A Killer's Game

by Amy Andrews

  “Put the knife down, put your hands in the air, and back away from the counter,” she commanded, as her pistol was trained on his heart.

  With a gun pointed directly at his ticker, the butter knife dropped with a clatter as the man’s eyes went saucer-like with confusion. Shooting his hands straight up, he began babbling, “Please, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I just wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I’m out of bread.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes, surveying the man. He had to be what, in his 80’s?

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ma ma ma Mr. Perkins. I I I I live ac c c c c cross the street. Tessa don’t mind. She said. She told me anytime I n n need something I I I I can come over.”

  Keeping her finger on the trigger, and her eyes trained on the man, Sara slowly lowered her weapon. The gun on the counter must be Lenny’s piece. She had heard Lenny and Tessa speak of the infamous Mr. Perkins. Poor guy. Had the onset of Dementia or Alzheimer’s, she couldn’t remember which. They felt sorry for him, and always tried to help him out, but he did have a tendency to get confused and overstep his bounds in the neighborhood, oftentimes just letting himself in to other people’s homes unannounced.

  Surveying that he was not a threat, Sara holstered her pistol. “Mr. Perkins, I’ve heard Lenny talk about you. You live next door, right? I’m Lieutenant Sara Whitten, Lenny’s boss. I think Lenny may have told you I was coming to talk to you?”

  He nodded, all the while still keeping his hands in the air.

  Sara pushed aside her blazer, to reveal the holstered pistol. “Mr. Perkins, I’ve put my gun away. You can lower your hands now.”

  Mr. Perkins slowly lowered his hands. “Can I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he asked, like a kid in a candy store.

  Sara nodded in approval and smiled. “Yes, you can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  A jovial smile spread across his face. “Why thank you, Miss Sara.”

  “You’re welcome. Mr. Perkins, did you see anything out of the ordinary today?”

  “Well, Miss Sara, I already told Lenny that Miss Tessa had company this morning right after he left. Right around 7:30, I was on my porch swing drinking my morning coffee and reading the newspaper. Never any good news in the newspaper. A black sedan with four doors pulled out of his garage. Dark windows, though. Couldn’t see who was in the car.” Motioning to his tortoise shell glasses, he said, “the old eyesight ain’t what it used to be.”

  Taking a bite of his sandwich, he swallowed slow and hard. Whispering like a child he said, “Is there something wrong Miss Sara?”

  Sara looked at him and decided he was just an old man, with not all of his marbles in play. “No, Mr. Perkins. Nothings wrong. You just go back on over to your house and stay there tonight. Lenny and Tessa are having um….an exterminator come, so you can’t be in the house for awhile. You know, they …have ants.” She hated lying to the old man, but as of right now, this was a top secret investigation, and she really didn’t need the old man mucking up her crime scene, or worse, possibly running into the perp if he decided to come back for some reason.

  With a surprised look on his face, he exclaimed, “Oh. Hard to get rid of those little buggers once they get in. I had ants once. Had to throw out all of my cereal, and all of my sugar.”

  “Okay, Mr. Perkins,” Sara sighed. Approaching the island, she reached into her blazer, and pulled out one of her cards. Holding it out to him, he shuffled around the granite top, and took the card. With her hand lightly on his back, she walked him towards the front door.

  “If you remember anything else about this morning, you give me a call, okay? Anytime, day or night.”

  Mr. Perkins shook his head. Just before crossing the threshold of the front door that Sara was holding open for him, Mr. Perkins spoke. “Oh, I almost forgot, Miss Sara.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an envelope. “This must be for you. It was on the counter” As he held the envelope in his age spotted hands, he pointed to a smear of grape jelly. “I put it in my pocket, because I didn’t want to make more of a mess of it,” he blushed.

  Sara looked at the envelope, which her name was scripted across. In the events of the evening, she completely forgot about the note to which Lenny referred to in his voicemail. Damn, it had been awhile since she had been out behind her desk and out in the field. Taking the envelope from his grip, she thanked Mr. Perkins and bid him a good night. She watched him cross the street before closing the door.

