inspired and decided to answer the calls for more from fans of his first hit Premonitions. Frank uses his knack for de-veloping unexpected plot twists to bring readers a new installment from the developing ‘Black Breath’ series.

Through every endeavor in life, from his years in engineering, business ownership, prototype accuracy inspection and currently in adherence to strict construction specifications, Frank has engaged close attention to details. This natural tendency is obvious in his writing style and story content.

He is a dedicated and supportive family man to his wife, only daughter and immediate family. He currently spends his days as a construction management professional for a highly respected management company doing business in Chicago and surrounding suburbs.

Frank is excited about the opportunity to share this second episode of a now planned trilogy of books with you.

VEN

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VENGEANCE

VENGEANCE When All That’s Left is Revenge!

FRANK MCRAE

Infinity Books Publishing

Infinity Books Publishing 301 High Vista Drive Davenport, FL 338377

www.frankmcrae.com

Copyright 2015 by Frank McRae All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Originally Published by Infinity Books Publishing 05/30/2015

2nd Edition Published by Infinity Books Publishing– 01/30/2016

3rd Edition Published by Infinity Books Publishing– 07/4/2019

ISBN: 978-0-9964507-0-6 (sc) ISBN: 978-0-9964507-1-3 (e) Library of Congress Control Number: 2413993561

Certain stock imagery Copyright Fotolia.

Thanks to Barbara Doeringer for her wonderful manuscript editing

Thanks to Donna McRae & Kathy Murray for their editing assistance

Thanks to Cal Graphics for the excellent cover design

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author.

To Patricia Atkinson

She has been my life-long friend who over the years

has introduced me to more entertaining books and

gifted authors than I can count.

I aspire to be an author worthy of her endorsement!

Part One

The Web Forms

“…for always evil will look to find a foothold in this

world.”

Lord of the Rings - Gandalf

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CHAPTER 1

“…virtually in step with the rhythmic pulses of the … siren

that continued to wail.”

Saturday, April 27th, 2013

For the third day this week, the sirens began

spewing their pulsing alert as the strobe lights joined the symphony of panic that was quickly spreading throughout the prison mess hall.

Being very familiar with the drill repeated over the course of the last three days, none of the dining prisoners wanted to be the next one shot with those painful rubber bullets. Virtually in unison, like they were part of a choreographed play being acted out on stage, each prisoner immediately abandoned their plans to finish dinner. Despite their hunger, they all dropped face down onto the floor with their hands behind their heads, fingers interlaced, where they waited for instructions from the guards.

They were given similar directives over the course of the last three days. The guards began moving one row of prostrated prisoners systematically, ten at a time, up and back to their cells as additional guards arrived to maintain order with remaining prisoners. The guards efficiently added groups of ten inmates to the orderly parade until they vacated the mess hall. Their methodical evacuation paused only long enough to clear a pathway for the medical personnel that were rushing in to attend to the fallen inmate.

The convulsions eventually subsided as the foam slowly ceased its flow from the meal server’s mouth. He became as motionless as his two predecessors had on consecutive days before, taking on the appearance

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of unwavering interest at a point on the ceiling high in the mess hall. It was as if there was something very interesting written there. His stare never left that one spot. He studied it intensely until the doctor swiped a hand over his eyelids, blocking the stare and pronounced the inmate’s time of death. They moved him onto the gurney and began pushing him toward the prison medical facility walking virtually in step with the rhythmic pulses of the strobe lights and siren that continued to wail.

Eventually, the group of prisoners that Jim Baker had been dining with were ordered to rise and begin their trip back to their assigned cells. Along the way, Jim passed two familiar half empty prison cells. They both were now home for one inmate each instead of the usual two. The two cells used to be occupied by two of his friends. Like Jim, both were also former plastic surgeons of considerable wealth and reputation having entered the maximum incarceration facility nearly two months ago when he did. They had both fallen victim to a plot that actually shortened the lifelong prison term assigned to each of them by ending their lives insolently before old age or a shiv could.

Jim Baker had lost his lavish lifestyle that at one time included an estate in the prestigious Chicago north shore Village of Winnetka with all the amenities that one could imagine. Cars, landscaping, artwork, furnishings, the ability to go on seemingly endless dream vacations and the utter freedom that went along with that lifestyle of his were all stripped from Jim and the other two doctors. A jury of their peers, aided by an overabundance of damning evidence, found them to be complicit in the plot to murder six women. Each woman was the wife of a successful group of plastic surgeons, and each had been cheating on their husbands. Several of them

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were even carrying babies conceived through their unfaithful trysts with their chosen lovers.

Three of the doctors had deemed the situation unacceptable as it could have fed a scandal destined to ruin their medical practices and the lifestyles they had all worked so hard to build. They had collectively decided on the plan that ultimately landed them in Stateville prison for a life sentence with no possibility of parole. Two of them would be spared the misery of the lengthy sentence, having had their lives cut short in the same manner as the now deceased food server.

As he lay there in his anything-but-comfortable bunk, he contemplated the events of the last few days. Several things began to line up and shed light on what happened to his two friends and nearly to him as well.

Jim Baker was thinking back two days now and distinctly recalled the server dishing out dessert to his friend John Ackerman from the untouched far right corner of the tray. The server then encouraged them to “Eat it all up now!” after having served the other inmates from the area of the dessert closest to him. Shortly after that, John was the first in the parade of three dead inmates to occupy a refrigerated drawer briefly in the prison morgue.

This same routine repeated on the following day when his other friend Ray Reed convulsed and died in the same manner. That day, Jim remembered seeing the server perform the same odd serving pattern. Being suspicious of the ritual, he attempted to alert the guards but they would hear none of it and the effort earned him a new bruise behind his ear for speaking out of turn. When he observed the same serving procedure today, he avoided eating his dessert. That simple act of self-control was responsible for this disturbing bit of reflection. After all the excitement had died down, he had requested

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that his dessert be tested by the medical personnel but was once again the guard they called ‘Clubber’ for obvious reasons, brutally refused his request. Clubber was focused solely on the task of returning the chaos in the mess hall and cell block back to order and had no time for inmate conspiracy theories.

It wasn’t exactly a democracy at Stateville. The authorities considered inmate requests worthless and unworthy of the time it took to listen to them. However, eventually he was able to get a request for an interview through to the Winnetka police department and his old ‘friend’ Inspector Ed Cassidy. Maybe after relating his observations to him, he would have more success in requesting a move to segregation where he hoped to at least keep breathing the stale prison air.

*

Friday, March 22nd, 2013 Susan Peterson, the recently promoted channel

seven news reporter, had just arrived at the veterinary clinic formerly owned by Mark Shaw. It became ‘formerly owned by’ the instant a nine millimeter bullet left Inspector Bill Weller’s gun and found its target. That target was the forehead of Mark Shaw, which in a matter of seconds was also successful in catching the second round Bill Weller fired so accurately and so quickly. Those two rounds ended not only his ownership of the veterinary clinic that he had grown so successfully, but also ended all of the twisted plans Mark Shaw had developed and was successfully executing up to that point. They had been carried out with calculated precision, ending the lives of six wives but not the seventh one that was intended to be the last.

Mark had conspired initially with his former high school football teammate Jim Baker. Then, in a

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meeting with Jim and the two now deceased doctors, Mark revealed his discovery of the cheating ways of six wives in all. The women had formed a group that called themselves the ‘ALSOTS’. They held regular meetings to discuss the intimate details of their extra-marital affairs. The acronym evolved from their constant references to each of them having ‘A Little Something On The Side’.

Susan came to the Shaw Clinic of Veterinary Medicine to conduct another in her series of interviews with Mark Shaw’s brother Bobby. Initially, he was framed for the murders but was later fully exonerated.

“Thanks again for agreeing to our next interview Mr. Shaw. I think the insights you have provided me concerning your brother’s reign of terror as the ‘Plastic Wife Killer’ will make a very interesting series of reports for all our readers. There has been a seemingly insatiable appetite for details of that terrifying period. Your brother Mark had stumped just about every law enforcement entity. They hadn’t been able to find a single clue for months as he continued to methodically execute his heinous plan.”

Then after reviewing her notes she continued, “Let’s see here, at the end of our last session you mentioned a journal in which your brother apparently logged every detail of his crime spree. We went over the trial transcripts and all our notes from that time, and we couldn’t find any information given to the press regarding this journal you mention. How did you find out about it?” asked Susan as she settled in for what she expected would be the most productive segment of her interviews.

“They cataloged all of Mark’s possessions after his death. I found a reference to it on the list of items I was given when his estate was legally turned over to me. I asked about the journal because I saw it listed

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but couldn’t find it among his possessions. The police department told me that it was in the evidence lock-up at the Winnetka station and that it would remain in police custody. This was due to it being such a crucial piece of evidence in the case against my brother and the three complicit doctors,” he replied.

Susan continued, “In every statement made to the press, the police always used an almost mechanical phrase. They repeatedly said, ‘A wealth of information was uncovered in the hidden panic room at Mark Shaw’s house once we obtained a search warrant.’ I always found that phrase all too rehearsed and too carefully worded, almost as if read from a script, as it was fed to us on numerous occasions.”

“Like I told you at the start, Susan, for the right price I can let you in on all kinds of information surrounding the case. I was allowed to see the journal briefly. After all, it was legally my property and I was very curious to see what my brother had gathered and assembled to form such a monstrous plan,” Bobby said.

“Bobby, something you never explained was how you came to be the recipient of all of your brother’s wealth and possessions,” Susan prodded.

“That came about because my brother had reached the point of being very deep into his plans to turn my wife Allison against me, and push her towards divorce. He had been spending every available minute he could with her during a period when I was putting a ton of hours trying to get my flower shop into the black.

“During this time, Mark had rewritten his will to include Allison as his sole beneficiary. This was just before everything started going so terribly south with her augmentation procedures. After that series of surgical blunders had claimed her life, he became

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obsessed with his need for vengeance against Dr. Richard Holden. Holden was the surgeon responsible for all her complications and ultimately her death. Mark’s distraction with Holden was the reason he never got around to changing it. Once Mark died, all of his very substantial wealth, stocks, real estate holdings, veterinary clinic and other possessions passed to my wife’s estate. Then I received it all because she was deceased by that time,” concluded Bobby demonstrating his extreme financial naiveté. Here he was wasting his time talking to a glory hound who was only interested in furthering her career and not in the least bit concerned about exploiting Bobby. Meanwhile, his little mind was focused on the small reward the interviews would earn him, not realizing his newly found fortune made triple that amount in interest each day.

“So you’re saying that there exists a journal containing all the research and details of your brother Mark’s killing spree that took the lives of six local plastic surgeon wives and one FBI technician. If it does exist, is it likely sitting in police evidence lockup?” asked Susan ignoring the details of the immense transfer of wealth and zeroing in on her main reason for the interview.

“That’s right, and it will never again see the light of day if they have anything to do with it,” Bobby summed up with utter certainty.

“Ok, Bobby, off the record now, I think the journal would make for interesting reading if it could be obtained for a short while. You know, if you could somehow get it into your possession. It could be viewed by a very interested reporter long enough to write the ultimate finish to this series of reports we have been working on. I’m sure there would be a very substantial amount of money discreetly coming your way if that could be arranged,” she said.

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“It doesn’t matter if we are on or off the record. I can tell you this much; I glanced through it very briefly, just enough to see how extensive the detail it contained was. They quickly snatched it back saying, ‘That’s long enough Mr. Shaw’. Then they whisked it away and no one outside the police department has seen it since.”

“You’re saying there is no way the journal can be reviewed, for any amount of money, by anybody?” she asked anxiously, realizing what a prize it would be for her readers.

“I guess that would depend on whether or not the evidence clerk could be convinced to sneak it out. That is strictly off the record, of course,” said Bobby.

Susan ended the interview with her mind turning over one scheme after another aimed at getting her hands on that journal. At the very least, she could generate a ton of reader interest by merely exposing the journal’s existence in her next interview article, which she silently vowed to herself she would do.

- 10 -

CHAPTER 2

“…the web of destruction that would be individually designed

for each of them...”

Sunday, March 24th, 2013

Inspector Bill Weller of the Evanston police

department expressed his utter disbelief to his now good friend Ed Cassidy from the Winnetka police department. He was relating the details of Susan Peterson’s article on her favorite subject lately, Bobby Shaw. This classic bit of journalism was from her final article in a recent weekly series intended to provide exclusive details of the recent crime spree that captured nationwide attention. The Sunday Sun-Times had commissioned Susan to write the series that would run exclusively in their paper. She got this assignment because she managed to position herself as the centerpiece of coverage that provided the most up-to-the-minute details of the case as it ran its course last year. It was a dark time during which the north shore was held hostage by the nearly unstoppable plans developed by one very motivated killer; Bobby’s brother Mark.

“I mean, Ed, can you believe the crap this broad chooses to write about? She just loves throwing all of us under the bus with her snide remarks. I’d like to slap her so hard she’d starve to death before she stopped sliding,”

Bill said as he read a paragraph of the article to his friend.

