by Dale Mayer
Well-being and satisfaction permeated the air. Sam curled against him and closed her eyes.
***
2:10 am, June 22nd
The phone rang.
Brandt opened his eyes, struggling to orient himself to the unfamiliar lack of space. He raised his head to find Sam splayed out, fast asleep on his chest. Her bed wasn't intended for someone his size.
The phone rang again.
"Shit." Carefully, he extricated himself from her arms, reaching for his discarded pants and the cell phone in the pocket.
"Hello." Brandt's heart dropped at the voice on the other end. "Right, I'm about a half-hour out."
Standing up, he put the phone away and searched for his briefs. He didn't want to wake her. Neither did he want her to wake up alone. Putting on the briefs, he grabbed his jeans next. While closing the buckle, he glanced over at Sam. She stared at him.
He immediately went to her. "I'm sorry sweetheart." He bent down and kissed her. "I have to go. We have a new victim."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
2:15 am
Ice slipped over her soul at his words. At least they'd found her. She'd been waiting for someone to call this last victim in. She wrapped the blankets tighter around her. The cabin temperature had dropped with the news. Blue crept through her fingers, and her legs had already turned numb. She tucked her legs under and reached for yet another of the cheap blankets stacked on the floor beside her.
"It's her. The one we've been waiting for. The brunette. Her name..." Sam's voice caught in the back of her throat. "Her name is...was Caroline."
A shadow crossed Brandt's face. He nodded to her as he walked out.
"Brandt?" Sam raced to the front door.
Brandt turned to gaze at her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"
"Be careful."
He acknowledged her comment with a nod then he strode over to her, gave her a seriously dangerous kiss, and walked out into the night.
***
2:55 am
On any other day, Brandt would have made record time. But it was just after three on a Sunday morning, and the Saturday night partiers had the city in full swing. Getting to the city was no problem. Navigating to the crime scene was.
"Jesus, Brandt, you must have had a hot date tonight. You aren't usually this late showing up." The forensic team had already arrived. Brandt took their ribbing in good humor, without offering any clue to his whereabouts.
Walking into the suburban brick house, the sense of normalcy struck him. How often did a family-oriented neighborhood hide a heinous crime? Regular two-story homes on city-planned lots surrounded him. Somewhere close would be the elementary school with a high school a little further away, and within walking distance would be the standard corner store.
Bad things did happen to good people. Grimly, he walked into hell.
The odor hit him first – the flies second.
The crime scene had to be several days old. A body in the heat of summer decomposed quickly.
Photographers worked at detailing every little thing. One of the CSI crew stood over the victim, the flashes from his camera creating an irregular staccato pattern. A victim with brunette hair. Brandt stopped in his stride. Amongst the dried blood and body fluids, the pasty white skin shone with an eerie light. Brandt struggled for objectivity. He walked through slowly and calmly, giving each area close scrutiny. Not knowing what to search for, yet he knew he'd recognize it when he saw it.
At the victim's bedside, all attempts at a cool demeanor vanished. The scene was incredibly familiar. Too familiar. Not the hair, not the features...but the injuries. God, the injuries were all too familiar.
Her boyfriend had been out of town. Caroline was supposed to have picked him up at the airport.
"Hey Brandt. The killer took a trophy this time."
With a sinking feeling, Brandt turned to face Kevin and Adam. Kevin couldn't wait. "He cut off her ear."
Christ.
Brandt paused for a moment to honor the dead woman. Now, more determined than ever to catch this killer, he got down to work.
***
9:10 am
Sam checked the roster. There were two new surgical cases to deal with. One still under anesthesia, while the other was awake and definitely pissed. She couldn't blame the poor thing.
He was a lop-eared rabbit who'd lost part of an ear to a dog. A large bandage covered the right side of his head. Sam quickly cleaned his cage and moved on.
With the basics taken care of, Sam headed to the lunchroom to find a cup of tea. She'd held her thoughts locked up until she saw the lunchroom was empty. With a sigh of relief, she collapsed at the table and dropped her head to her arms. Her heart and mind were a mess. She couldn't help being worried about the colonel's fate. Maisy was such a warm loving character, Sam hated her to be suffering the pain of waiting and not knowing.
Brandt had been on her mind all morning, then that was to be expected after last night. Her heart smiled as memories flooded her. Only to be shut down as Deputy Brooker slammed into her thoughts. She looked around nervously. Could he have tracked her to her place of work?
The door opened, startling her.
"Good morning, Sam." A chorus of greetings startled her. She smiled at the group of noisy women collecting around her. Somehow, she'd managed to create friends, without even trying. She didn't know how or why, but found gratitude welling up inside. It helped not to be so alone.
