THE RIPPER’S DAUGHTER

By

ANDERS & PHAIR

KINDLE EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

ANDERS & PHAIR

The Ripper’s Daughter

Copyright © 2012 by ANDERS & PHAIR

Your support and respect for the property of the authors is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

*****

The authors wish to acknowledge and thank those without whose help this work could not have been accomplished. This book is dedicated to Maite, Lee and Dan and all those special people out there who were crazy enough to believe.

*****

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Book Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

*****

Book Blurb

Ting.

"F," Colby noted dully.

Daylight to darkness, Detective Colby Willis' descent into oblivion was well greased with drugs, alcohol, and black outs. She was slipping into the abyss ever since her partner, mentor, and friend, Detective Marty Walsh got up close and personal with the Ripper's Daughter. Colby failed him when he needed her most and it cost her, his life.

The Ripper's Daughter, a killer with no pattern, no mythology, and no timetable. Eight bodies in five years and the numbers were sure to increase, leaving the Boston PD helpless to do anything but wait for the next victim to surface.

Jessie Walsh's life became a hell of someone else's making the night her father was butchered. She was found catatonic cradling his body and ruled mentally incompetent to stand trial for murder. Colby always had her doubts about Jessie's mental state. Is Jessie faking a breakdown to beat a murder rap?

If she's not then the Ripper's Daughter may have eyes for her and Colby.

*****

Chapter 1

Sunday, December 20

The snow was a mixed blessing. Jacob used to like it when it snowed. Each drifting flake carried a memory of childhood days rocketing down the frozen white slopes of Mary Hemenway Park, the gleaming red runners of his sled tearing recklessly through the endless virgin snow. He would give up a million dollars to be nine again and back out on that hill. Truth was he would do anything even suck his own dick to be anywhere but here.

He couldn’t stop shivering. The cold made his limbs, muscles, and teeth take on a life of their own, animated by some primitive human instinct bent on survival. What a joke considering the violent shaking inflicted on his body by the involuntary motion was slowly disemboweling him. Each shiver and shudder shook the coils of the slinky looped around his neck and stretching the length of his torso to the grinning wound across the width of his belly. The initial horror slowly turned to benign acceptance over the hours he watched helplessly as the rippling shock waves cascading through the metal toy tugged on his intestines, encouraging them to ooze out onto his lap.

The bastard was fast for a man his age and smooth. It was all second nature for him like taking a piss. Jacob never even got a chance to fight back. The snow was firmly packed in behind him like a tomb by the time he managed his first scream.

"Whimper, not a scream," he silently corrected himself. "Shit face super glued my lips together to make sure of that!"

The entire situation would be laughable except it was real. He had been tasered, kicked in the head, tussled up with duct tape, and dumped in a hollow dug-out in the snowbank. The attack was so sudden and unexpected; he didn't realize he was cut open with a slinky around his neck until he was on his knees inside his snowy grave.

A sliver of street light lit his doom. The bastard punched a hole in the snow at eye level to give Jacob a narrow view of the street. As he lingered verging on death, not a single soul wandered into sight on the frigid Boston night pregnant with whispers of a white Christmas.

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore and the tears of anger and frustration had long since frozen on his face. Still he was grateful the invading numbness was making the agony of his sliced belly easier to bear. He was nearly resigned to his grisly fate when a dark shape stumbled up to an illegally parked car on the Fenway side of the Museum of Fine Arts.

Hope suddenly surged through frozen veins. Heat raced from heart to limbs before flooding out onto his lap as more of his innards spilled onto his thighs. He found the strength to moan, but the figure was too far away to hear the pitiful sound. In desperation, he started smashing his head against the icy wall. The thunk, thunk, thunk against the hard packed snow made no difference to the drunk fumbling with her keys.

He struggled harder in hopes she might somehow hear him, but any noise he made proved no competition to the droning motor of the snow plow which took the right off Longwood Avenue. The plow blade moving the freshly fallen dusting toward the waiting snowbank was briefly delayed by the Charger lurching out into the darkness.

The plow operator demonstrated his clear annoyance by shifting up to increase speed. He intended to push the snow pile back up over the curb to widen his path for the next pass. It was bad enough he had to be out clearing the nearly deserted streets of the City of Boston at this ungodly hour without some two bit drunk slowing him down.

***

Her head was throbbing. The bare 100 watt bulb blazing at the top of the stairwell burned neon halos into her naked eyes. Melissa had little choice but to blink the tears away. Turning away was impossible regardless of how much she willed her broken body to move.

Oxygen was in short supply since she landed on the cellar floor after tumbling down the steep wooden stairs. While her brain continued to beseech her lungs and limbs into action. They remained silent and unmoved by her entreaties.

"Legally, silence is consent," the thought chaffed. "They are obliged to move."