“One of the most interesting twists in the case involves the transfer of immense wealth from Mark Shaw, the ‘Plastic Wife Killer,' to his only surviving

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brother Bobby. Bobby was twice considered the prime suspect in the murder cases. Yes, two times during the development of the case, Bobby Shaw was arrested and brought in for questioning for the crimes that we now know were committed by his brother Mark. Initially, the investigation lacked direction from the task force formed by Evanston’s Inspector Bill Weller and Winnetka’s Inspector Ed Cassidy. They worked on the case with the help of Chicago’s Bureau of Investigative Services as well as State and local FBI officials.

“In a most bizarre resultant twist, the twice accused then twice exonerated Bobby Shaw wound up in full possession of all the assets of his brother’s considerable estate. Mark intensely courted Allison, the mother of Bobby’s two children and nearly swayed her to leave him. Thinking that Allison was definitely leaving Bobby, Mark revised his will as part of setting up his new life with her. During the process, he named Allison as the sole beneficiary of his estate. Then, after the tragic surgery that started Allison’s downward health spiral, Mark became obsessed with exacting revenge on the surgeon responsible, Dr. Richard Holden. Shaw then began his rampage of reprisal which in the end claimed seven innocent lives. Bobby found himself the fortunate executor of Allison’s now formidable estate when Mark’s life ended in a shoot-out at the Chicago Executive Airport last December.”

“How does, I mean in what universe, does a drug abusing scumbag of a father like Bobby Shaw have a fortune like that fall into his dumbass lap?” exclaimed Bill.

“Ed, there’s simply no justice left in a world where something like that can happen,” he concluded as he continued reading.

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“Then she launches into her new obsession with Mark’s journal which we’ve tried so hard to keep out of the public eye.

“The journal, as described by Bobby, contained every single detail of his brother Mark’s twisted plans of retribution for the love of his life, Bobby’s wife, Allison. After his brief review of the journal, which this reporter notes is Bobby Shaw’s exclusive property, it was whisked away by the task force. The book was then buried in an evidence locker and was never mentioned once throughout the trial and subsequent reports to the public on details involved in the cases. Blah, Blah Blah,” he concluded.

“That’s it Ed. Get ready for the big public outcry for that friggin’ journal. Now it will be all anyone will be able to focus on until it becomes public knowledge. Sometimes the ‘Press’ really needs to be gagged one way or another. Makes one almost want to develop kind of a vigilante interest in certain people,” Bill said. He accentuated his comments by pausing for a series of choking coughs during which he spat out “Susan Peterson” then continued coughing and ended with, “you get my drift?”

“Now Bill, we are officers of the law after all. Yes, individual civil liberties can definitely make our jobs harder at times. Wasn’t it Tarzan that said ‘Humm, life in big world of law enforcement no bowl of cherries,' ” mused Ed.

*

At the same time that Bill and Ed were becoming depressed over Susan’s article, there was quite a different reaction to it in the nearby town of Kenilworth. This is where the home of the late Mark Shaw was located.

Mark was, in addition to demonstrating his nearly flawless skills as a serial killer, a brilliant business

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man. The empire of wealth he had amassed before his demise was built by his sharp mind and keen instincts which rarely resulted in anything but profit and growth for his business, real estate and stock investment interests.

One of those savvy decisions he made was taking a chance hiring an equally astute and uniquely qualified recent graduate to run his veterinary business and later to assist him with his real estate holdings.

She had chosen two of the top schools catering to her fields of interest and had successfully applied for, got accepted to and graduated with high honors from them both. Her brilliant mind mastered everything academically required to satisfy her two burning interests, those being chemical engineering and business law.

First up was attending the University of California, Berkeley where she achieved her degree in chemical engineering. Then it was off to Stanford University, one of the nation’s top ranked schools for business education where she received her MBA from their Graduate School of Business.

It didn’t take Mark very long in his initial interview with her to realize the unique talents she possessed and he needed. She was equally enamored with Mark and instantly began her surreptitious crush on him, convincing herself that one day they would make the perfect couple.

It’s amazing how intellectually gifted minds can be so incredibly short sighted and fixated once they grab on to a concept. In her case, it was the absolute conviction that she would wind up married to Mark one day. It is both the single biggest blessing and curse of having that type of focus at one’s disposal.

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It was that laser-like deliberation which was responsible for the unwavering belief that Mark would lose his obsession with marginally attractive, dim-witted Allison. In fact, when she realized that it wasn’t going the way as she wanted, she began orchestrating events behind the scenes to steer Allison back to Bobby. Things such as dropping insightful business suggestions to Bobby to assist his insipid, non-business-savvy brain, with turning around his floral shop and boosting its profitability.

She finally became convinced that Mark was not giving up his crusade to estrange Allison from his brother. Even after she agreed to the sacrifice of breast augmentation in a last ditch effort to give their marriage one last try.

It was at this point she decided that more drastic measures were needed to get her plan on track. That’s when Mark’s secret admirer discreetly brought the name of Dr. Rick Holden to Bobby’s attention. She was aware of his terrible track record of malpractice and, coupled with her usual thoroughness, decided to leave nothing to chance. She did extensive research into the medical health of Allison and discovered just what she hoped would be the answer to her scheme. Within Allison’s records, she found evidence of a rare hereditary sensitivity to anesthetics that her extensive chemical education virtually assured her would lead to the rare metabolic condition known as Malignant Hyperthermia. As usual, she was right on the money.

After making a personal appointment for an augmentation consultation with the incredibly inept Dr. Holden, she was able to sneak away, before being examined. She then verified that the very expensive, very infrequently used drug he had on hand in sufficiently large quantity, was indeed past the expiration dates. That drug would be required to

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correct Allison’s condition during the critical moments of the surgery crisis she was sure would arise due to the type of anesthetics used at his office treatment facility.

Both fortunately and unfortunately for her, the surgical steering she provided behind the scenes worked.

Fortunately, in that the anticipated result was the demise of Allison, which permanently removed her from Mark’s radar and plans for their future. Unfortunately, in that the unanticipated obsession for revenge Mark was destined to develop would ultimately result in his demise.

Now, left empty and in charge of so many assets, she suddenly found herself in a situation similar to Mark’s. All she could think about, all she had left, was an overwhelming desire for vengeance!

It blinded her, consumed her every waking moment.

SHE HAD TO HAVE IT!!! SHE WOULD HAVE IT!!!

She began compiling a list of people that were complicit in Mark’s death and devoted her every resource toward punishing those involved. Her wrath would be felt by all of them. None would escape the web of destruction that would be individually designed for each of them, and manipulation would play a big part.

She decided on acquiring Mark’s journal as she read Susan’s article. Now that she knew of its existence, it became the last thing left on earth that would bring her in touch with his thinking, his essence, his incredible ability to plan. Those amazing gifts of his that were now lost to the world due to the names on her growing hit list.

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SHE VOWED SHE WOULD HAVE THAT JOURNAL!

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CHAPTER 3

“…he slumped into his favorite chair, forgetting all about

dinner...”

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Fitting a number of personal items of interest

into her busy daily schedule wouldn’t be noticed by anyone at the Shaw Clinic of Veterinary Medicine. Melanie Taylor spent most of her days there. After all, she was the general manager and her regular duties kept her relatively removed from the more mundane daily clinic activities of making appointments, examinations, surgeries, dispensing medications, etc.

Mark Shaw DVM, who founded the clinic, had elevated her position to one of complete operational oversight soon after hiring her. This turned out to be the first of many indications, in her mind at least, that Mark was building an environment of permanence for the two of them.

Today would be the first of many days to use, not only the freedom her position afforded, but also the extensive information gathering skills acquired over the long years devoted to the pursuit of her education. Those freedoms and skills would ultimately formulate a plan that she hoped would obtain the coveted journal developed by her former boss. She literally tingled at the prospect of the immense volume of planning detail it must certainly contain.

Not expecting that it would be easy to get, but knowing how incredibly convincing she could be once her mind was bent on completing a task as essential as this, a grand scheme began to form.

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It didn’t take long to put Officer Ned Friar, who was the property clerk at the Winnetka police department, right at the center of her cross hairs. Her mind clicked into high gear. The plan virtually developed itself and she knew the journal was as good as in her hands already, at the same time not realizing just how determined others were in claiming the same prize.

* With the soon-to-be-intense public focus on the

journal, Bill Weller decided to stop in to the Winnetka evidence lockup for a visit. He wanted to check on the journal’s secure status on his way into see his friend Ed Cassidy.

“Good Morning Ned, I just wanted to check on something from one of our cases,” said Bill.

“You know the routine Weller, do you have a case number?” inquired Officer Friar, which prompted Bill to enter it into the property log from memory. Officer Ned Friar was as familiar with that case evidence as Bill Weller was and returned with it in short order.

Bill went into the adjoining room where evidence was routinely examined and preceded to the far side of the table. He inadvertently placed his back to the room’s camera with the requested evidence box in front of him. He began digging through the most often requested of all the boxes of substantial evidence they were able to confiscate from Shaw’s home. All of which was collectively responsible for the convictions they easily obtained. At last he came across the coveted journal. As he held the evil collection of data and confirmed its presence, flashback after flashback of the case from hell came back to him as the journal seemingly read itself to him again without even opening the cover. The sinister document seemed to command an unnatural hold on anyone unfortunate enough to find it in their grasp. Bill found himself

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unwittingly thumbing through the pages which afforded him a melancholy trip down memory lane. His mind became riddled with the horror, disgust, confusion, frustration and finally the ultimate satisfaction that the case had wrought upon both him and his taskforce partner Ed.

He had no doubt that from this, its secluded abode, the journal was sure to become the center of a resurgent controversy due to the Peterson article.

* Approximately three hours after Bill returned the

evidence boxes from the Shaw case, Officer Ned Friar received yet another request for the same case evidence. This time it happened to be from the journal’s rightful owner, Bobby Shaw asking for a quick glance at the book.

“Mr. Shaw, we’ve been over this before. The evidence in your brother’s case is just that, evidence, and as such it remains under the control of the Winnetka police department. The only persons allowed to view the evidence in the case are the officers involved in gathering said evidence, and the attorneys that tried the case. The last time I checked, you weren’t wearing any of those shoes,” Officer Friar once again explained to Bobby.

“Since you were not a party in the case you are not authorized to view the evidence we have in property storage,” he continued.

“I guess I don’t understand why property that technically belongs to me, can’t be returned to its rightful owner,” expressed Bobby.

“It’s not an issue of ownership Mr. Shaw. It’s an issue of responsible evidence preservation and storage. We are charged with maintaining evidence in good condition for at least as long as the parties involved remain incarcerated, in case there is ever

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any chance of filing an appeal. Then the evidence used in the conviction must be readily available to assist in that legal right of each convicted party. There are three doctors currently burning up tax payer’s money in Stateville prison that may choose to file an appeal. However, in this case, I can’t imagine that ever being a realistic possibility. Nonetheless, that is why you can’t take any evidence used to try the case out of our controlled environment,” concluded Friar.

With that Bobby realized he would get nowhere with the property officer. He left disappointed at not being able to cash in on yet another unneeded payday with Susan Peterson at his brother’s expense.

* Rounding out one of the busiest days in his

typically mundane job as property officer in Winnetka, was a third visitor asking once again for access to the evidence box containing that damn journal.

“Look, lady, I don’t care if you’re the queen of Sheba reincarnated, evidence is not made available to the general public anytime they feel the need to snoop around a case. Besides, I don’t know anything about any journal. I have hundreds and hundreds of criminal trial evidence boxes that I know only by case number. I am charged with maintaining them. That doesn’t include whipping any of them out Willy-Nilly for every curiosity seeker that strolls in here,” he told Susan Peterson after she identified herself and attempted to impress him with her press credentials. He dismissed her in rather short order not even beginning to entertain her pleas for viewing the Shaw case evidence.

He had very little respect left as a member of the police force and even less clout anywhere within the department since being assigned to the property

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room. Here at least he had a small measure of authority over anyone strolling up to his little office.

This was where the departmental bottom feeders were placed just before being kicked off the force. Officer Ned Friar had his difficulties during his brief career in law enforcement once his recurring alcoholic habit was discovered.

Yes, he was an on-again-off-again member of AA but was currently one screw up away from permanent dismissal from the force. It was made very clear to him that no further lapses in judgment would be tolerated on his behalf, and with his current financial situation, he couldn’t afford to blow this very simple assignment.

* Later that day as the first shift ended at the

Winnetka police department, Officer Ned Friar was met in the parking lot once again by Susan Peterson. She was smiling like a seductress about to offer up a lap dance as she approached his car.

Recognizing the face that had become so familiar to anyone watching the news recently, he asked, “What is it now Susan?”

“Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot earlier Officer Friar. I’m betting that if the motivation were right we could change all that!”

As her little verbal dance got underway, another very interested party stopped short of exiting a car parked not far from the developing scene. ‘Three’s a crowd,’ came to mind as a trip across the street for a similar chat with the evidence clerk was put on hold. Being poised for a discussion with the Winnetka property officer as well, this person held back to see what was about to develop.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but I’m late and need to get home,” responded Friar.