Their chatter swelled and receded and swelled again. Sam rode the waves of utterly bewildering topics from the latest color trend in shoes to the murder victim reported on the morning news. She stayed quiet, not wanting to listen and found it hard not to. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the experience. The thoughts turmoiled around, keeping her off balance and struggling to focus. She worked on keeping her emotions under control. The very name of the victim hurt her deeply. That poor woman.
Eventually, the coffee break ended, sending everyone to their jobs.
The friendly atmosphere followed Sam as she returned to the animals. She realized this was close to the normal life of other people. Instead of an inherent wariness with a guard always in place, other people laughed and joked, at ease with each other. Sam was suddenly hungry for more.
Dr. Wascott came to check on the dog coming out of his drugged state. Sam waited a few minutes, watching the dedicated caring so evident in his actions.
When he was done, she brought up the one subject she'd been waiting to discuss. "Sir," she said diffidently, "Soldier has re-injured himself."
The vet frowned. "How bad? What did he do?"
When she described the wound, the vet nodded. He went over to one of the many floor-to-ceiling cabinets and took out a small tube.
"Here is an antibiotic cream. Use this on the open wound for a few days. If it doesn't get better then you'll have to bring him in."
"I don't think he'll like that."
The vet grimaced. "Truthfully, neither will I. Only we can't have him getting an infection from his ripped stitches."
"Okay, I'll see how he responds to this."
Her day almost done, Sam quickly finished up, grabbed the new cream, and headed out. Once free of work, her thoughts automatically returned to the one subject she'd refused to focus on. Caroline.
She grimaced. Caroline had become the ultimate victim and Sam had been acting like one all along as well. She'd let this asshole control her every waking moment and many of her sleeping ones too. In order to regain control, she had to stop being afraid. In order to control the fear she had to be progressive. And just how the hell was she supposed to make that happen? The fear wouldn't stop overnight. She'd possibly have it forever.
Running a hand over her tired face, Sam vowed to stop letting the fear control her. It was going to take constant vigilance to stay on top of this. She'd been afraid most of her life and this wasn't going to stop simply because she'd decided differently this moment. Still, power welled deep within her. She couldn't just si
t here any longer and wait for him to pull her strings like a puppeteer.
It was time she pulled a few of her own.
***
9:24 am
"Finally." He punched his heavy fist in the air. Jesus H. Christ, he could die himself before the fucking police actually got their heads on straight. He bet this was all over the Internet.
He rubbed his thick fingers over the top of his almost bald head. He'd need to shave again soon. But now he could relax. His victim had been found. Finally. He was tired but happy. There was no joy when his prize was decomposing without someone to watch and fuss over her. He grinned – that lopsided endearing movement as women described it. Before they got to know who and what he really was.
How long before the police actually received his surprise. He felt a moment of misgiving at his spontaneous action, then tossed it off. They'd never figure it out. He rubbed his thick hands together and gloated.
The gift should be nice and ripe by then.
***
10:03 am
Brandt yawned, feeling his face crack and splinter. God he was tired. He shouldn't have come in to work without catching a few hours of sleep, only he'd felt driven by the need to do something constructive. Besides, he might never sleep again. Not after that crime scene. That poor woman had been sliced and diced and Brandt could only feel grateful the killer hadn't been into cooking and eating too.
The forensic evidence wasn't in yet. The autopsy would be soon. All Brandt could do was wait.
He laid his head down on his crossed arms on the desk. He'd just rest his eyes for a minute. That's all he needed.
His phone rang a little later. Bleary-eyed he stared, uncomprehending at the noisy black machine. Sam? Rubbing his hand over his face, he reached for the receiver.
"Hello," he mumbled in a grainy voice. Reaching for his coffee cup, he took a drink to ease his throat. He choked and spluttered on the clammy cold drink, grimaced, and drank another sip. Caffeine was caffeine.
"Brandt, are you okay?"
Not Sam.
His mother. Damn, he'd forgotten. "Mom, I'm fine. How's the colonel?"
"He's still unconscious, but he does appear a little more peaceful now."
"But he hasn't woken up?" Brandt tried to smother a yawn and failed. He needed to talk to the colonel, if and when that was possible. He wanted to call Sam too, just to hear her voice. A warm light wrapped around his heart.
"No. Not yet."
Maisy sounded as tired as he felt. He hurt for her. It was hard to sit and wait when someone you cared about was hurting.
"Brandt, are you there?"
Brandt shook himself. "Yeah, Mom, I'm here." He checked at his watch. "Are you still at the hospital?"
"I'm here again now. I went home, had a shower, and came back in. I don't want him to wake up alone."
"It's almost lunchtime. Why don't I come by and pick you up? We'll go out for a bite to eat together." He could still check in with Sam, take his mom out for lunch and be back in time to tackle his heaped desk.