He was there still. She could feel his presence to her left, sitting on the straight back wooden chair she meant to throw away before the holidays, watching her while he finished the rest of his sandwich—chicken mayo on white. He never grew sick of telling her, he was a simple man with simple tastes.

She knew he was enjoying her every labored breath, every bitter tear spilled. He understood how things like this worked. Death was his arena. If their positions were reversed, she would be doing the same. Savoring another person's pain was a dark taste he cultivated in her discriminating palate, although, she was more likely to have chosen a fine French cognac to mark the occasion rather than leftovers.

He knew exactly what would come next. Men like him knew how long it would take for her body to die. He was the expert. She was a novice just beginning to learn his grim trade until he decided to prematurely end their partnership. Her life had only been concerned with the man-made rules of the world until they met.

"Breaking the man-made rules," she corrected in silence.

She heard his chair creak as he shifted. Her body remained motionless on a cold floor she could not feel. If she could swallow she would have spat in his face.

"Fuckin' ghoul didn't even need to glue my mouth shut. Broken neck did all the hard work for him."

The creaking from the chair increased and she realized he was masturbating. Cold terror filled her mind as her vision dimmed. The last thing she saw in this world was the white ropy discharge as it hit her directly in the eyes.

***

Her fingers were almost numb but she continued struggling to wrench her hand free of the straps fastened securely around her wrists. She frantically twisted her wrist right then left and right again trying to stretch the unyielding leather. Time was growing short and she knew she would not stand a chance tied down on the bare mattress in the center of the room. Without warning the door banged open ending any hope of mounting a resistance to her fate.

"You are going to learn, one way or another, you cannot screw around with me and not suffer the consequences."

She glanced up at her usually unflappable psychiatrist. The woman's face was pinched with anger and her hooded eyes flashed with unnatural excitement. Four uniformed guards surrounded the little woman swaddled in a lab coat two sizes too big. Each rent a cop armed and brandishing a police issued night stick. 

Undaunted by the uneven odds, she smirked at the security team facing her. "I'm sorry; I'm not receiving visitors tonight. You can try to book an appointment with my secretary in the morning if you like. I think I might have an opening three days after Satan butt fucks you another A-hole while you blow the thugs you got with you, Dr. Likeshairyass."

One of the guards crossed the room without being directed. Lifting his arm he leveled a heavy hit to her exposed thigh. The crack was so hard she could not contain her scream of pain. He grabbed a fistful of hair and her bruising leg to roughly tug her onto her side. Taking advantage of an opening she managed to sink her teeth into his leg tasting blood, but to no avail. The guard grunted with pain but did not yield his hold. His pull on her hair instead grew harder and she was fairly certain she'd have a bald spot when this was over.

The position exposed her naked ass for the doctor's convenience. Her ability to inflict pain on the man holding her began to fade with each breath as the needle jabbed viciously into her took immediate effect.

"You are going to learn, one way or the other, Jessie. Today, you are going to learn the hard way not to attack one of my staff." The doctor sighed as she slowly caressed the unconscious woman’s smooth white ass, "Well, it's going to be hard for you but we're going to have a very good time while you learn your lesson."

***

Colby stumbled up the stairs of the Dorchester three-decker. Her apartment was at the top. It was getting harder and harder to make the climb after another night of drinking and she didn’t do sober anymore.

"Would you move it?"

The voice behind startled her. She stumbled and went down on one knee. The second floor tenant, a middle aged muscle head sopped up on steroids, pushed past her. 

"What's your friggin’ hurry?" She slurred.

He turned and glared at her. His face was bathed in sweat.

"I hit a fuckin' dog with my bike, that's what my problem is. Got blood and shit all over me and I don't got no time to waste watching you crawl up the bleedin’ stairs!"

She grinned, "That's what you get for riding a bike in the snow. No stopping power."

"Fuck you," he snarled.

"Oh, what's a matter, Guido," she slurred as she tugged herself to her feet. "You all traumatized by a dead dog?"

"Naw," he replied as he unlocked his door, "I've seen lots of dead things and soon to be dead things." He glanced at her. "Like you. You're a soon to be a dead thing. It’s written all over your ugly face."

Before she could reply, he disappeared inside his apartment. The door slammed shut.

"Ah, screw you, Guido." 

She resumed her stumbling climb to her own apartment, mindless of the bloody foot prints staining the stairs behind her. The trip up left her breathless and light headed. She did not realize she unlocked the door until she was three steps from her bed.

"Wonder if I even shut the damn thing," she muttered.

She was intent on turning. The motion sent her world spinning around her. She could feel her body tilt into the fall. The keys she clutched in her left hand dropped with a metallic clatter to the floor.

"E," she remembered.

*****

Chapter 2

postictal (pst-ktl)  adj, altered mental status following seizure, lasting fifteen to thirty minutes, characterized by confusion, headache, nausea, amnesia, memory loss, and hallucination. May last longer with severe or chronic seizure activity.