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“I don’t intend to keep Lois waiting long. I have a simple proposition for you to consider. It was recently revealed to me that the Shaw murder case evidence contains a journal of all his planning activities. I’m sure that the journal would be of great interest to the taxpaying citizens of Winnetka. Therefore, it would be of great interest to me as well,” she said, coyly revealing Ned’s mother’s name to imply that she did her homework on Ned.

“In fact, it is the only thing in those great big old evidence boxes from the Shaw case that I care anything about. It would be of such great importance to not only me, but also to my employer, that I’m authorized to make it definitely worth your while if I could be allowed to examine it briefly. I assure you that my employers would generously assist you in overcoming any reservations you may have about making it available to me.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way Ned, but your current salary, assignment to the property room and certain proceedings against your home recently, have become public knowledge. That is if you know where to look and if you are as motivated as I am by my employers to look,” she said as she began to lay out her proposal for the journal.

“Ms. Peterson, whatever you think you may have found out about my situation pales in comparison to the shit storm I’d be in once any contents of that evidence box became public knowledge. Also, if anyone found out I was the one that leaked the information; that would be the final nail in my career’s coffin. I would be the focal point of a departmental lynching. That would, of course, be after my trial was over in which I’d be charged with contempt by the courts. You think I have financial troubles now? I would be pretty much unemployable once I was identified as the one responsible for

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releasing evidence in a criminal case and that would be after I got out of jail. Besides, I know nothing about any journal. All I see are boxes of trial evidence and I have no knowledge of their contents,” he said as he turned his back on her seductive smile and provocative attire.

She was determined to convince him however and as he closed his car door and prepared to drive away, she leaned over to give him an ample view of a couple of her other assets. She offered, “Can you actually walk away from $20,000 in the midst of your current foreclosure proceedings? Where will you and your mother live? Look at me Ned. I’m the one that can help you and I assure you I protect my sources!” she said to no avail.

Ned peeled his eyes off her and sped away leaving her mind racing for another angle to get the journal. This, after all, was only a minor setback and she read once that a ‘setback’ was nothing more than a ‘setup’ for a ‘comeback’. She was Susan Peterson and would not be denied.

* As he drove home leaving Susan in the Winnetka

police department parking lot, Ned couldn’t help but think of how $20,000 would help his current situation. At the same time, he knew it would simply be a financial band-aid that would lead to losing his job and more problems. Now if she’d up the ante to the neighborhood of $100,000, he’d be willing to make both him and his mother disappear.

Little did he know that this would not be the only proposition for the journal he would receive that day. The next one would be significantly more compelling. It would be presented very convincingly by the person following him home that night.

*

Frank McRae

- 24 -

Tuesday, March 26th, 2013 The next night after Ned arrived home from work;

he turned the key in his front door and called out to his mother as he usually did, “Ma, I’m home. What’s for dinner?”

The first thing he noticed besides her lack of response was that the house was unusually dark and quiet. His mother typically had the television on with the volume turned up extra loud watching Law and Order reruns as she prepared dinner for the two of them, but not tonight!

He quickly closed the door behind him and backed up to it with all his senses going on alert and aimed at assessing the situation in his home. He flipped on the living room light as he walked in the suffocating silence around him. Moving through the house and into the kitchen, he noticed an envelope on the table with his name on it. His name was formed by dissimilar printed letters pasted on which were apparently cut out of magazines.

Checking the room for any movement or sounds, he hesitated before reaching for the envelope.

The message inside was also formed with pasted on lettering and read:

SHE’S FINE FOR NOW, BUT WON’T BE FOR LONG.

MAKE ALL THE RIGHT MOVES, NOT ONE CAN BE WRONG.

BRING HOME THE JOURNAL TOMORROW NIGHT NED.

NO COPS OR YOU GUESSED IT, LOIS IS DEAD!

He dropped the note as if it suddenly stung his fingertips. He was shocked, first thinking of Susan Peterson and her apparent hunger for the journal, but couldn’t imagine her placing a note as despicable as this in his home. This had to be way out of her league.

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She wouldn’t resort to kidnapping and possible jail time for a peek at that damn book, but who would be so bold as to do this to him?

As a tear formed in his eye for his kidnaped mother, he slumped into his favorite chair, forgetting all about dinner and began contemplating what he knew he needed to do.

- 26 -

CHAPTER 4

“…moving away from both of them with that same slow,

methodical walk...”

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013

Around 9:00am the following morning, the

usual early morning buzz of roll calls, assignments, morning greetings, etc. began to diminish. Everyone seemed to melt into the dismal mostly green station house walls doing their jobs.

The irony of his situation didn’t escape Ned. He realized that he was surrounded by the very people that could probably help him the most, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take a chance with his mother’s life. After all, it was just a book that might never be missed or asked for ever again and the stakes had been raised in the game to a level that he simply couldn’t ignore.

Who was he kidding? After that damned Peterson article, there would be more focus on the journal than ever. Hell there already was but still, he may be able to pull it off if he could replace it with one that looked just like it until he got his mother back alive. Then he would explain to the soon-to-be lieutenant all about the life or death situation that forced him to do what he knew he shouldn’t, but at the same time knew that he must.

Again, who was he kidding? He knew what the soon-to-be lieutenant would say, “You should have come to us and not compromised the criminal evidence you were entrusted to protect. This is what we do! We would have been able to help you, but now you have committed a crime that can have only one result,” Blah, blah, blah.

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‘I’m screwed no matter which way I play this one,’ he thought. ‘I guess, in the end, I’d rather save my mother’s life and wind up in jail than take the other route. Down that road, I’d probably regret it the rest of my life if she were killed due to me making a choice I was specifically warned against. I have my best shot at an acceptable outcome by replacing that damned journal with a look alike, sneaking it out of the evidence room and paying the ransom,’ he concluded. That’s what he had to do.

Noting the design of the journal was a very standard stationary store item, he returned from lunch with an exact duplicate. Roughing it up, dirtying it up, imposing several creases and bending more than a few corners, he decided that it looked about as close to the original as he could get it on such short notice.

After tucking the one from evidence into his back belt area in a corner of the evidence room with no security cameras, he left for home wondering how the transaction was going to take place. He had no instructions other than to bring the journal home that night.

Before reaching his car, he found his not so favorite news gal was once again waiting for him in the parking lot. He aimed a palm high in the air between himself and her saying, “Tell it to the hand Susan.” He then brushed swiftly past her, into his car and drove off intentionally blocking out every word she threw at him from her latest barrage of self-serving logic.

He sped away deliberately taking a different route to his house right out of the parking lot, hoping to discourage her from following him home.

*

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‘The nerve of that guy,’ thought Susan, as Ned drove off not giving her the time of day. Tomorrow she would step up her campaign to acquire the journal.

‘I’m going to have to make him an offer he simply can’t refuse,’ she mused to herself as she drove off more determined than ever.

* “Well Lois my dear, the party should begin any

time now, once your obedient alcoholic son gets home with the journal,” her captor said to a nearly comatose Lois Friar. She had to be strapped to the chair she was in to keep her from falling out of it while she stared mindlessly at the door her son would soon be entering.

Lois had been dosed yesterday, with the slowest reacting version of a new trilogy of deadly drugs in just the right volume for her size. This happened when a very unexpected, but seemingly trustworthy visitor, came to the Friar’s door posing as a long-lost college friend of Ned’s. The version of the drug administered would eliminate her ability to function on her own ever again. It was accurately named ‘Tomorrow’s Venom’ by its creator. It was no challenge at all to spray the correct amount into her face in the middle of the innocent ‘lost college friend’ spiel, rendering Lois nearly immobile. It had a semi-paralyzing effect on her, but she remained lucid enough to realize that she needed help and was very susceptible to suggestions which included helping her to a nearby SUV, supposedly for medical attention.

Ned was due home right at the time Lois was reaching the end of the twenty-hour duration of the semi-comatose state the drug held her in. Soon the real show would begin.

Ned was about to become the recipient of the fastest acting version of the drug’s three formulations which had been appropriately named ‘Instant Venom’.

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It had the same effect but took less than thirty minutes, usually around fifteen, to mature in his system and produce the desired effect.

After bringing Lois home yesterday, the first in a series of unique letters was mailed to Inspector Cassidy from a nearby town. It would arrive about the time everyone was noticing that Ned, the department’s wallflower, didn’t show up to the penalty box called ‘The Evidence Lockup.' This was the only station deemed worthy of his diminished talents these days.

Waiting patiently for Ned’s arrival, Lois’ attacker pictured a poised spider having spun the initial strands of an enormous web that would eventually ensnare all targeted prey, one by one!

* ‘Well, the lights are on. Could she be back home?’

Ned wondered as he pulled up his driveway and parked his car in the attached garage, closing its overhead door. He cautiously entered through the kitchen door and the first thing he noticed was his mother, sitting in a chair facing him with the TV on in the living room. The feelings of joy and relief that washed over him at the sight of his mother sitting there were quickly swept away. He heard the familiar, ‘Bong, Bong’ sound associated exclusively with the Law and Order show she watched religiously when his world was changed forever.

At the precise moment that signature sound was heard, his attacker had the perfect cue to deliver a refreshing mist to Ned’s face before he could close the kitchen door to the garage. Startled by the spray, he took a quick breath sealing his fate by ingesting the drug as intended. The eerily timed sequence of events led to instant feelings of being both nauseous and weak. He would soon be unable to stand. The room around him began to spin with the ceiling and floor

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curiously melting together into one gyrating form as the drug overwhelmed him and froze him in his tracks. Just then, he noticed an anomalous figure emerge from his right side peripheral vision. The figure was strikingly ominous in an entirely black ninja-like outfit and Ned was just detecting the figure’s slow, methodical approach as his legs were suddenly reduced to a stability similar to fully cooked spaghetti. With standing no longer an option, he went crashing to the floor and began to lose control of one limb after another. Watching the drool form a puddle and spread away from his mouth on the floor, he noticed that his mother, sitting in a chair across the room, had her slippers on the wrong feet.

These observations were quickly forgotten as he once again noticed the intimidating figure dressed in black moving toward him slowly with very meticulous steps as he was asked, “Did you bring home the journal Ned?”

The words were calculated and spoken unemotionally, scarcely above a whisper. He nodded, barely, and started reaching for the book in his back belt area, but he would never touch that cursed book again. Ned lost control of his bladder and his hand half way to its target. His hand began to first oscillate in a short arc, back and forth slowly. This gradually gave way to tremors that continued to increase until they became full blown spasms, as he tried speaking, “blank… book,” was all he was able to get out as the drool began changing consistency and color, turning into a choking foam that spilled slowly and uncontrollably from his mouth. At that point, he lost the fight and a massive body spasm completely overtook him.

There it was! Following the intent of his reach, the journal he brought was found tucked into the rear of his pants under his jacket. With eyes that never left

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the book, the assailant stepped over Ned’s prone body, and completely ignoring the toll that the chemically engineered masterpiece was having on his body. The much sought after book was carried away in two hands, revered as if it were the Holy Grail itself. Even as mother joined her son in nearly choreographed spasms, both convulsed violently in concert with each other toward their now inevitable fate. Their executioner was selfishly oblivious to their dilemmas, continually moving away from both of them with that same slow, methodical walk, leaving with the book now safely tucked away.

The mouths of the two victims began emanating the same choking, blood-saturated foam that rolled and flowed out like lava from an active volcano. It would stop only after their backbones each nearly snapped from one final massive twitch. The twitch was caused by the locking up of all their muscles just before both members of the Friar household began the endless stare that death left on their faces.

The cruel finale dealt to each of them by the drugs they ingested left a horribly twisted look of pain. The drug would medically present the classic indications of a brain aneurysm to any medical examiner assigned to determine their cause of death.

Their bodies would not be found until the day after the Winnetka police inspector finally received his anonymous letter. He would be overtaken by curiosity and decide to drive his squad car to the Friar home. On his way to check up on his non-essential employee, he feared that Ned had once again fallen into a drunken binge. Apparently he was unable to answer the phone. The inspector would be lost in thought, trying to conceive of the most humane way to terminate him from his job.

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Once he arrived and found the open door at the Friar home, he was destined to discover the first two victims caught in a deadly spider’s web of revenge!

- 33 -

CHAPTER 5

“Then we’ll dance, and it’ll be your final waltz, my dear!”

Thursday, March 28th, 2013

It had been a quiet several months since all the

excitement in Winnetka ended with the death of Mark Shaw in a very public shoot out at the Chicago Executive Airport last December. It was swiftly followed by the conviction of the remaining three doctors found to be complicit in a very deadly killing spree. About the only excitement around the Chicago north shore community of Winnetka since then was the shuffling of the remaining ‘Surgeon General’ members. This was a desperate attempt to maintain the integrity of the closely associated group of plastic surgeons.

There was the ousting of six original members whose credibility became too much of a liability to the ‘Generals’ once their adulterous details became public knowledge in connection with the Shaw murder rampage.