  Walking back down the hallway, Sara grabbed her heels. She wasn’t too anxious to put them back on. Yes, they were sexy, and professional, but also about as comfortable as slamming your hand in a car door after wearing them all day, at least five days a week. She often thought that whoever decided that women should wear them should be shot. She was more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl when not in the office, except for special occasions, of course. Jeans and a t-shirt looked great with some flat soled knee high boots or some all star sneakers. As a matter of fact, home was going to be her next stop. Just long enough to change her clothes.

  Walking back to the kitchen island, Sara stood there for a few moments, just staring at the pistol that was lying there. Gathering the nerve, she opened the envelope and read the note inside.

  Sara,

  The body we found today at Seminole was no accident. The first

  note, I found on the body. The second note was left for me at

  home. He has Tessa. There is blood in the hallway, and I know

  for sure that he was in the darkroom, so make sure you dust for

  prints. I am going after him. I also need to know the identity of

  the Seminole vic as soon as you hear from the ME to see if we can

  narrow down a list of suspects- Lenny

  She read the two mini notes that came with Lenny’s handwritten note. The first stated that Lenny “couldn’t save this one, but he would be given 24 hrs from that point to save the next.” The second indicated that he had 17 hours left, to save Tessa.

  Shit, she thought. Lenny needed to know the identity of the first vic, immediately. Taking out her phone, she saw the missed text message. Opening it, she saw it was from Lenny. A picture of a license plate. She immediately forwarded it to both Layne and Wilshire, with instructions to keep it hush, hush, and to meet her back at the office in thirty minutes. She dialed Lenny’s number, and in doing so, decided that it was better to let him know over a voicemail, that the identity of the first vic was Leopold, rather than to keep it from him any longer, and possibly hinder his chances on saving Tessa. While waiting for an answer, Sara glanced once again at the gun sitting on the island. Holy Mother. Of. Hell. Why didn’t she recognize it sooner? She should know that gun anywhere. It was Lenny’s police issued gun.

  The ringing seemed to go on for an eternity before she finally got connected to his voicemail. Her message to him entailed Manny’s positive id on this morning’s vic, as well as her findings at his house. In a desperate plea before ending the call, she said, “Lenny, please don’t do anything stupid. I’m staring at your piece that you left on the kitchen island as I speak. I know what that means.”

  Hanging up the phone, Sara gathered the evidence she had collected, the notes, and Lenny’s gun, and high tailed it out of there. Her first stop was going to be back at the precinct to the forensics department. No time right now to stop and change her clothes. She had already shot a text to Wilshire and Layne to meet her back at HQ. This was more than a one woman or one man job, and she trusted those two detectives with her life. And Lenny’s. And Tessa’s.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - INTO THE UNKNOWN

  Before entering into the tree line, Lenny set the countdown timer on his watch to sixteen hours. From the time he left the crime scene at work this morning until now, had been roughly eight hours. He knew that realistically, he should call and wait for backup. Well, this wasn’t exactly your typical realistic situation, now was it? Realistically, he didn’t expect today
to go at all like the events that had unfolded. Realistically, he expected to be wining and dining his wife right now. Realistically, he expected to be giving his wife the news of his retirement, and the vacation tickets to celebrate the start of their new chapter in life. Realistically, he was not going to waste any precious time. He was here right now, and was not going to wait for back up. Law enforcement or not, he didn’t plan to let the rules dictate any of his movements. Not on this case. Besides, Sara or anyone else on the team would recognize his car on the side of the road. They were detectives. They were smart enough to figure out where he went. If worse came to worse, they could always try to triangulate his position through the gps on his cell phone, of which he now switched the ringer and all alarm sounds to silent.

  Lenny scanned the brush for bent grass, footprints, and other tell tale signs. He followed the disturbances, like a trail of breadcrumbs, to the outer edge of the dense brush. There was only set of very large male footprints, and they originated from the vehicle. Whomever was in that car hightailed it straight into the brush. It had been a while since he had had to track anyone, but it was like riding a bike. It all came rushing back to him, like he had never stopped.