Friday, March 13th

It was the same dream. She's standing in the old Berkeley Street squad room, frozen in the eye of a storm bustling and swirling around her in a ghostly blue haze. She knew the place well. Hell, she should know it better than the back of her hand. They toiled in the stinking piss hole for more days and nights than she’d cared to remember. It was headquarters for a century before his honor, ‘Da Mayor,’ ordered the whole department to haul ass over to the brand new white elephant on the corner of Ruggles and Tremont. The move was billed in the press as a historic relocation to a state-of-the-art facility at One Schroeder Place; a new building to serve the Boston Police Department and the community for the 21st Century.

Colby Willis, like so many of the rank and file, appreciated the suits at Media Relations and their wicked sense of humor. They all needed a hardy laugh from time to time to sugar coat the shit pouring out of City Hall. But, sometimes Colby thought their spin was enough to send even James Michael Curley twirling right out of his box; God rest his nearly, almost sainted soul.

The office door at the far end of the room was slightly ajar in the stifling summer heat. Through the gap, she could see Marty. Marty Walsh sitting on his big fat ass in his old ratty leather chair, the one with the three squeaky wheels. Sitting as pretty as a King of the city upon a hill just like he did back in the good old, bad old days. His balding head bent over teetering stacks of paperwork scattered like a patchwork quilt from one end of the desk to the other.

Marty always wore heavy, long sleeved, button up white dress shirts. The sweltering dog days of summer were no different from the first snows in January. Marty said fine white shirts were what made him better than his old man.

Colby stood in the doorway watching more than a few papers take to the air on a gust of phantom wind. There was a dirty plastic box fan perched on the sickly green metal file cabinet wedged in tight between the desk and the wall, but Colby could not feel the invisible breeze.

Colby took a moment to study her mentor. He was still the same, in her dreams, twinkling grey eyes over cheeks gone pink with the heat, the bald dome of his head beaded with sweat. Marty sweated like a pig in all seasons, but summer was the worst. Colby remembered with a coy smile the heat making those around him suffer his rising stink as the day dragged slowly on to end of shift.

Sweat stains were nothing new, but Colby saw something was not quite right with Marty. She could see a blossoming spot soaking his crumpled shirt. It was most vivid near his left armpit. The brilliant color fading as it spread out from across his flank like rippling water—rich, bright and red.

Marty dropped his pen with a curse and looked straight up at her. He greeted her with his usual cocky 'I'm way smarter than you are' grin and sat back eliciting a tortured squeak from the wheels. Colby thought the metallic noise was, in its own way, musical.

Ting.

"F," Colby noted dully.

"Imagine what my old man would say if he could see me now," Marty chuckled as he put both feet high up on the desk. "May the friggin' bastard rot in hell for two eternities and a day."

Mickey Walsh was, by all accounts, a friggin' bastard. He pounded the pavement every day of his life until he finally keeled over from a heart attack three months shy of his retirement party. Marty never shed a tear. He hated the old bastard’s guts. His animosity was no secret to Colby or most anybody who spent time with Marty. It was the usual story of the mean drunk Irish beat cop behind the brash Detective.

Marty’s father took his temper along with his billyclub home each night. Booze made him even meaner and it was never in short supply. Mickey Walsh beat Marty's mother like a carpet. Back in the day when most guys popped their wives now or again, Mickey had a notorious reputation as a wife beater. It went on until Marty was fifteen or so. Once Marty was big enough and angry enough, he grabbed a tire iron during what would be his parents’ last row and delivered on his long standing threat to smash in his father’s head. After that night, Mickey Walsh saw the light and kept his hands to himself.

"You’re dead, Marty." Colby said in her dream.

"We're all dead, kiddo. You just never noticed it before.” Placing his index finger to his mouth, Marty murmured, “Shhh, zip your lips.”

The radio on the alarm clock clicked on abruptly with a bouncy tune from the 60's. The voice was not the soaring vocals of Petula Clark but the giggling rambles of a fucking moron.

"deadtown, nothin' great matters in deadtown,

‘cause your guts spilled on your shoes in deadtown,

nothin' matters for you 'cause you're dead,

deadtown,”

Colby’s eyes snapped wide-awake at the lyrics. She bolted up to grab the radio only to miss by a foot. Her body hit the wood floor hard as the chuckling disembodied voices began their Friday morning shock jock rants which passed for Boston drive time radio.

"Well, boys and girls, the Ripper’s Daughter is at it again! She’s gone and gotten herself another man. What a woman!"

In the background, the loud groans and muffled laughter from the assorted studio sycophants pretending to be a “live radio” audience, only served to egg the irrepressible host on further. Colby spat in disgust, she was sick of all the shit from the local garbage media. They were nothing but vultures—scavengers feeding off other people’s grief and fear. They and their goddamned radio shows and their tabloid headliners screaming “My Father married the Ripper’s Daughter.”