The job of inspector became once again a welcome, albeit at times monotonous routine for Ed Cassidy. That is except for the fact that he was now on the short list for Lieutenant. The department’s former chief, Lt. Mike Gorten, finally turned in his papers after the big case broke. His conscience finally allowed him to accept his long overdue retirement. From all indications, papers to promote Ed were in the works and expected any day now. Suddenly it was all becoming real as he began to imagine his new role and responsibilities as Lieutenant. These thoughts once again allowed his mind to wander as he opened the morning mail and discovered a mysterious note.

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It sent a momentary chill down his spine once he noticed the lettering, which was all different sizes, shapes, fonts and colors. The letters teamed up to bring back memories he’d rather not recall. Some of them were bolder than others and all were cut out of different magazines then pasted to the paper. They reminded him of the cold-hearted note he found at FBI technician Cory Seaver’s home the night he was murdered. Ed found that note on the threshold of breaking the Shaw case wide open, in large part to the efforts of Cory, and it brought back a sad memory involving the tragic loss of his good friend.

The note read:

RESPOND TO REQUESTS WHEN THEY ARE MADE.

IF THIS IS NOT DONE, A PRICE MUST BE PAID.

MOM AND THE ALCOHOLIC WON’T BE THE LAST TO

PAY!

‘What in the hell is that supposed to mean?’ he wondered.

Wrapped in the melancholy memory of the last time he saw a note like this, instant dread overwhelmed him and his chill intensified but he couldn’t figure out why. There was just something sinister about the note that screamed, “I’m not about to go quietly into that good night.”

He had arranged a lunch meeting with Bill Weller late next week to do some catching up with his old friend and decided to bring the note with him to get Bill’s take on it.

As the day progressed, rumors around the station involving their property clerk escalated. They bore colorful descriptions of him once again falling off the wagon. He had not showed up for work or called in sick as he had done numerous times in the past. The

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malicious hearsays were callously circulated by fellow members of the Winnetka police force. Ed caught wind of several of them and was saddened by the inevitable task that was now his to administer. In the past, Ed was one of the few people that spoke up for Ned and was instrumental in landing him this last opportunity before hitting the unemployment line. He wasn’t looking forward to one of his first departmental actions as acting Lieutenant being the firing of Ned Friar.

He placed several calls to Ned’s home throughout the day but got no responses. One more day and he wouldn’t be able to avoid acknowledging that disastrous final straw for the career of Ned Friar.

*

Friday, March 29th, 2013 As he was sipping his morning coffee, yet another

article by the unrelenting Susan Peterson caught Ed’s eye. She was relentless in badgering the Winnetka police department about getting the contents of Mark Shaw’s journal released to the general public. Most of it was regurgitations of stories printed all week since she broke the news of its existence in her final Bobby Shaw article last Sunday. Today’s story did contain some welcome news regarding the recovery of FBI agent Zack Jamanski, who was horribly disfigured as he became the last victim of Mark Shaw.

‘The prominent team of plastic surgeons known as the ‘Surgeon Generals’ reported some good news this week. Doctors Blake Falkland and Mark Channing volunteered to perform the necessary surgeries on Shaw’s last unfortunate victim, FBI Agent Zack Jamanski. Agent Jamanski fell prey to Shaw’s more maniacal side and has undergone a successful series of facial reconstruction surgeries. Dr. Falkland reported this morning that his recovery is now

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complete. They had reduced their numbers from twenty doctors down to only eleven due to scandals and incarcerations involved in the Mark Shaw serial killing spree earlier in the year. Zack Jamanski’s surgeries were performed pro-bono by the two good doctors in an effort to repair the surgical team’s reputation within the community.

‘On an ever growing sadder note is the continuing financial woes of Dr. Pete Reynolds and Dr. Frank Griffin. The disgraced former members of the ‘Surgeon Generals’ were found to be involved in last year’s ‘love hexagon’. They attempted to restart their surgical careers in the area only to find a very unforgiving public response to their efforts. Doctors Reynolds and Griffin filed for bankruptcy this week after the funds raised by the public auction of their real estate holdings were not enough to right their sinking financial ships.’

“Well that was probably her best piece of work in months,” said Ed Cassidy to his assistant Kellie. She had just come into his office with the news of Ned Friar’s absence for a second day.

Not wanting to make a spectacle of letting Ned go from the department, Ed drove over to his home to discuss his dismissal in person. There he found the door he knocked on unlocked. It opened to reveal Ned and his mother, as well as the evidence of their very unnatural deaths. Their bodies were locked in a wildly twisted position and a wide-eyed, horrified look best described the final expression death left on their faces. It graphically depicted the painful passing they each experienced. These two apparently senseless killings were something he was now quite familiar with. That uncomfortable churning in his stomach had déjà vu written all over it as he made the connection between what was sprawled out in front of him and the note he had just received. The ‘alcoholic

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and mom’ reference was now undeniable as he began to hope that this would turn out to be an unfortunate but isolated crime and not the beginning of another marathon case. If only wishing could make it so, but he knew better as he called the crime techs to gather what evidence they could from the Friar home.

* The Peterson article didn’t escape the attention of

three Stateville inmates as they exercised one of the few liberties they had left. That was keeping up with the outside world through reading a heavily circulated and very tattered newspaper.

“Pete and Frank are experiencing what we were all worried about if the wives’ scandal broke. I don’t feel a bit sorry for those bastards. They were a zipper away from preventing this whole mess from ever happening, but no. They just had to screw our wives behind our backs while looking us in the eye day to day as if nothing was going on,” said Jim Baker to John Ackerman.

“They belong in here with us for being the ultimate cause of the whole mess,” reaffirmed Ray Reed, the third member of their sad group.

“Be careful what you wish for others Ray; bad Karma is a bitch,” said John as the bell sounded ending their brief recreation period and they headed back to their dismal cells like herded cattle. These would prove to be wise and truthful words indeed!

* Ed and the inmates weren’t the only persons of

note to read and have a strong reaction to the latest Susan Peterson article. Bobby Shaw’s office manager and financial advisor Melanie Taylor decided not to go into work that day. Instead she checked into a very exclusive spa, had just finished a lavish breakfast and was lounging comfortably in a plush chaise longue,

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soaking in the morning sunshine as she read today’s paper. After her brief session of mind cleansing relaxation, she planned on doing some very specific research of her own for most of the day and the rest of the weekend.

‘That bitch just won’t let it go! Ok, Susan, I guess I’ll have to teach you how to stop drawing attention to my former employer’s noteworthy book, the hard way. In due time, in due time; I’ll not let you spoil my weekend. You are officially out of my mind until Monday. Then we’ll dance, and it’ll be your final waltz, my dear!’ vowed Melanie as she dropped the newspaper in favor of her research. Settling back in the lounge chair, sipping her mimosa and utterly dismissing the annoying newswoman from her thoughts, she began her luxurious weekend of planning.

- 39 -

CHAPTER 6

“…. lips parted she produced an extended purring sound like

a very satisfied cat.”

Monday, April 1st, 2013

At the start of the new week, Ed reported to

work with a headache, having brooded all weekend over the anonymous note he received coincidentally just before finding what was left of the Friar family. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the two were related and that it had to, in some way, involve the only thing of value that Ned oversaw in evidence, the Shaw case.

First on his list of things to do this morning, was a review of the evidence room activity for the last two weeks. Although he was betting that if there were anything to be seen, it would likely be more recent due to Susan’s latest articles which had become increasingly fixated on liberating that damned journal. But come on, there had to be something more motivating than her articles at the center of these murders. The Friar murders had to involve more intense incentive than that generated by a news item’s interest in the Shaw journal. He held out hope that the M.E. could shed some light on the Friar deaths with her autopsy results.

His first order of business was to verify the contents of the evidence cases. He had the contents of each box still virtually memorized and started eliminating suspicion from them one box at a time.

He came across the recently famous journal nestled right next to a very painful memory. That being the network cable used in the hanging of his FBI friend,

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Cory Seaver, who had provided numerous case breaking insights. Mark Shaw discovered that Cory was instrumental in piecing together the case’s obscure clues through his extensive internet research and had eventually gotten under the serial killer’s skin with the accuracy of his findings. It was a sad moment indeed when Ed and Bill got the call that Cory had become the latest victim of Shaw’s killing spree. Up to that point, Shaw’s wrath had been directed only at the wives of plastic surgeon team.

Shaw’s journal appeared to be in better shape than he remembered. Having spent countless hours reviewing it and collating other evidence with its contents for the slam dunk trial, he had logged some miles on the book himself. Yet this book was definitely in better shape than when he last saw it. Deciding he had time for a brief trip down memory lane, he opened the book only to find its previously depraved and immoral contents blank. Now the real panic set in.

This could only mean the author of the note he received had gotten through to Ned. He must now have access to all of the twisted, nefarious contents developed over time by the most sinister murderer he had ever run across. This was definitely a bad thing!

Further review of the evidence yielded nothing as his focus and concern grew over the now officially missing journal. He already had enough discoveries to ruin his day, but a review of the logs and then of the evidence room video activity depressed him even further as his day continued to tank.

Apparently diminutive visits by Susan Peterson and Bobby Shaw appeared fruitless; however both were overshadowed by Bill Weller’s more curious one. Bill used his authority to check out the box containing the journal. As he watched the video, Ed saw Bill remove the book and examine it for a few minutes. He couldn’t see its return to the box clearly however as

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his back and one side were between the camera and the evidence box.

Could Bill have switched it? Was his positioning deliberate? He knew exactly where the camera was and could easily have nonchalantly blocked its view. Could he actually be related to the Friar murders? Unlikely was the answer to both but all leads needed to be followed up no matter how close to home. This would put a different spin on his planned meeting with Bill, a spin he would definitely not look forward to.

* With the weekend behind her and all the spa

treatments she indulged in now having had their desired effect, Melanie began something of a new source of personal pleasure. That, of course, was getting to work on planning a very unique sequence of events that would affect a significant number of people adversely.

The one thing she determined resolutely over the weekend was to exercise utter patience and prudence in developing the timing of everything she needed to do. She vowed to pattern her actions after her former employer as she recalled the systematic but stoic approach that was the basis for all his incredible success.

Her mental notes began outlining her plan as one step after another developed. Her to-do list took shape and seemed to virtually prioritize itself. It was going to be a very busy week indeed! She had such freedom to do all the things she needed to since her new boss, that mental midget Bobby put her in charge of all his newly acquired financial holdings. He didn’t have the cranial capacity to even comprehend how much wealth he was sitting on!

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Not to worry there, she had begun the subtle but methodical transfer of capital from the Shaw estate to the Taylor holdings almost immediately. She wasn’t entirely heartless. His two kids were totally innocent in all this and needed to be taken care of. This she knew was part of Mark’s intent as well. She set up handsome trust funds for each of them as well as suitable custody, should the need arise, with relatives in California that they were fond of. Realizing Bobby’s propensity for failure, she created a will which he readily signed, mentally congratulating himself on his decision to put Mel in charge of his financial affairs. He would have never thought of something as obscure to his drug dulled brain as a will.

For appearance sake, she even had a little something earmarked for her which he generously agreed to as well, along with an obscure clause that he didn’t read deeply enough into the will to notice. That provision left everything to a charity in the event of his death, which was nothing more than the gateway to an offshore account in an alias that she developed and maintained. The document didn’t cover all his numerous assets; it only diverted some obvious ones for the sake of pacifying his puny little mind. The rest of Mark’s wealth would be circumspectly transferred rightfully to her.

Her top priority landed her once again in southern California, to meet with a successful Hollywood talent scout later that morning. She kept in contact with Missy Lewis since the year they both graduated from Stanford University. Missy was Melanie's roommate for a time and her keen eye and intelligence were responsible for the lucrative business she started and had grown so successfully thus far. It focused on casting the right people for movies and TV shows. Mel was excited to finally catch up with her dear friend again. She brought Missy the one specially arranged

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treat they both regularly enjoyed in college while spending long nights studying together.

“Oh Mel, get in here! How have you been roomie?” said Missy as she floated across the reception area. They locked each other up in a suffocating hug.

“It’s been too long Missy! Look at you, you look fantastic! I really need to work on my tan. We don’t look like sun sisters anymore,” said Mel then produced a small flat box wrapped in festive paper with a big golden bow on top and added, “Look what I brought you!”

“Ahh, you didn’t! Come into my office we have some serious catching up to do and if that’s what I think it is, some serious snacking as well!”

Missy told her secretary to hold all calls and they weren’t to be disturbed until she came out of her meeting with Mel. After retiring to Missy’s office, they closed the door, kicked off their shoes. Despite the dresses worn by both girls, they sat opposite each other with legs crossed like they were sitting around a campfire waiting for the marshmallows. Missy opened the box of candy and placed it on the floor between their knees which were almost touching each other like two excited grade school girls on a sleepover. All through college they always had at least four or five boxes of Fannie Mae candies on hand for some instant late night energy as they frequently studied long into the night. Both girls were very career driven even then and it had since paid off well for them. The box was filled with only four different types of candy, two of Missy’s favorites and two of Mel’s.