Maisy hesitated.
"Mom, come on. It would be good for both of us."
She capitulated. "Alright. But just for a bite."
Brandt checked his watch. "Good. I'll finish up here in another hour or so. Then I'll come by and pick you up."
Brandt rang off and stretched. He needed to check his emails and talk to his boss. Neither should take too long.
Bringing up his email, Brandt checked the couple of dozen messages waiting for him. One of them was from the librarian he'd met a couple of days ago. The librarian confirmed various ring patterns used over the decades for class rings and the similarity of the sketch to one used by a specific fraternity.
Brandt couldn't believe it. Finally, a breakthrough. His euphoria died as he read on. The ring design was in use for close to a decade with variations by year, except it had been out of circulation for two decades. Over five hundred of them could have been purchased. The professor who'd informed the librarian, didn't have any figures or names available as the system hadn't been computerized back then. He did offer a few names of other people who might be able to help.
Brandt weeded through his messages, taking care of priorities. Before leaving for lunch, he walked over to the largest of the file cabinets and carefully hid, then locked Sam's journal inside. That would do for the moment.
"Hey, Brandt."
Brandt turned to find Kevin at the door. "Hey what's up?"
Kevin grinned. "The captain wants to see you. And for a change, I had nothing to do with this one. The grapevine apparently told him about Sam's vision and the latest murder."
"How the hell did the grapevine, or you, even find out?"
Kevin shrugged. "I don't know where I heard about it first, but it's true, isn't it?"
"Is what true?"
"She saw this victim as she died, didn't she?"
Brandt groaned and closed his eyes. "Shit, did I slip up and say something to Adam? God I must have been really tired to have done that."
Kevin snapped his fingers, almost laughing out loud. "Yeah, that might have been who told me."
Captain Johansen's door was ajar when Brandt arrived. He knocked and pushed it open.
"Come in, Brandt. Take a seat." The captain gestured toward the single chair not piled high with file folders.
Closing the door behind him, Brandt made his way to the lone chair and sat.
The captain glanced at him. "Brandt. What's this about your psychic and another murder?"
Brandt said, "It's true. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to catch you up on the latest since coming in from the crime scene."
"You know what will happen if this gets out?" Captain Johansen always had the department's image on his mind. "How close was she?"
"Spot on."
"Damn."
Brandt understood how he felt. "It's not as if we're the first department to have used psychics." Brandt swept his arm toward the wide expanse of glass. "Besides, this is department stuff and the media shouldn't ever know – unless someone tells them."
Captain Johansen glared. "What about her? How are you going to stop her from stepping into the limelight? She could make a huge promo out of this case."
"Sam's not the type."
Brandt watched in fascination as Captain Johansen's beetle brows crinkled, almost meeting in the center of his forehead.
"Everyone is the type. You just have to have the right circumstances to bring it out."
Brandt stared out the window, refusing to be drawn. Captain Johansen was a hard-ass who'd apparently run the department fairly for many decades. His beliefs were little enough to put up with.
"Well, I'm saying that Sam isn't like that – but believe what you want."
The captain shuffled the papers on his desk. "So what did she see and what did she miss?"
It took a few minutes to give him the rundown. He finished with the one thing Sam hadn't seen. "She didn't mention the ear. And we don't know why her ear was cut off or where it is."
"That's how it works with psychics. They get some of the information right and they get a lot wrong." Captain Johansen doodled on a notepad in front of him, obviously deep in thought.
"True enough." Brandt leaned forward. "This isn't for discussion with anyone else, but I actually saw her go through a vision." He gave a brief version of what he'd seen at Sam's cabin that night. The memories of the cuts appearing on Sam's fragile body haunted him.
"You saw these cuts appear and disappear – and you weren't drunk?"
Brandt stared into Captain Johansen's eyes. "God's truth. I swear I watched the cuts appear and then disappear. There was blood everywhere. Jesus, I panicked."
"Why didn't you call 911?"
Brandt's lips twisted. "I almost did. I managed to get through to Stefan first."
The captain squinted up him. "That would have helped. Did Stefan have answers?"
Brandt nodded. "And thank God he did. I would have caused more damage if I'
d touched her. Maybe permanently."
"I don't know what to think about this stuff, however, I know several good cops that swear by Stefan."
"Sam isn't as strong or as secure in her abilities as Stefan. The good news is he's going to help train her. Sam's fragile. She needs to learn to protect herself." Brandt geared for the blow. "And that includes being protected from this department."
The captain leaned forward, glaring at Brandt. "What does that mean?" Larger than life, the captain never backed down from a fight. He had no trouble calling a spade a spade, and he always stood by his men. At six-foot-six, he was built like the football player he used to be.