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Colby grumbled. "The media boys will shit themselves stupid when they realize they should have been out looking for a killer with a dick in the first place. Ripper’s Daughter, my ass."

Unlike the gonzo press, Colby was certain the Ripper was a man. No woman could have gotten the drop on Marty. He was built like a bear and he was fast, much faster and quicker than you would expect. That was Marty’s edge, he was a wolf dressed up as mutton.

She knew him better than most because they went way back. For some reason, she could never figure out, Marty took it upon himself to look out for her ever since she was a first year rookie fresh out on the streets. He saw to it that she moved up the ranks, no questions asked, until she got her own gold shield. He even made sure she got a cushy position as Detective Sergeant under him. There wasn’t anything Colby wouldn’t have done for the man. Only when things went from push to shove, she failed him when he needed her the most.

The problem was Marty, a unique character in most respects, was like every damned cop in the city when it came to Boston’s own little backyard monster. Marty was obsessed with the Ripper case. He said he was going to catch the psycho. Then he could hang up his holster and retire with thirty two years behind him riding his high horse, white hat, and all.

He was going to write a best seller about the manhunt and from there on in he’d be laughing all the way to the bank. He’d do the rounds on all the big name New York talk shows—Springer, Oprah, Letterman, O’Brien. He'd even show up for that blonde dyke with the funny name to prove he was equal opportunity.

When Marty got going he was a hell of a something else, but even Marty-the-Great had to admit they were nowhere close to a solid lead. They still had no suspect. After thousands of hours of good old fashion police leg work, pages and pages of eyewitness transcripts, and an evidence room full of trinkets from the murder scenes to rival even the Smithsonian, they knew about as much as they did two minutes after the first call came in on victim number one. Fuckin’ zero.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, how can you freakin’ catch a fuckin’ lunatic? This fucker’s a bloody ghost.”  

The curse became Marty's mantra night after night; dead drunk and tired beyond exhaustion after a fifteen hour work day and too many shots of Jack. While sober, Marty had a way with words. But, it was his waxing poetic when he had a few too many which probably played a role in his never making Captain.

The shock jocks' renewed chatter rattled Colby back from the grip of her thoughts.

"Oh, what? I'm the bad guy now? You're gonna gang up on me when Boston's finest have been complete and total failures handling this psycho! People, I’m talking seven bodies here. Our girl has been sending Boston a sticky body bag or two every Christmas for the past five years and the cops have not a single shred of evidence to show for it."

The voice paused briefly for effect. Radio bad boys liked to make themselves out to be so tough. Colby wondered if they would sing the same song when she had them handcuffed to a desk in the interrogation room with a night stick stuffed up their miserable, lily white asses. Colby knew she’d enjoy fulfilling that particular fantasy; probably a little too much for her own comfort.

"Ooops, my bad, not seven anymore, body number eight was found this morning in a half melted snow bank in the Fens. What are the odds there’ll be any physical evidence left in a four month-old sludge pile? Doh!"

As the voices on the radio began to argue on the finer points of the gruesome find, Colby tried to pull herself off the floor. She was in bad shape; her balance was shot forcing her to steady her ravaged frame by leaning on the bed. Once she was upright, her stomach flipped as the throbbing in her head kicked into high gear. The gagging started almost immediately forcing her to stumble mindlessly into the bathroom for the porcelain throne. Every day was generally bad for her. This time of the year just made life a little more unbearable.

Once she was sure her belly was finished hurling up the sour contents lingering from last night, she looked up to assess the damage from yet another round of self-inflicted abuse. Blood shot eyes stared back at her from the dirty mirror. She was looking at a fuckin’ stranger’s face. Some pale, gaunt, washed up cop just short of getting her ass thrown out of the door with a HR file that could pass for a phone book. She knew the type, the ones that couldn’t cut it anymore. The ones the Captain tossed overboard as shark bait for Internal Affairs now and then. It kept them busy gnawing on a bloody carcass the Captain no longer had any use for.

She was disgusted with herself, but slow suicide would have to wait today because she had work to do. If they found another victim, the Captain would be looking for her and there would be a couple of calls she needed to make. First on the docket was to look for her clothes.

Her pants were hanging on the side of the claw foot tub. They reeked of booze, vomit, and smoke; the aftermath of another hard night’s worth of boozing. No matter what people were saying behind her back, Colby didn’t binge because she was some garden variety drunk. She drank for a reason. The problem was she could never remember what the reason was the next morning.

Her cell phone was still jammed into the back pocket of her pants. A quick check of the screen showed eleven missed calls. Two from the Captain and the rest were from Faust. She pressed the button to return the call to the person who’d give her the least amount of shit.

"It's 'bout time you woke up, Willis,” a light feline like voice answered on the second ring.