“Me first,” said Missy as she reached for one of the Trinidad's which filled one corner of the box. She placed the whole piece in her mouth, closed her eyes and allowed the first piece to melt away. Once she had room enough in her mouth, with lips parted she

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produced an extended purring sound like a very satisfied cat. Mel giggled remembering her always doing that with the first Trinidad. She always took the one at the very corner first.

“My turn,” said Mel as she retrieved a caramel turtle from one corner of her side of the box and produced a growling sound once it was eaten. Then Missy cleared a spot in the third corner by grabbing a Mint Melt-Away repeating her purring sound as Mel grabbed a piece from the fourth corner, a chocolate covered cherry and repeated her growl.

They both then rose to their knees and leaned forward into another bonding hug as Missy said, “God I missed doing that with you!” Then they reminisced for several hours about their days together in school before getting down to business.

“Missy, these are the two characters I’m trying to cast and here is their physical information. Do you think you can find some people close to them for me?” asked Mel as she handed over the two pictures she brought to her long time college friend.

“That shouldn't be a problem, Mel. I have over five thousand candidates on call to choose from. Let my assistant get to work on it while we do some more catching up over lunch,” Missy replied. She was confident that they could indeed find the perfect hopefuls to resemble the stars needed for her virtual films.

It was great getting back out to California’s warm weather and it was wonderful catching up with Missy and hearing her enthusiasm over the successful startup of her ‘Look to the Stars’ casting company.

As expected, she didn’t disappoint Mel. The candidates that were quickly and accurately selected from the enormous pool of talent her company kept were perfect. Both would be excited to land roles to

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begin what they each hoped would be long, lucrative careers. So much so that they agreed to the terms laid out for their services that same afternoon. In fact both readily agreed to the bonus she offered them which actually tripled their earnings for undergoing some minor surgical procedures to alter their appearances. Her trip to the west coast turned out to be an enormous success and much better than she had hoped for.

Next it was time to engage the disgruntled plastic surgeons she had lined up last week. Both were selected from the pool of those rejected by the ‘Surgeon Generals’. Nothing gets the type of cooperation you need from a couple of skilled plastic surgeons, having just experienced a severe financial crash from the lap of luxury to bankruptcy, like being tempted with a huge cash payday. Besides, Missy did such an excellent job of finding her look-a-likes that the procedures required to complete the desired transformations would be minor indeed with relatively short recovery times as well.

- 46 -

CHAPTER 7

“… spooked didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling, not

even close!”

Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013

There were so many exciting things to plan and

acquire that she was absolutely beside herself with delight.

On the plane trip out to California yesterday, Mel placed her annual call to Marcie on what was their self-proclaimed favorite holiday of the year, April Fool’s Day. She would join forces, once again with Marcie, and involve her in the type of unscrupulous behavior that they both looked forward to all year.

They were always so excited to aid each other by confusing people. Identical twins can be so naughty that way. Each sister shared a dark, mischievous side to their personality in addition to their perfectly matched looks, mannerisms and speech patterns.

At various times in their lives, they devilishly misled anyone they wished to, even their parents, thanks to their willingness to share every aspect of their lives with each other. They couldn’t possibly be closer sisters. Each trusted and loved the other, both implicitly and unconditionally. This kept them both ever at the ready to baffle anyone they chose to and each enjoyed their ability to help the other do exactly that.

Mel needed Marcie to provide her with some cover time at work initially until she got back into the country. She so loved shopping and had some serious excursions both in and out of the country in mind.

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She had fostered a crush on her former employer, Mark Shaw for a long time and often reflected on what a team they would have made with Allison out of the way. However, that wound up not being in the cards. The memories of which pulled that sad, uncomfortable, melancholy blanket over her mood as she reflected back on her lost opportunity to live the life with Mark that she so vividly fantasized about. Nothing was quite as sad as the unrequited love that could never be kindled.

* “Doctor Reynolds, these are the two young ‘actors’

we discussed on the phone yesterday. I’d like you to meet Doug Leyman and Rick Childers. They are both very excited to star in the roles I have designed exclusively for them,” said Mel introducing the not-so-good doctor to his new patients.

“Gentlemen, I’m so glad to meet you both. My partner and I will be performing several very minor procedures that will serve you well in all your future acting endeavors. Nothing that would take long to heal mind you. You will be happy to know that with the help of a little makeup during the healing period, I will have you ready for Miss Taylor’s employ in approximately one week,” concluded Dr. Reynolds. The other doctor he referred to was his partner in crime, Frank Griffin.

“Well let’s get started!” said Doug and Rick nearly in perfect unison and just like that, another facet of Mel’s plan was underway.

* All afternoon and most of that evening, something

kept bothering Inspector, soon-to-be-Lieutenant, Ed Cassidy. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around what it was. Heading out the rear door of the Winnetka police department toward his car to end another long day, it finally hit him! It was one of those things that

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screamed ‘Why didn’t I think of this earlier?’ in his brain. It was there all the time. But his mind was cluttered with thoughts of how to approach Bill with the video discoveries showing his involvement with the Shaw evidence box, and specifically his review of the journal which was now blank.

That damned book was the ultimate distraction! It distracted him from something extremely odd that was right in front of him!

He now recalled pulling out the book and its cover feeling warm. He was so preoccupied with the fact that the book was empty that it didn’t register with him that the only warm thing in that cold box of evidence was the book! How could that be? Was it indeed the only thing warm in the box? He couldn’t say. Once again that damned book became the focal point of his attention even though it turned out to be empty! What kind of coincidence was that; warm and empty!

Dinner would have to wait. Now he was too curious as to why there could be that noticeable temperature difference between the blank book and the rest of the items in the box. Returning to the locked and unattended evidence room, he immediately went to the Shaw boxes and specifically to the one he knew contained the blank book.

There he found it tucked right back where he left it, next to several network cables. Reaching for both items, he discovered that the book wasn’t the source of the heat, the cables were! They were quite warm and were affecting those things stored near them in the box.

He not only removed the cables loaded with bad memories from the case but waved them around the room trying to cool them down. After several minutes of trying to cool the two cables, one in each hand, he

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found one of them cooled down, but the other one wasn’t noticeably cooler at all!

Ok, spooked didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling, not even close! What could be causing the continued warmth of a cable that wasn’t plugged into anything?

As he recalled the facts surrounding Cory’s murder, the now cooler of the two cables he was holding was the longest one, by four times at least. It had been wrapped several times around Cory’s neck before he was dropped out of his bedroom window to be hung to death. That was bad enough, but he also recalled that peaceful look left on Cory’s face by the murderous Mark Shaw. The calm look made possible by the terrible drug Mark used on Cory to totally control his mind. After administering the drug, he suggested that a smile should remain on Cory’s face during the last moments of his life. That horrible drug they found to be named ‘Black Breath’ by the Colombian drug lords that exploited it, controlled one’s mind entirely. Even to the point of holding on to that peaceful smile while totally ignoring the fact that he just had the life choked out of him.

Then there was the other shorter, now persistently warm wire that was wrapped around Cory’s neck loosely and was still connected to the computer and internet. Next to the computer, Shaw left the smart-ass note about Cory choking on all the information he found on the internet. The message was formed using dissimilar pasted lettering like the letter he received yesterday.

Ed slumped into a chair and sat there for a good fifteen minutes in stunned silence, holding and staring at that short warm cable. He tried to imagine why it maintained a warmth that was much higher than room temperature.

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Now he almost wished the reason for his unrest that afternoon and evening hadn’t dawned on him. The déjà vu moments just seemed to keep piling up lately and this was certainly another one of them.

Carefully replacing the cables and book back into evidence, he retired for the evening trying to make sense of his discovery, knowing full well that there was no earthly reason that could explain it.

* Once the surgeries were successfully completed,

Melanie Taylor decided to reinvent herself, not just once, but twice. She began to develop her plan, one phase after another. Every action and every thought that went into it was influenced by the inspirations she still held on to from her months of working closely with Mark Shaw. She came to truly appreciate the way his brilliant mind worked.

Travel plans, alternate personalities, disguises, equipment, techniques for luring unsuspecting victims, right down to establishing a ‘base of operations’ was all patterned after her intimate understudy of Mark’s business proficiency. It’s not that she wasn’t capable of developing her own deviate plans; but the genius that Mark had exhibited, totally captivated her. The more techniques of his she emulated, the more she felt a warm and ever growing closeness to him.

It didn’t take long to find the perfect building to work from. It was in a semi-remote area, perfectly secluded by mature trees and landscaping, and didn’t require much in the way of alterations to suit her needs. Not only was there sufficient and very comfortable living space, but it also had plenty of workshop area that was ideal for setting up a small chemical lab and make up facility. It also had more than enough storage.

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Before moving in, she hired an out of town contractor to convert a large portion of the building’s space that was already below ground into a secure panic room. Here, all essential components of her base of operations could be hidden. The house was situated on high ground that dropped off sharply in the rear. She designed a tunnel complete with appropriate landscaping that would provide concealment at its end. It was perfect for her intended purposes as it opened up half a block away in a secluded crop of trees and shrubs. This opening was toward the very rear of the property and close to an adjacent road.

As with everyone she came in contact with that had intimate knowledge of any aspect of her planning, the contractor would meet with an unfortunate ‘accident’ thereby leaving nothing but a dead end. This pattern repeatedly occurred throughout her planning.

She would eliminate anything that could eventually lead back to her. This component was absolute in all of her planning. She couldn’t help being amused at the close resemblance this aspect had to the M.O. of the Black Widow spider. That most famous of arachnids was known for getting what it wants through the mating ritual, then killing and often eating its mate. This approach suited her perfectly if you excluded the eating part. She began to think in terms of the Black Widow spider not only building a web to get what it wants, but also to do away with anything that had the potential to incriminate her.

‘Black Widow,' she liked that! This became the second likening to that dreadful arachnid that was bounced around an unscrupulous mind on this day.

‘Some of the most unusual behaviors come, as you would expect, straight from nature. Yes, there’s a lot to be learned from observing the Black Widow spider,’ she thought.

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* The construction phase of her new base of

operations would provide a convenient window for a much-needed business trip. During which an old dear, very eccentric and dangerous friend of Mark’s would be contacted to obtain some essential supplies. The chemical engineer in her tingled with excitement at the prospect.

She would be leaving for her trip tomorrow via a series of private flights. None of the pilots of those flights would be filing flight plans and none of the departures or arrivals would be logged in any airport records.

Since she wasn’t even close to suffering from that dreaded Italian financial condition known as ‘Mafundsarlow’. She had all the cash needed to secure every discreet flight required for her business trip. That trip would be completely off everyone’s radar, literally.

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CHAPTER 8

She began to dress for their encounter, or more accurately,

undress.

Thursday, April 4th, 2013

Maggie Whitman, otherwise known by Bobby

Shaw and many others as Melanie Taylor, had just checked into her distant resort of choice. She registered under her newly developed alias and with her entirely new outward appearance. It was at that exact moment that Ed Cassidy sat down to have lunch with his good friend Bill Weller.

After the usual greetings, the conversation turned predictably to the discovery of Ned Friar and the circumstances surrounding the ongoing investigation into his death.

Bill led with, “Do you have any idea what caused both him and his mother to be found like that, Ed?”

“The fact that they both simultaneously died in the same manner was way beyond coincidental obviously. Connie tells us both autopsies had negative tox screens and that everything she found indicated that they both died from brain aneurysms. While we all know that certain medical conditions are hereditary, that would damn near be a mathematical impossibility given the timing of both deaths. She is also routinely doing an HPLC test to check for our recently discovered appalling drug of choice in any case that seems suspicious like these,” was Ed’s reply. He swore he observed Bill being more fidgety than usual.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ed, I don’t like speaking ill of the dead and all but Ned was running downhill on a

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career path pointing to nothing but the unemployment line. He had a really rough life, what with his drinking and his other bad habits. The fact that he never got married and was still living with his mother was as good a testament as any to what excessive drinking can do to you. He also wasn’t the most charismatic or good looking guy either.

“Hell, truth be told I don’t believe he could have got laid in a woman's prison with a handful of pardons,” Bill concluded in his usual colorful way.

Ed began the delicate questions he needed to ask Bill. He started with, “Be that as it may, Bill, the main reason I wanted to have lunch with you today is I found something. It’s something I can’t explain in the middle of the Friar murders that involves you.”

“Wow, Ed, with an opening like that, you’ve got me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!” said Bill. He eyed Ed suspiciously and wondered what he could be referring to.

Ed went on to explain about the note he received and how it got him thinking. The suspicious message it contained and its timing that had to be connected with the Friar murders. Every bit of investigating experience he accumulated over the years was telling him to consider the deaths in the Friar case as murders.

He also related his thought process and what he found when he checked on the journal. That being a logical place to start since all the recent attention was brought to it with the Peterson series of articles. Then he told Bill about finding the newer looking book with much less wear and tear on it that turned out to be blank as he studied Bill’s face carefully for any reaction. Eventually, he got to the video he found with Bill in it and how unclear it was in what it showed about Bill’s actions as far as returning the journal to

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the evidence box. For now he intentionally left out his discovery of the ‘warm wire’ he found in the box.