  He set down the duffle bag, and removed some camouflage fatigues, steel toed boots, and other necessities the situation called for. Stripping off all of his other clothing down to his boxers, he changed into his new uniform for this mission. Rolling up his other clothing, he packed it back into the duffle. Arming himself with a knife, and a few strategically placed guns, the last thing he armed himself with was an electronic bug repellent.

  The sun was quickly starting to reach the Western horizon. The expansive thick canopy was blocking most of the daylight that was still left. It would be great during the day, to keep the hot sun at bay. At dusk though, it was going to make the daylight hours even shorter.

  Lenny didn’t much care for the earlier afternoon’s shower making the air that much more thick with humidity, and even thicker with mosquitoes. Damn things should be the state bird. Fortunately, it was a typical Florida summer rain shower. Rained for twenty minutes around 4:00, then cleared up, like it was never there to begin with.

  What he was thankful for though, was the fact that some moisture was able to permeate the ground. It left the soil soft and slightly muddy under the dry brush, making footprints easier to find, and much easier to track. He slung his duffle over his shoulder and briskly got moving South, into the unknown wilderness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - FORMING A PLAN

  Lieutenant. Sara Whitten pulled her white Toyota Camry into her designated parking spot at the precinct. She burst through the glass doors past homicide, directly to the forensics department.

  She carefully handed several sealed plastic baggies to Manny Sanchez. He immediately started to visually inspect the notes, blood sample, and print kits, through their plastic coverings. “Listen, Manny, I need these processed on the DL. And, I need it ASAP. It involves some of our own.”

  The quizzical and hurt look that spread over Manny’s golden skinned face, prompted Sara to say, “I’m sorry, Manny. It’s an ongoing investigation. I can’t tell you anything at this point. If you want to help, then just please get this done for me, and let me know anything the moment you find it.”

  Manny Sanchez, head of the forensics department, shook his head in understanding. “I’m right on it Lieutenant.” Splaying his hand out, onto his own chest, he said, “You can count on me, Sara.”

  Sara softly smiled at him, while fighting the urge to embrace him for some sort of comfort. “I know I can, Manny. Thank you.”

  Sara and Manny had a mutual attraction for each other, but it never went anywhere other than office flirtation. It was not forbidden, but likely frowned upon by the department. It was much more than some stupid office crush though. Manny had it all. He was smart, quite the looker, and successful in his career. Honest, kind, caring, and a perfect gentleman. She could go on and on, but there was just something missing, although she couldn’t put it in words. He was also ten years her junior, although she looked ten years younger than her actual age. She had dated men before, but none that would ever lead to anything serious. Maybe that is why she always found some excuse to not pursue things with Manny. He made it very clear to her in the past, that she was all he wanted, and that he would wait for her as long as he had to. She was afraid of true happiness. One too many times as a homicide detective, she had witnessed someone’s heart being ripped right out of their chest, because of being in love, or loving someone. Hell, look at Lenny right now. His emotions were making him a weak and vulnerable target.

  She watched as Manny walked into his lab and closed the door. They briefly made eye contact through the window of his lab room, before he pulled the blinds for privacy. Snap the hell out of it Sara, she thought to herself.

  Turning around and walking into the homicide division, she approached the desks of Detectives Layne and Wilshire. Motioning them to follow her into her office, she kept walking until she reached her desk. Detective Layne acknowledged her, and held his finger up to signal that he would be right there, as he was on the phone, and Detective Wilshire was flipping through this mornings case file.