Esmera Faust was a second year detective. Colby considered her a personal pain in the ass. Faust made herself easy to hate; honor roll at the academy, promoted after four years on patrol with an unblemished record, and a commendation for bravery under fire. It also didn’t hurt that Faust was easy on the eyes and real smooth with the Captain. The woman was a heart breaker. Latino with olive skin and all the right curves, topped off with a face that could make you forget you had someone waiting for you at home.

Faust made Colby nauseous in a bad way and the feeling was mutual. Colby was a character study in contrast to her latest partner. She was mostly Irish with some American mutt thrown in for good measure, close to six feet tall, angular, and awkward. Dark hair and eyes made her pale white skin all the more striking. She had a sullen, androgynous quality about her that women found attractive but intimidated most men.

"Shut it and hit me with the highlights," Colby snapped.

"Someone’s all bright and cheerful this morning. The vic is a white male; say late twenties to early thirties, possibly older. Body's in rough shape so it's hard to tell. Dressed in nice sweats and expensive running shoes so he’s probably some fitness freak out for a run and not homeless. A wallet with a MA driving license was found nearby. Chances are we’ll be able to get a positive ID from the license but he's so banged up we can't even be sure of the height never mind what his face used to look like. We're going to need dental records. Captain says we can't let family look at him." Faust gave a weary sigh, "I don’t have the update about a missing person’s report yet but I’m sure there is one. Young, white males don’t disappear in this town without their mothers, wives, or SO's getting together a search party with sniffer dogs and psychics."

"You got a name from the license in the wallet?"

"A Jacob Eagan. He’s local."

Colby scrubbed the sleep out of her eye as she asked, "Where are you?"

"I’m on the scene with Mr. Creepy Guy from forensics, the one with the hots for you. You know who I mean, tried to ask you out on a date last month. He thinks the vic was probably killed around Christmas. You remember the first snow storm we had in December? The one that made everything real pretty for the holidays. Well, pretty for everybody but Eagan. The body was left in a cave cut into a snow bank facing the MFA. This next part is nasty, you got a bucket handy?”

"Funny, Faust. Just don't quit your day job."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Wills. A used sanitary napkin was stuffed in his mouth. Wrists and knee caps were broken, probably by a heavy blunt instrument like a claw hammer. The elbows were duct taped together behind his back."

"Fuck. The lips ... he super glued them?" Colby could hear the trembling in her voice as she sank to her knees.

"Yup, Bitch super glued them together.” Colby noticed that Faust made a point of correcting the gender modifier before continuing in a careful tone. “Captain said not to get chatty about your theory that the killer’s male or about the super glue when we're around the paper boys. He says to zip your lips.”

The memory of the words from her dream hit Colby hard making her stomach churn. This killing was the real deal. Not some wanna be copycat looking for a free ride on the day’s headlines. This was an anniversary present just for her.

“There hasn’t been a leak yet and there ain’t gonna be one now so quit your yapping and fill me in on the rest of this horror show,” Colby snarled back trying desperately to pull her bravado together.

"Right. The vic had a surgical incision from left to right across his midsection, most likely made when he was unconscious but alive. The cut is a parody of a Caesarean section just like all the others. A slinky was snagged to the intestines and then up around his neck. With every shake and shudder, the guts were inched out. Next part is all theory because the body got knocked around pretty bad every time more snow was dumped on top of the pile by Mr. Plow."

"Spit it out, Faust."

"Forensic thinks he was deliberately left on his knees so gravity would play a big part in a very slow and painful disemboweling. It's hard to be sure about the exact position. There was piano wire on scene near the body. It was possibly looped around the neck at some point in time but ended up tangled around the body when a plow severed the head from the shoulders. He was probably dead before that happened because there was no blood spray." 

"Or the plow guy ignored it, but it doesn't really matter for our purpose."

"True." Faust paused before asking, "What do you think? Is this our girl?"

"I ... need to see the scene."

Colby knew she was just trying to buy time. Delaying the inevitable by asking to go down to survey a completely deteriorated crime scene was beyond useless. A request she was sure the Captain would shoot down. He would already have a full day planned out for her at the station.

She would be expected to spend some quality one on one time with the lead investigation team. They would sit her down and go through each piece of physical evidence bit by bit to recreate the victim’s slow painful demise in all its psychedelic glory. Everything twice over with a fine tooth comb whether she wanted to hear them out or not—Captain’s orders.

They needed her to catch the killer. It was the only reason she was still around. That and Marty's well connected friends, but every year she put between his grave side service and her current pay stub, more doors slammed shut. She was running out of friends as quickly as she was running out of time.

"Wanna buy me breakfast, Willis? Make it a date and I'll show you the glossies," Faust's deadpan barely masked her contempt.