“Well hell, Ed, why don’t you just come right out and ask me if I switched the journal with the blank one? I thought we knew each other better than to have you think I’d do anything like that to the evidence in a case that was as relevant to our careers as this one was,” said Bill. He was feeling quite indignant, and visibly shaken at the moment not to mention disappointed in what his friend was implying.

“Bill, if you know me at all, you know I simply have to check out every angle no matter who it involves. I have two bodies in the morgue that need explaining and one very missing book that would be inconceivably dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. Do I think those hands are yours? Of course not, Bill, but the video shows that no one else accessed it but you. Mind you I do not forget for an instant that the most obvious and in the end probable candidate would be Ned himself. Checking his financials we found that he was about to lose his house. That would provide the most obvious motive for slipping the book out and possibly selling it to the press. But I have to ask you, Bill, did you have anything to do with the swapping of the journal with a blank for any reason?”

Well, there it was. Now it was right out in the open, naked as a jaybird so to speak in Bill’s mind. Not exactly an indictment but definitely a question that carried a tone of accusation.

“Not in a million, Ed! What would I do with it, sell it to Susan, nosey-bitch Peterson? You have got to know me better than that, Ed. I read the same articles from that self-serving bitch that you did and just wanted to make sure the cursed book was secure that’s all. Once I saw that is was, I couldn’t help taking a peek at the contents. Hell, the damn thing IS

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like a magnet and it brought back some very unpleasant memories, truth-be-told, but I put it right back where I found it when I was done.

“Sorry the video didn’t show that better, but that’s what I did. Hell, if anything I’d be inclined to burn the damn thing but I didn’t take it, Ed, I swear,” said Bill.

“I’m sure that’s the way it went down, Bill, but I had to ask. Don’t be offended. Just doing the job and all, are we good?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It just seems like that damn book refuses to lie quiet somehow. I almost wish I did take it and run right to a priest to perform an exorcism on it then return it to see if that would help. That is, once again, if I could overcome the temptation to burn the damned thing instead,” Bill quipped, with his nerves obviously on edge.

“Well, you know all roads are leading to Susan nosey-bitch Peterson, as you put it,” concluded Ed.

“I thought you’d like to be in on that interview for old time’s sake.”

“Ready when you are,” said Bill. They went on to finish their lunch, now that the trumpeting of the seven-ton elephant in the room had died down, but he still remained bothered by Ed’s questioning.

* She just finished her article on the Friar case

highlighting the lack of developments given to the press by the police investigating the case. Susan Peterson decided that now could be the perfect time to leverage more public opinion toward getting the contents of Mark Shaw’s journal revealed.

Knowing that she was even further from getting her hands on it through devious means, she needed to keep pushing all the buttons she could. She hoped to one day be able to write the crowning finale to her series of articles. All the while knowing that if she

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continued to lead the charge for the journal's release to the public, she would be at the head of the line to review it.

Her next move to acquire the coveted journal had the wheels in her head turning and their spin was only briefly interrupted as Ed and Bill arrived. Once they concluded their admittedly futile interview with the newswoman, they left after getting nothing of worth from her.

She was Susan Peterson and would not stop until she got her prize. The problem was she didn’t realize that it was no longer in police custody and out of her reach completely.

* Her recent research enabled her to arrange a very

critical meeting for later that afternoon. First things first! She donned her bikini and began working on her tan to remove the ghostly skin tone painted on by a long cold winter season. Back home, winter was finally releasing its grip on the Chicago area until next year.

She wouldn’t be able to catch these kinds of rays in Illinois for another couple of months. It was a welcome indulgence that she could easily explain away through trips to the local tanning bed if she encountered any hometown curiosity.

As she looked at the pool area and all the well proportioned Speedo-wearing Colombian men that were present, otherwise known as eye candy, she couldn’t help being appalled by the women wearing skimpy thongs. Several had no business wearing them. She was watching one such lady in particular that just left the pool. As she walked away from Mel heading for a chaise lounge, she couldn’t help thinking the woman had so much ‘junk in her trunk’

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that it looked like two Buicks fighting for a parking spot.

Realizing she had to take the good with the bad, she eventually left the pool area with a melancholy feeling of optimism for her afternoon’s meeting.

* “Aahh, Miss Whitman, or may I call you, Melanie?

You are as lovely as I imagined you would be. I share your sadness at the news of my good friend Mr. Shaw’s passing. It must have been hard on you having worked so close with him, yes?” her host offered up by way of an all knowing introduction.

He was Alejandro Mendez, known locally as ‘el mensajero negro del Diablo’ or ‘the devil’s black messenger’. He had a way of setting the tone of any meeting by tipping his hand as to how thoroughly he checked out everyone. They would eventually be hooded and driven to his very private hacienda by his trusted guards for a meeting he didn’t grant to just anybody.

If she didn’t pass his extensive checks for financial status and lack of law enforcement affiliations, she would be dead in her suite at the Occidental Grand. Instead, she was here enjoying the spectacular view and landscaping of this very remote location.

“You are quite the handsome gentleman as well, Mr. Mendez. Thank you for accepting my humble request to do business with you, and yes, Melanie would be fine,” she sheepishly offered. Her tone was one of absolute respect for the power she knew he could easily wield anytime he wanted to.

“Please, here and only here, call me Alejandro as we are to be discreet business friends from this point out, huh? Let us walk through the garden that Mark so enjoyed on his visits here with me. I assume you would like more of the product he found so

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interesting. It is exclusive to our country and can be a very useful tool,” he said guiding the conversation to its apparently intended subject.

“You are wise beyond what I was led to believe, Alejandro. Yes, I would like twenty grams of your exclusive product as well as ten grams of cocaine. I am sure I will find none better available in the states than I can purchase from you here,” she requested.

“As with our sadly departed friend, I would be glad to provide you these things. The details of which will be handled on your way out, but now we must raise a glass to our friend Mark. I knew him for a short time but was aware of his sharp mind and the discretion I knew he possessed. I am quite confident that you have these same qualities and that you know how important this is to my business,” he offered her by way of a veiled threat.

She just accepted the glass of fine wine offered to her and said, “To Mark, may his memory live long in our hearts.” She dismissed the feeling of danger that was all around her and began to actually enjoy the beauty of his property.

On her way out, she took care of the ‘paperwork’ with Alejandro’s ‘bookkeeper’ and most trusted confidant, Hector. She was looking forward to a relaxing and somewhat exciting evening with the ‘black messenger’s’ courier. Hector assisted her in hand picking her companion for the evening from an impressive stable of hired help. She had her choice of male or female, tall or short, athletic or perfectly rounded, drugged or clean variety of entertainment for the evening. The ever cautious Alejandro never allowed a customer to leave his hideaway with the merchandise on their person for obvious reasons.

With her nerves having settled down from the tense meeting with one of the most powerful drug

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lords in South America, she turned her thoughts to a productive practice run with her personally selected soon-to-be companion. She chose a very handsome and athletic looking drug-free date for the evening. Knowing he would be utterly disposable, it promised to be the perfect practice run for using her new drug.

She began to dress for their encounter, or more accurately, undress.

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CHAPTER 9 “I guess we know why it didn’t work a second time!”

Friday, April 5th, 2013

Ed remained baffled at the warmth that didn’t

cease to radiate from the network cable he checked out of the evidence room. It was in his office desk drawer for twenty-four hours and hadn’t cooled off at all. It wasn’t hot, but he could feel the very noticeable warmth of the interior of his desk drawer. Everything in there was now warmer than room temperature.

“Come on in, Roger, it’s great to finally meet you. You come highly recommended. I understand you were not only roommates with the last FBI tech we worked with, Cory Seaver, but you graduated within the top five in your graduating class at M.I.T. as he did. Very impressive!” Ed complemented, as he welcomed the new computer tech from the FBI. He could only hope that Roger would turn out to be half as good as Cory was.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, Cory was a close friend and we consulted each other regularly. He is sorely missed by all of us. We were equals in so many ways. I miss having his brilliant mind to bounce ideas and concepts off of as well as the numerous times we would each finish the other’s thoughts simultaneously during discussions over cases. I feel like I lost more than a co-worker, more than a brother. I lost a soul mate,” said Roger.

“Well, thanks for the promotion Roger. I’m being told Lieutenant is a real possibility, but I’m afraid it’s still Inspector. I wasn’t as close to Cory as you were, but I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to work closely with him on the Shaw case. I’m sure you

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are aware of the facts involving that ill-fated crime spree,” Ed continued as he mentally fumbled for a way to bring the ‘warm wire’ into the conversation.

“I guess there is no way to dance around my main reason for reaching out to you Roger so here goes!”

Then Ed launched into the recent discovery of the blank journal and the consistently warm network cable he found next to it several days ago. He insisted that it wasn’t that way previously as he handled it often during evidence collection and occasionally during the trial.

“I mean feel it, Roger. I certainly would have, hell anyone that came into contact with it during the trial would have, noticed this much heat coming off an inanimate object like this,” he concluded. He handed the cable to Roger.

“I see what you mean. This is a lot warmer than it should be. I’m sure it’s a dumb question but, has it been next to a monitor, computer cooling fan or any other heat source just prior to my arrival?”

“No silly questions when I’m as mystified as I am about that cable, but no. It hasn’t been near any heat sources. In fact, I find myself frequently waving it around the room trying to cool it off to no avail.”

“Well Ed, it is a network cable that was functional the last time Cory plugged it in. Do you have a computer that you aren’t using? We may as well connect it up and see if it still works. I’m not sure what else to do with it here. Can I take it back to our lab when we are done or is that an evidence faux pas?” asked Roger.

“I can sign it out to you for a little while, but no more than a week please. We can use this computer here,” he said pointing to a machine that wasn’t turned on and looked like it was nobody’s favorite.

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Roger used the computer cable to connect the unused computer to the department’s local network connection. The machine began to boot up as they both stared at the computer monitor, each not knowing what they expected to find there. The machine progressed past the initial startup screen, went to the Windows four flying colors that magically twisted across the computer’s display and culminated in the Windows logo when the screen suddenly went blank. To their mutual amazement, there appeared two open eyes at the top of the screen. There was also a two-word message below the eyes in the middle of the screen that lasted only two or three seconds then it began to quickly fade away until was all gone! The screen blanked out completely and the regular departmental desktop appeared as the computer finished its final startup sequence, by displaying the Winnetka police login screen!

Stunned, they trained their now wide-eyed stares on each other, with mouths open, both scarcely breathing and trying to find the words to describe what they each just saw. Their eyes betrayed their thoughts and nothing really needed to be said. Ed broke the silence. He said, “Roger, I hope you’re half as good at weeding through these types of hints, signs, clues, or whatever other name you’d be comfortable in calling them as Cory was. You’ll have to excuse me if I seem distracted here. This is yet another déjà vu moment added to the pile that’s been growing almost daily around here lately!”

Roger continued, “You did see what I saw didn’t you, Ed?”

Ed replied, “I did if you saw the same two words that I did below those freakishly familiar eyes! The entire image is burned in my memory. It’s still glowing there right now and I don’t think I will ever

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be able to forget it! The two words I saw were, ‘SUBWAY SAP’ then they were gone!”

“I say we try that one again, Ed,” said Roger as he repeated the sequence after first shutting the computer down.

They waited for the screen to reappear after the Windows logo like two little kids seeing a small shark in a fish tank for the first time. Their eyes anxiously darting this way and that, followed any screen movement as it occurred, but the message didn’t appear this time. Roger repeated the sequence again and nothing happened that time either.

“Let’s try another idle machine, Ed,” suggested Roger as he reached for the cable to unplug it.

That’s when he froze right where he was, looked up from his task and started freaking Ed out once again with a new wide-eyed stare.

“Now what?” asked Ed.

Roger didn’t reply. He slowly handed Ed the disconnected network cable. The transfixed look on Roger’s face seemed to transfer to his arm and hand, through the cable, through Ed’s hands and right to his face as he accepted the now room temperature cable from Roger.

They both took a deep sigh of disbelief as they dropped slowly into the chairs that were fortunately positioned where they needed to be to keep the two of them from hitting the floor.

Ed finally broke their combined silence saying, “I guess we know why it didn’t work a second time!”

“Yeah, but I would still like to take it to our lab. I promise to have it back in two days,” Roger finally said having caught enough breath to get that much out.

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They discussed at length what the two words they saw briefly on the screen could mean and if it could possibly relate to the Friar cases Ed was deep into investigating. He started a crime board to capture the facts of the cases and was frugal with the layout. Somehow he suspected that room for a ton of information would be needed before this one was over with.

A different set of case complexities were developing already, not the least of which was, ‘How much of this should I entrust to Bill?’ This wasn’t the only thing running through Ed’s mind as he pondered the few items on his board. He still held out hope that this new investigation, which was starting to command more and more of his attention, wouldn’t develop into another complicated Shaw case. The optimism he held gradually slipped away as he tried to imagine working such a case while simultaneously executing the new duties of lieutenant that he would soon be burdened with.

* “Welcome, Juan, I’ve been anxiously awaiting your

company!” exclaimed Melanie as her date for the evening slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her in close for their first of many intimate kisses.