  The two of them couldn’t be a more opposite looking pair of partners. Detective Layne was tall and broad with a muscular build. He looked more like a tattoo artist/ biker/ rock star, with his long dark hair and chiseled features. The tattoos and gauged ears sealed the look. He had never changed his look when he transferred out of doing undercover drug operations, into the homicide division. Detective Wilshire had a similar physique, but looked a little less intimidating. He was a little more cleaned up and polished around the edges. He had a bit of an edgy look to him, minus the gauged ears and long hair. Unlike Detective Layne in his jeans and form fitting Affliction shirts, Wilshire always dressed sharp, in designer clothing. Usually a suit, minus the tie and vest. His hair was always nothing less than perfect. He actually looked like he should be leaping off the pages of a magazine. A real ladies man. He was the kind of man you saw, and expected to see driving a Mercedes. Sara leaned very fast that you could not judge a book by its cover. Layne was a hard ass for sure, but he was also a big softie. He would be the first one to help an old lady cross the street,…or discretely beat the shit out of a guy that was a woman or a child abuser. Wilshire had a reputation as a playboy, but Sara saw through the charade, and deduced that it was probably due to his own fear of commitment, not dissimilar to hers. She was fond of both of them. They were both respectful to her, and did not tolerate any BS from anyone else on the force giving their Lieutenant guff, just because she was a female. They were very protective of her, and she knew without any doubt or hesitation, that she could absolutely and unequivocally trust them both with her life. In this line of work, that was a huge benefit of relief. She liked that about both of them. Plus, they were both really great Detectives.

  Reaching her office, she settled behind her desk, as the two large and intimidating Officers entered the room. She signaled for both of the Detectives to close the door and have a seat. Without any question or hesitation, they each sat down in the two wing backed leather chairs that were set on the opposite side from which Lt. Whitten sat. She leaned forward in her chair, resting her clasped hands on her dark wood desk.

  Looking between the both of them she said, “I have to fill you two in on some things. We are going to keep this between us. Anyone else will be filled in on a need to know basis. I have Manny doing some forensic work right now. If you have anything that needs to go to the lab, it goes to Manny only. Are we clear?’

  “Crystal, Lieutenant,” they both said in unison.

  “Good,” she said. Looking at Detective Layne, she asked, “did you get anything off of that plate I sent you to run?”

  “Yeah. The plate doesn’t match the car. I had a black and white pull the VIN number off of the vehicle. It is registered to a woman named Nellie Hinkle. I pulled her driver’s license.” Detectiv
e Layne pulled a sheet of paper out of a manila folder and handed it across the desk to his Lieutenant. “Funny thing is, Lieutenant, the plate that is on the vehicle is registered to one of our cars here in the compound lot. Wilshire and I already went to speak to this Nellie Hinkle. We didn’t get an answer, so we asked around the neighborhood. Seems she is a snowbird, and is back in New Jersey for the summer. She’s not even here, so apparently the car was stolen right out of her garage.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed Sara. “So much for any leads off of that. Have either of you been able to get a contact number for this woman?”

  Wilshire spoke up, “We’re already on it, Lieutenant. So far, all we have gotten is her answering machine. We left a message. With any luck, she will get back to us soon. We also explained the situation to her local police, and they put out a BOLO. If they find her, they are going to escort her back to her home, and assist her in calling us back. They were made aware that this is an urgent and time sensitive case. As soon as we know anything, we’ll let you know.”

  Sara was relieved to hear that these two didn’t need micromanaging to do their jobs. They had done, and were doing everything that she would have directed them to do as their Lieutenant.

  “Okay, then,” she said. Sighing, and dreading the inevitable, she proceeded to fill them both in on everything that she had learned from Lenny over the phone, and from being at his house, as well as the bad news she heard from Manny, concerning the ID of this morning’s Jane Doe.

  At the news of Kate Leopold’s death, Layne’s gut hit rock bottom, and it took everything he had to make sure that the burger and fries he ate for lunch didn’t make a splash onto the floor. A burning rage welled up inside of him. Starting to shake, he wanted to hit something. To throw something. Or someone. He sat there with his eyes closed, rocking himself in the chair, trying to gather himself and his thoughts. Not happening. Standing up, he tossed the wingback chair he had been sitting on. “Fuuuuuuck! Fuck! I’m gonna wring that son of a bitch’s neck!”