"You're a freakin' laugh riot, bitch," Colby muttered as she breathed deep trying to still the herd of elephants doing somersaults in her belly. Somehow she was sure these particular pachyderms were pink. "I need an hour to clean up and get to my desk. Meet me at headquarters."

"Boss man is plenty pissed at you. Better be at your desk in twenty."

Before she could argue, the line went dead. Colby pulled her legs in tight under her as she looked up at the sunlight streaking through the skylight above her head. Despite the vibrant morning, she felt tired and cold. This was what it felt like to still be breathing three years after Marty went and got himself cut up like a side of butcher’s beef.

"Happy anniversary, old buddy, the Ripper sends his regards." She said to the empty apartment and the silence which filled her life since Marty's death returned her greetings.

***

She hated the afterwards, the sensations of waking after the living death. Hated the throbbing in her head, hated the dry mouth, hated the long moments as her drugged mind struggled to collect the scattered broken bits of itself—herself.

This time was no different from the others. Her body was dumped face down on the plinth in Dr. Leshkari's office. She was left lying in a pool of excrement, mucus and blood leaked out from her torn anus. Her arms were trapped in the folds of the heavy straight jacket. Her hands had gone numb long ago. She took a moment to savor the feel of the canvas against her hot, feverish skin. The straight jacket was a mixed blessing. It, at least, covered part of her nakedness, providing a bit of comfort in her otherwise nihilistic existence.

The cigarette smoke wafting across the room was a signal that the session was over. The good doctor only allowed herself to smoke after she was finished.

"Perhaps," the doctor sighed, "you think not cooperating with your care is clever. You think refusing your medication wins you a few days of clear thinking. And if you somehow manage to gather enough hours of clarity together you'll be able to figure a way out of the Castle." 

The doctor inhaled deeply, held the smoke for a lingering moment and then exhaled broadly with a thin smile.

"But, I’m telling you it won't work. I see through your little schemes. Every time you fight back or refuse or strike out is another excuse for me to use force, to discipline you, to throw you in restraints. But, I am not complaining. I enjoy our quiet moments together. I like you. We could be such good friends, but no. You have to be difficult." 

Another deep inhale and a pause followed by a sigh, "I merely want you to be aware you cannot escape me. You will never leave my care. You will never be free. You will never be safe from me."

Silence hung heavy as the smoke in the air. She knew the doctor was letting the words sink into her sub-conscious; a little ticking time bomb to go off later when she was fully awake. She was used to the doctor’s little tricks.

"Oh," she giggled as she rolled onto her side facing the doctor, "I'm sorry. Were you speaking to me? I wasn't listening.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the doctor and bared her teeth in a monstrous grin. “Go ahead and repeat yourself. I'll try to pay better attention this time.”

*****

Chapter 3

The photos were pretty much what Colby expected, disgusting and useless. The body was mangled beyond description; decomposing rapidly after the Medical Examiner removed it from under the melting mound of snow.

It made no difference to Colby. She'd seen the killer’s handiwork before, only the victims and locations varied. This particular runner had been extremely unlucky. His first bit of bad luck was running smack into a murdering sicko. It all went downhill from there but not quickly. Not quickly at all.

"The ME will have his full report to us before noon tomorrow or the next day at the latest but the initial exam on site was pretty grisly," Faust noted in a weary voice. "The cold probably prolonged the poor bastard's misery. He could have lasted for hours if not a day. The damage to the body from getting tossed around by the plows and the state of decomposition is making it hard to figure out what was what. We can’t tell what was post mortem damage from what was self-inflicted by the victim as he struggled to get free from the injuries directly sustained in the assault. But, Dickie went out on limb and said the broken knee caps, wrists, and surgical incision were courtesy of the Ripper’s Daughter."

"Great, now they got you calling the perp that too,” Colby complained before popping an Excedrin Migraine in her mouth and chewing it dry. “Faust, the killer’s male. He has to be.”

Faust watched her with a look of disgust. "You're killing yourself with those pills. You won't have a sliver of liver left if you keep on the way you're going."

"I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion. Why don't you mind your own business, fuck face?"

"I am," Faust countered. "If you can't function, the entire investigation is worse than back to square one and more people are gonna die."

"This investigation went to shit the day we found the first corpse rotting on the Esplanade. And, in case you hadn't noticed," Colby sneered as she continued, "more people have died since then and more are going to die before this guy is finished. We are fuckin’ useless when it comes to getting in front of him. He’s got no pattern, no mythology, no timetable. Nothing we can use to figure him out. The only clues he leaves are deliberate and intentional. It's impossible to get in front of him. All we can do is wait for the next corpse to show up. The fucker is screwing us over and we’re letting him.”

Faust glared at Colby and spoke in a low voice almost a whisper, "I've just about had it with you. You are fuckin’ worse than useless. You are nothing but a waste of space, Colby. You act like you're dead only you haven't fallen down yet."