Juan wasn’t a big talker. He didn’t need to be as Melanie’s body quickly responded to his ‘actions speak louder than words’ techniques. It had been much too long since Melanie had such intimate companionship that was solely intent on following her every lead. He allowed her to guide their first dance together until they both finally stopped, nearly breathless from exhaustion. It was then that Melanie got her mind temporarily back on task. She now knew how to best play her new lover to her advantage.

Slipping out of the bedroom to get them some refreshments, she prepared some of the newly

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delivered Black Breath drug, mixing it with a small amount of water while her back was to Juan. She then made a show of opening a bottle of wine and seductively pouring them each a glass. The delicious red wine she carried back, swished gently, catching the low light of the bedroom’s only illumination coming from the night stand candles, one on each side of the bed. As she narrowed the gap between them. Her body began to tingle all over as she felt his hands grasping, rubbing and probing her in all the right places even though she was still halfway across the room.

Juan hardly noticed the gleam of the light in the glasses as he only had eyes for Melanie’s sauntering nude body which had finally reached the bed. The other thing Juan wouldn’t notice was the two well-placed drops of her Black Breath mixture. Knowing exactly where her lover would kiss her first, made the decision of where to best locate the drug easy, and Juan didn’t fail her presumptions. Then, within seconds he seemed to shift mental gears into neutral, almost pleading for direction with his eyes.

“Juan, look deep into my eyes and tell me I’m the only one!” she told him and he did so immediately confirming his new status of mental slave to her.

She started out by initially having him do things which she now knew were contrary to his previously tender approach to their lovemaking. His unquestioning obedience when she suggested rough treatment from him demonstrated the controlling spell he was now under. Further testing the limits of the drug’s hold on Juan, she directed him to carve her initials on his chest which he was very willing to do with the very sharp knife she brought for amusement.

Well, this was just incredible! How far would he actually go? Knowing that this wasn’t the place to find

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out, she patched up her new initials on his chest and they dressed to leave the hotel inconspicuously.

Now it was time to test the extreme limits of the drug out in the wild, and her mind was bubbling over with hoops to have him jump through. After a short drive to a remote area down a dirt road, less than five miles from the resort, Juan was given the ‘toys’ that would allow him to demonstrate the absolute control that could be obtained from such a small amount of Black Breath. He didn’t disappoint her.

She kept her distance from the self-inflicted carnage as her puppet danced on the imaginary strings she pulled until there was only enough of him left for one last kiss. A kiss that she knew would deliver the second, lethal dose of Black Breath, as she raised her shirt gave Juan his last command.

Juan’s final act went just as anticipated. His reactions exactly matched Alejandro’s explanation of reactions to the drug. A single very small dose of Black Breath was really all it took to develop absolute mind control over a victim. A second dose delivered before the three to four days it usually took for the drug to wear off on its own, always proved instantly fatal.

As she guided his mouth to the second well placed drop of the drug. The exhilaration she felt from Juan’s obedience quickly turned to amazement at how rapidly that last fatal kiss turned his strong, athletic body into a lifeless slumping mass of motionless flesh.

With the training wheels off, she left his incredible body in the nearby woods right where it dropped. She had concluded her initial experiments with the latest addition to her drug arsenal while also providing some nourishment for the local wildlife. On the way back to her Occidental Grand Suite, she couldn’t help wondering if Juan’s newly adjusted body chemistry

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would have any effect on the wildlife destined to eventually consume him.

*

Saturday, April 6th, 2013 The possibilities were now truly endless! While it

was good to be home again, the uses of that unbelievable drug boggled even her mind. Knowing the trip to Colombia was undetected both leaving and arriving back into the country, provided her with an insulating layer of mental security that she felt was necessary. Discreetly obtaining the perfect drug was vital to her strategy of remaining cloaked during and after the execution of the campaign that was about to unfold. The undetectable route out and back into the country was due in no small part to the ingenious travel itinerary arranged with a healthy dose of imagination. Now it was time to get down to business. She was well stocked with the drugs she needed. As a chemical engineer, she marveled at the Black Breath drug’s functionality and potential uses. Also having gained enough experience with its use to be as efficient as needed would provide the fuel for her odious intent.

With her lair almost complete and her ‘actors’ ready and anxious to play their parts, short lived though they may be, she couldn’t wait to get started. Once again she tingled with excitement at what was in store for the unfortunate list of those involved in Mark’s demise.

It sure felt like SHOWTIME!

Part Two

The Web Strengthens

“The board is set... the pieces are moving!”

Lord of the Rings - Gandalf

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CHAPTER 10

“….then it’ll be a party! What do you think guys? Fun or

what?”

Friday, April 19th, 2013

It was a very frustrating two weeks since Ed

confronted Bill, and they had talked very little after that meeting. Ed sensed he hit the wrong nerve with him as evidenced by how scarce he had become since. While he wasn’t happy about the resultant strain on their relationship, he refused to apologize for doing his job. They had become quite close since Bill joined the task force they created to solve the Shaw murder cases. All leads had to be checked out. In the back of his mind, two conflicting thoughts kept vying for position. Bill’s silence and the distance he was keeping represented either guilt or disappointment. He kept hoping it wasn’t a manifestation of remorse from taking the journal and not wanting to face Ed. Instead, he preferred to look at it as a mere disappointment at his near accusation over the journal’s disappearance. All the while Ed kept hoping the latter would prove true. He was especially saddened because he was looking forward to tipping a few with Bill in celebration of his imminent promotion.

Ed did finally receive the expected good news that he was soon to trade in his inspector’s badge for lieutenant bars. An announcement had been released at a recent morning muster call. It was now posted at the Winnetka police station and a press conference was to be held on the following Wednesday to pass the good news on to the community.

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While he was very excited about advancing to the next step in his law enforcement career, it would be more special if he could share it with Bill as well. He felt a desire to be on good terms with him again. This was due to him beginning to feel a cloud looming overhead, as the Friar case was getting nowhere and he had a bad feeling about how it would develop.

Something about it was just not right. Similarities to the Shaw case were subtly mounting. Bill had been an asset in his own way by lightening up the mood with his wit. Then, strangely enough, by providing a hair-brained, off the wall theory that was shot down by both Ed and M.E. Connie Bristol at the time. In the end, his wild theory that apparently had no merit when first presented, wound up being on the money.

Note to self; take Bill out for some elbow exercise and to reinforce their friendship.

Over the course of the last two weeks, Ed also rolled snake eyes as far as any new leads in the Friar cases. His new buddy Roger Pensky was promoted to Cory’s position as Senior Data Technician at the FBI’s Chicago Office. Roger was as frustrated as Ed after their mutual experience with the ‘warm wire’. That had become the common name used now when they referred to the incident with the Shaw evidence box cable.

‘Damn I hate the frustrations at the beginning of a new case,’ he thought as he dialed Bill’s number.

* That evening, Melanie reflected on her very

successful trip to Colombia, as she got familiar with her new home and its make up amenities. She completed her second successful transformation into the Maggie Whitman alias which changed her hair from short blonde to long red and slightly curly.

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She applied the dainty tattoo to her right upper arm which consisted of a rose with three peacock feathers tastefully arranged around it. Each feather had a heart at the decorative center. She next carefully applied the lower back tattoo which was a black spider’s web. It was triangularly shaped like the rear top of a thong with a black widow spider, the symbol she was associating with often lately, in the center. She saw it and fell in love with the red accent on the spider’s back and the artfully drawn shadows under each leg.

If it weren't for possibly needing plausible deniability in the future, she would have made this tattoo permanent; instead ‘Maggie Whitman’ ordered twenty of them for repeated applications.

With her provocative stiletto heels, low-cut cream colored top trimmed in pale pink lace accents, ultra short black skirt, and meticulous facial make-up, she was ready to hit the bar of choice for the evening.

It was a carefully selected dive bar hangout for Stateville prison guards called Bada Boom. In recent excursions there, she was exposed to a vast array of entertainment. Among the rock and roll headliners were ‘Tocsyn’, ‘Radiation Thickness’, ‘Narcotyc’, ‘Wide River Coffin’, ‘Audio Dead or Alive’, ‘A.D.D.’, and ‘Kno Lyfe’.

After paying the paltry cover charge, she took up her usual conspicuous spot at the bar allowing the spider on her tattoo full view of the unruly guards at the corner table. They were getting more boisterous with each round of beer served to them by the waitress that looked like she’d rather be anywhere other than here. As ‘Maggie’ sat at the bar, she was forced to listen to tonight’s entertainment. It featured weak vocals, pathetic guitar work that had trouble finding the drummer’s beat and the band’s bloody logo

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on the bass drum loudly proclaiming their name; ‘Crude Cranial Collapse’.

This was her third trip to this dive. She was just beginning to wonder what it would take to catch the attention of a bunch of half-drunk prison guards when the largest one of the group made his way over to the bar.

His extremely well thought out pick up line consisted of sloshing his half empty beer mug in the general direction of her back saying, “Does she bite?”

“Only if she’s left unsatisfied,” was the seductive answer volleyed back to him accompanied by the lascivious look in her eyes and a slow lip licking sexy smile.

He didn’t need a road map to gauge her intent so he offered his hand saying, “I’m Clubber, uh I mean, I’m Donny. Would the lovely lady like to join our little party?”

“Sure, Donny. What’s the occasion?” Mel asked.

“Oh, just the usual end of the week Friday night elbow exercise. Me and the boys like to stay in shape that way,” he replied.

“Barkeep, bring two more of whatever the lady is drinking to our table and put it on my tab,” he said as she accepted his arm on their way to meet the other guards.

“Why thank you, Donny. Shall we?”

‘Finally! With any luck this would be the last night I’ll have to suffer through the putrid music and stink at this bar,’ she thought. Then she joined the innocent small talk intending to find out what she needed to know about certain prison activities.

It’s amazing what the right outfit, the right body and a few beers will do to loosen the lips of prison guards. They couldn’t brag quickly enough or long

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enough about the dangerous characters that they kept at bay daily at Stateville prison. In short order, she zeroed in on the three incarcerated doctors. They were considered cupcakes compared to the rest of the inmates there, but she used them as cover in the conversation, drawing out details of how insignificant their burden was during certain movements and activities there.

‘Clubber’ was not shy at all in revealing his role in keeping the truly hardened criminals in line and she was able to focus in on him as the asset needed for her purposes. It was hardly a challenge at all to set up a date with him on the following Tuesday, a day specifically calculated for her purposes.

*

Saturday, April 20th, 2013 Melanie Taylor wrote out the final check in

payment for a project well done. This was after a thoroughly satisfying review of the now completed construction on her new secluded property. The check made out to the Premier Construction Group, which was the small but efficient company consisting of just four employees who worked out of the construction trailer where she was now meeting with PCG’s two owners. It was moored alongside a rented two car garage that they used for equipment storage in nearby Wheeling, Illinois when it wasn’t on a job site.

A critical aspect of writing the check this late in the afternoon on a Saturday was that she knew it would be in this very trailer until Monday afternoon. The crew would be starting the new project at PCG’s typical workday starting time of 7:00 AM. She knew the owner wouldn’t be leaving for the bank to deposit the check until after work on Monday. A bank trip she knew would never happen!

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“Thank you very much Miss Taylor, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Please let me know if there turns out to be anything we didn’t get right according to your plans,” said Jose Torres, one of the owners.

“Thank you for meeting me on a Saturday afternoon. I hope this didn’t interfere with your weekend plans much. Anyway, it all looks exactly like I envisioned it would. The four of you have done a magnificent job and I plan on recommending your company to a number of my friends who have projects of their own coming up this summer,” she responded.

“Not an inconvenience at all Miss Taylor. We look forward to helping your friends as well and promise to take the same care with their projects as we did with yours,” said Jose’s brother and partner Jimmy.

After some brief small talk, she found out the four of them were starting the renovation of an old currently unoccupied farmhouse on Monday, which was only a few miles north of her new home. She made a mental note to ‘drop by’ with some refreshments for the friendly crew that did such an excellent job. They also, unfortunately, knew every detail of her layout as she watched Jose place her check in the top right drawer of his trailer desk.

*

Monday, April 22nd, 2013 She arrived fifteen minutes before their morning

break with sweet rolls and coffee. Being familiar with their work routines, she had no trouble catching them at the ideal time with the perfect refreshments.

‘Ah, there it is! Their office/on-site construction trailer that they used for project central to their jobs’, she thought as she noted the location of their trailer sitting right next to the barn. It was parked nice and close to the side of the barn and just to the right of the

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main door. It was removed from the path of normal construction activities but was a handy, ever present, on-site reference for information on all PCG projects. It was ever at the ready with particulars of not only the job they were currently working on, but all the information needed for quoting new projects and referring to past completed ones.

“Well hello, Miss Taylor! What brings you out here this morning?” asked Jimmy as she exited her Alu-Beam Silver Mercedes SLS Class Roadster. Nothing but the best for her! She was very careful to remain on the crushed gravel driveway and off the dirt yard leaving no tire tracks.

“I wanted to start your next job off right with your usual favorite morning break items as a show of my appreciation,” she replied. She began to spread out the donuts and box of Joe on the hood of her car for the crew.