The familiar ring of the words sent a shiver down Colby's back. But any rebuttal she might have offered was stifled by the Captain's angry bellow.

"Faust! Willis! My office! NOW!"

"Fuck, this day just keeps getting better and better," Colby cursed.

Faust snapped a snide remark over her shoulder. "Yeah? Well, Willis, the guy in the snowbank would probably be happy to trade his last bad day for yours, right about now."

“Bleedin’ heart rookie,” Colby muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be heard by the woman walking in front of her.

Colby dragged her feet as she followed Faust to the Captain's office at the far end of the corridor. His door was slightly ajar as they approached. The strangest sensation of déjà vu overtook Colby. She found herself unable to breathe, caught inexplicably in a sudden wave of stifling, summer heat in the middle of a chilly March morning. She needed to make a break for the emergency exit, run down the stairs out into the street before the door was pushed open to reveal a dead man sitting behind the desk.

Without warning, the Captain pulled the door wide open, his chest puffed out like a peacock, all prepared to unleash another barrage of frustration on the outside world. Bitter disappointment in his scream denied showed in his deep brown eyes as he spied the two women standing in front of his door.

"Get you asses in here double time!" He barked. The order was unusual for the Captain who prided himself on his self-control. Unlike most of his peers, he never got sent by the brass to undergo counseling for anger management issues. "Hit the hard wood and keep your yaps shut until I tell you to take a breath."

Both women knew not to talk back when the Captain's mood was so foul. Any crap at times like this and you could find yourself on shit duty for the rest of the month or worse. The Captain was smart enough not to get into a pissing match with the union unless he followed progressive discipline to the letter and the man knew how to dish it out. Colby learned about his methodical approach to management first hand. The door slammed shut and Colby sunk into the chair furthest from the desk.

"I just got off the phone with the Superintendent, who just got off the phone with the Mayor, who just got off the phone with the Governor, and he ain’t feeling no love."  The Captain stood with his hands firmly planted on his wide hips.

"The Governor has had it with the stalled investigation. He wants action and he wants it yesterday. The Mayor is just about ready to let the Staties or the Feds take the lead. They’ve been drooling for years to get a crack at our killer. And, fuck save us if the Feds get the green light to swoop in. We'll be jumping through FBI hoops if that happens." 

His dark brown brow furrowed and he continued speaking in a softer but more menacing voice. "I don’t need to tell you losing the lead role for a serial killer with as much publicity as the Ripper’s Daughter in our own jurisdiction will do nothing for our cause at the next round of contract negotiations. We'll be lucky his honor won't be looking for a refund of our last cost of living raise."

The room was silent except for the Captain's asthmatic wheeze.

"Keeping those facts in mind, what do you have for me?"

"It's the same killer," Colby ventured.

"Well, there's a news flash, Willis. My Mrs. knew it was our girl when my phone rang at the crack of dawn. You think we ought to get my Mrs. down here to look the case files over? Maybe she’ll make a break through and finger the woman down at the bakery. Willis, you been doing nothin’ but looking the case files over for five years and you can’t even finger yourself."

Faust rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Captain, maybe we do need fresh eyes reviewing the evidence."

"What evidence?" Colby smirked.

For a brief moment it looked like the Captain's head was going to explode. "I’ve had it with that mouth of yours, Wills. You shut the fuck up! I'm in a shitty mood and I'm armed."

Colby swallowed hard. She knew she was on thin ice with the Captain. Her head was throbbing and she was still hung-over from last night’s bender. She was in no position to be clever. Easing back into the chair, she gave a little nod and fixed her gaze firmly on the floor.

"She has a point, Captain. We've collected over twenty two hundred pieces of evidence but none of it leads anywhere," Faust began with a quiet sigh. "Vics’ demographics are all over the place, almost conspicuously random. The bodies were left in public locations throughout the greater Boston area, in the open but never in plain sight. Items used to bind the victims and seal their mouths are so common even Assisted Living Facilities carry them in their gift shops. The items, trinkets as the press likes to call them, left in the vics’ mouths have DNA evidence but it is as random as the vics themselves. And, it's all junk. It looks like somebody scoured a wastepaper basket in a ladies' bathroom for souvenirs. Some of the vics have trinkets bundled into a ball of cotton. But, there were trinkets left in other places as well. Victim Gamma, for example, had a used tampon jammed in his ass and three press-on nails driven into his tongue. Genetic information from six different sources was identified on those items but none of those characteristics were found on any other evidence recovered at any of the Ripper’s other murder scenes."

"Which one was Gamma again? Why can’t we just given them goddamned numbers instead of code names, whose fuckin’ stupid idea was this?” The Captain mumbled as he shuffled the folders piled on his desk.

Colby cleared her throat. Nobody told her shut up so she continued, "The Commissioner thought it sounded more personal to refer to the vics with code names instead of numbers. Gamma was the guy staked out on the roof of Wentworth facing the MFA."