“Thanks, Miss T,” said Paul beating the other three to the goodies as he began helping himself to the pick of the donuts.

She watched as they all eagerly dug into the donuts and sipped the coffee while waiting for the desired effect the ingredient she added to the donuts would surely have on them.

This was her first time using the new Colombian acquisition in this manner and couldn’t wait to see how well it worked. She placed a tiny amount of ‘Black Breath’ on each donut. Once they had all finished their first donut, took a sip of coffee and were about to reach for another, she made her announcement to the group.

“Gentlemen, please stop eating for just a moment, drop your coffee cups and show me your most toothy smiles!” she requested with much anticipation.

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The response was like a choreographed dance team. They all instantly did as they were told, each splashing their work boots with coffee and eagerly awaited her next request after donning ear to ear grins!

“Outstanding men! Outstanding! Now I want you to return to work while I remove these remaining donuts. In ten minutes, I would like you all to gather in the center of the old rickety barn there. Paul is going to bring that great big old can of diesel fuel in with you all and open the top. Jimmy will then drive your Bobcat into the building and smash into one of the main center beams causing it to collapse. Next, John will flick his cigarette into the can of diesel fuel and then it’ll be a party! What do you think guys? Fun or what?” she concluded to four smiling heads that were now nodding in unison like a bunch of bobbleheads with wide-eyed looks of amusement and anticipation on their faces, still locked in those ridiculous grins.

“Great! I’ll be off then because there is so much to accomplish today,” she said with hurried enthusiasm. She placed the coffee, cups, and remaining donuts into a plastic bag that she flung into the open barn door onto a dry bail of tattered hay that would soon be ablaze.

Then she grabbed two five gallon cans of diesel fuel from the stack they always had on hand to fuel the Bobcat. This was a very handy habit they had developed to avoid multiple trips to a gas station. She opened one can and tipped it over onto its side, and watched the fuel form an ever-widening puddle in the dirt under the front end of the Premier Construction Group’s office trailer. The front was where they had a good sized rack which stored all their project prints. The rack was right next to an area where their office

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computers were at the ready to assist in ordering project material and answering email.

She next went inside with a second can, opened the cover and placed it inside the trailer between the computers and the print rack after carefully pouring some of the fuel on the desk and prints. She then removed her check from the top right drawer, placed it in the puddle of fuel and moved the open can outside next to the rest. Next she got back into her pricey ride to leave the construction site fighting the strong urge to stay and watch the fireworks.

Her better judgment prevailed. She was thinking ‘I must avoid being seen too close to the explosion in the unlikely event that anyone should happen by.’ Just then, John flicked his cigarette into the pool of diesel fuel as previously instructed and ignited an enormous explosion, instantly engulfing the contents of the barn. The fire quickly spread to the adjacent construction trailer kicking off a second massive explosion which destroyed all records of the work PCG did in her new home/lair/panic room/escape tunnel. This would be one of the few orchestrations that would not merit a note to Ed Cassidy.

‘We don’t want to draw any personal attention to the destruction of those very personal records now do we? Besides, to anyone investigating this unfortunate tragedy, it would appear to be just another careless construction accident. They really should be more careful with fuel storage on these projects,’ she thought driving away and contemplating which strands would be added next to her web of revenge.

About one mile down the road she felt the explosion of that stack of cans. Half of them were full which would burn for quite a while, and several of them empty which made for the multiple explosions now lighting up all three of her rear view mirrors.

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The barn and trailer were now totally engulfed in the bright orange and yellow flames that were pushing a huge black cloud up into the sky temporarily darkening a portion of the early spring sunshine. ‘Mission accomplished!’ she thought as she drove on to begin the next item on today’s busy to-do list.

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CHAPTER 11

‘There isn’t a guy on the planet that I couldn’t snag with that

technique,’

Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013

Last week proved to be equally busy and

rewarding as Melanie Taylor spent it gathering information on various targets of interest. Among them were Bobby Shaw, Susan Peterson, Ed Cassidy, Bill Weller, Connie Bristol M.D, Doctor Rick Holden as well as several others. The voids in her required data were filled in quite nicely as she mentally envisioned all the round pegs going into the round holes and the square ones where they belonged in the square holes.

Yes, she was thinking that everything was coming together nicely, as her cell phone began playing the very distinctive ringtone programmed for her sister’s calls. It was Bob Seger’s ‘The Fire Down Below’ which she always thought fit Marcie so well.

“Hi sis, I was just thinking about you! How’s tricks?” Mel asked her twin.

“Great. I have someone you need to meet as soon as you can burn a hole in that busy schedule of yours to scoop up a little sister love,” she replied.

“Can’t wait! It needs to be a whole girl’s night out, but actually we do need to put it off for a bit. Things are heating up here. Before getting into any of that, I wanted to thank you first for the excellent job you did covering for me while I was out of town. Also, I was hoping we could meet for lunch tomorrow. Sis-Love will definitely be on the menu. I have some new mischief to tell you all about and you’re going to just

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love it! And then, somewhere in there I’ll need my precious twin to do a little more covering for me at the clinic. The old To-Do List is packed this week and I need to keep up appearances,” said Mel.

“You know I will, but when will you have something a little juicier than covering at the clinic for me, you know, all work, no play and all that?” Marcie asked using her mischievously coy voice.

“Soon enough, you know I won’t leave my ‘younger’ sister out in the cold for too long. I just have a very tight schedule over the next few days. I really can’t wait to tell you all about it over lunch. See you at the usual place around 11:30?”

“Sounds like fun! I’ll be there.”

* “Doctor Holden’s office, can I help you?” was the

very professional greeting given to Mel when she called to get an appointment with the now single Doctor Rick Holden. He was the incompetent doctor that started this whole mess by botching Allison’s surgery and sending Mark into an ill-fated revenge spree. Her recent research uncovered that Rick has been very much playing the field looking for love since his wife was the first to be taken by Mark last November. His practice and reputation took massive hits as his role was revealed to the public by Susan Peterson, now his favorite reporter as well.

“Yes, I need to set up an appointment for an augmentation consultation. Is there anything available this week?” asked Mel.

“As a matter of fact, we could make it for this Thursday afternoon. Doctor Holden’s last appointment for the day is open at 3:00 pm if that works for you,” replied the secretary.

“That would be great. I’ll see him then,” she said smiling as she booked her appointment under the

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name of Louise Fairchild. She then hung up one of the several burner phones she kept for any potentially incriminating phone calls in keeping with her number one rule of leaving nothing able to be traced back to her.

* ‘Great! Finally the big break I have been hoping

for!’ thought Susan Peterson as she read the email she had just received.

“That’s great news! I can’t wait! Just let me know the time and place where we can meet and I’ll be there. How did you get your hands on it?” she asked in her reply to the email.

The response came quickly, “Never mind how I got it. I just stole it and really can’t risk it being found in my possession. I’m also very nervous about being caught in the act of turning this book over to you. I just went to great lengths and enormous personal risk to rip this book off. It has actually changed hands several times recently but now I have it,” the email read.

“How can I be sure it’s the real deal?” she replied.

“Don’t worry, one look will convince you. I can’t be sure that you won’t have a camera crew or photographer around to capture the moment of exchange, despite what I know you’ll say about that. This is the way it’s going down. Be at Little Ricky’s Rib joint on Lincoln Avenue at 11:30 am, ALONE! Sit at the second table from the rear by the restrooms and if everything looks ok, I’ll have the meeting place written on a piece of paper and passed to you there. This way I can be assured that we’ll be alone when and where we meet for the transfer.”

“You’re the boss. I’ll be there alone at 11:30 am,” she wrote back remaining skeptical that the book was authentic. After all, it was being kept under strict

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guard and she was still struggling with who the email came from. “Why would he of all people agree to just give me the journal?”

He signed off with, “Great, just follow my instructions and you’ll get the journal. It’s absolutely critical that no one knows you got this, especially from me, and definitely not before I get it back into my possession. This book is hot, Susan, and this has to be played right or so help me there will be severe repercussions! I promise you that! I plan on fixing two things today that are long overdue. First, what actually went down needs to be exposed to the public. Second, Doctor Holden is about to finally get his due for putting this big mess in motion in the first place and for causing all the grief that resulted from his negligence!”

“I promise no one will know I’ve seen it until after I get it back to you and I’ll never reveal my source but be careful! Don’t do anything stupid. You got the book, apparently undetected. Don’t blow it by messing with Holden and drawing attention to yourself!’ she replied but got no response back from her new email pal. Looking at her watch she noticed that it was 11:15 am. He left her just enough time to get to the restaurant for the hand off and not enough time to arrange for a camera crew. So she moved quickly, barely able to contain her excitement as she grabbed her coat and headed out to meet the promised messenger.

* Susan was so excited to see someone walk through

the front door on time that she initially didn’t realize she recognized the man approaching her. He was wearing a loose fitting army jacket and a cap pulled way down on his face. He had both hands in his coat pockets, was keeping his head low and looking at the floor as he approached her table.

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She started to greet him as he reached her, but his hand went up to his mouth in a “shh! Don't talk” gesture. He didn’t stop at the table. Instead, he kept walking right into the restrooms but he snuck the journal under her hands on the way by.

She was surprised to see her actual contact instead of the messenger she was anticipating. Equally stunning was actually receiving the journal instead of a note telling her where to go to get it. She opened the book and started reading it immediately. The restaurant, all its contents, and time itself suddenly slipped into a quiet disappearing cloud that was moving away from her, fading in the distance. It was as if she too had come under the spell of the cursed book. Her entire focus became riveted to the writing that spilled across each page of the journal. She had waited so long to read it and became so engrossed in the book that she didn’t notice her benefactor walk back past her on his way out of the restaurant. The camera filming the entire exchange from across the street also went entirely unnoticed.

* “It is just too much of a coincidence, Ed, and way

too damn much of a long shot. In all my years as a medical examiner, I have never seen anything close to this. It simply doesn’t smell right, but I have checked, double checked, even triple checked. There is nothing I can find in either of their systems that could have caused this radical of a reaction, especially THAT simultaneously in the two of them!” said the exasperated Cook County medical examiner, Connie Bristol.

“There has to be an answer but again, it’s a great big old chemical universe out there. We learned this before finding the Black Breath drug last year. Targeted testing can always be done if you know what you are looking for. Absent that, we’ve become pretty

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good over the years at eliminating candidates that could possibly have anything even close to this kind of reaction and leave their blood streams so drug-free. I realize that the road to success is always under construction but, I don’t know. I’m stumped and the other four labs I consulted with are each baffled as well. None of us could find anything here that would indicate foul play!” she concluded.

“Thanks, Connie. I know how frustrating this must be for you. We all have utter faith in your abilities and instincts and we’re all right there with you on the exasperation train. All we can do is keep coming at this case from different angles to see if anything ultimately lines up.

“I really wish that Bill and I were on better terms right now. Frankly, Connie, I must admit I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t take that damned book. But what if he did remove it from the evidence lockup? I can’t for the life of me think of why he would, or why he’d lie to me about it. If he weren't so damned distant recently, I wouldn’t be harboring these uncertainties at all. I wish he weren't acting suspiciously so we could bounce this off him as well. Maybe he would come up with an angle,” said Ed.

“I’ll keep hitting this thing as well guys but so far, I’ve got nothing!” said FBI Tech Roger Pensky, who was invited to the meeting as well.

* ‘Good! They still don’t have a clue. The drug design

is truly a miracle of science and of my own making. After doing its dirty work, it completely dissolves leaving no trace behind. Actually it leaves a slight trace but they would definitely have to know what they are looking for. It almost cleverly tucks itself away quite nicely once the final seizure locks the body up,’ thought a distant observer after delivering a

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virtual pat on the back over the success of the unique drug formulation.

‘Connie might be the only one capable of finding it though, so I guess her time can’t come soon enough. However, sequencing is critical, first things first. Things need to keep rolling along according to plan. Can’t risk letting emotions derail the frail balance of events so early in the game,’ concluded the observer as the delicate high power microphone was dismantled and carefully stored for transit. The successful eavesdrop was made possible as a result of intercepting Ed’s emails, courtesy of a close friend who was a very talented hacker.

* Melanie rekindled a relationship with one of her

many old college flings, Rick. Rick had many skills that would come in handy, especially since she fully expected there to be no objections to whatever she asked of him. He wasn’t normally quite so agreeable but recently he willingly became her ‘Guy Friday’ since ingesting the dose of Black Breath she so generously and deviously offered him. Once again, the very effective distribution method she developed in Colombia with Juan worked flawlessly. ‘That was genius! There isn’t a guy on the planet that I couldn’t snag with that technique,’ she thought. She smiled and headed out to the next item on today’s busy To-Do List, which happened to be another rehearsal, of sorts.

To read the exciting conclusion to:

VENGEANCE When All That’s Left is Revenge

Book 2 of the

Black Breath Trilogy

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frankmcrae.com

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Don’t miss the exciting prequel to Vengeance.

Book One of the

‘Black Breath Trilogy’

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Book Three of the ‘Black Breath Trilogy’