"Right, like the bodies in that cool scene from the Planet of the Apes," the Captain quipped as he pulled the file free.

Both women looked as each other and shrugged.

"So, none of the DNA recovered from any scene will lead us to the killer. What about those friggin' flower petals we keep finding?"

"Sometimes they are placed under the eyelids before the eyes are glued shut and sometimes not. Why, we aren’t entirely sure. It could be an afterthought on the killer’s part or a reference to some event or person that the killer associates with a particular victim," Faust answered.

"Could even be a seasonal thing like the flower maybe," Colby stated.

The Captain nodded in agreement before switching tactics. "What do you make of the dump sites? Our killer likes hanging around the MFA, it seems."

"Except we also found bodies at the JFK library, the Esplanade, and the Public Gardens," Faust replied as she clicked off the grim tally.

Again Colby interjected, "There was the one on Malibu Beach too.”

Unexpectedly, Faust chimed in, “Let’s not forget Lieutenant Walsh, isn't it time to admit his murder fits into the randomly deliberate pattern?”

Grief traced a path across the Captain's worn face, "It doesn’t, Faust. So, drop it. Officially, Detective Walsh died protecting his daughter during an attempted burglary at his home."

Colby rolled her eyes and the Captain's rage finally exploded.

"We are not letting Marty become the poster child for police incompetence. The lead investigator killed in his own home by the psycho he's been hunting for years? Right, the press will crucify him. I won't let that happen to Marty. I … we owe him that much. So, someone should just shut her goddamned fuckin’ mouth about conspiracy theories to cover her own ass because she can’t fuckin' remember ditty squat!"

"Easy Captain, we all know if Willis could assist in the investigation into Walsh’s murder, she would."

Faust's uncharacteristic defense of her mollified the Captain, but pissed Colby off. She didn’t need anyone much less Faust to come running to her rescue before the boss man.

The Captain took a quiet moment to regroup and his features soften, "Right, my apologies. Just frustrated and tired. I miss that old son of a bitch. He was best man at my wedding.” He sighed and shrugged, "Okay, back to our useless evidence. My summary to date is, we got nothing and my guess is this latest vic will give us nothing we don't already know. Which, of course, is nothing.”

“The killer is just toying with us," the Captain stated with a heavy sigh.

"Maybe we just need to get back to basics," Colby suggested out loud. When the Captain didn't shoot her, she continued. "Marty's notebook."

"Oh fuck, here we go again," Faust shouted as she lost it.

"Let it rest, Willis. His notebook, if it ever existed, is long gone. The entire Boston PD looked everywhere for it for six fuckin’ months on your say so and what did we find? We found zero, nada, zilch. Bigfoot is more real than Marty’s notebook."

"Okay, you think it doesn't exist. I get it. Can't prove it's real until I get my hands on it so let me interview Jessie Walsh. She knows where it is. I swear I’ll get her to talk."

"You friggin' twit!" Faust stood up so fast she knocked her chair over. "Why can’t you get it into your thick skull that Jessie Walsh is beyond gone. Even if she told you the name and address of the Ripper it won’t do a single fuckin’ thing for us!  Nothing she says matters in court, she’s mentally incompetent to testify."

“We need to talk to her because we need to know where to start, you fuckin' freakin’ Rican," Colby swore ignoring the Captain's growing ire. "I know Jessie wouldn’t have been able to take Marty down herself. She’s faking a breakdown to beat a murder rap. I know she's involved.”

“Here we go again, you just know things. Right. Like you knew out of the blue Marty’s kid was skewering him that night." Faust shouted. “Only she wasn’t doing anything of the sort. She was going to be the next victim if you hadn’t stumbled in! And, what did you do at the magic moment? You blacked out. You can't even stumble into a murder in progress without hitting the floor and biting through your own tongue."

“Jessie was watching Marty die for more than an hour before I got there. Jessie knows the killer. She’s connected to him. If they're not in this together then she's at least an accessory after the fact,” Colby insisted stubbornly clinging to her position.

Faust let out an exasperated scream.

“How many times do we need to go through this? How many fuckin’ times, Willis? Jessie Walsh was found in a catatonic state hunched over the disemboweled remains of her father, Detective Lieutenant Marty Walsh. There is nothing to suggest she took part in some sort of frenzied attack on Detective Walsh and there is nothing pointing to her being an accessory to some serial killer. The evidence shows she actually tried to repack the wound. She was trying to save the man. For crying out loud Willis, the woman suffered a psychotic breakdown. She fuckin' lost her mind because of the Ripper and so have you. You just fuckin’ don't know it yet!”

"I’ve heard enough, Faust. Back down, Willis. Let me make a few facts clear," the Captain raised his voice an octave shy of shouting in order to interrupt.

“I know Marty had problems with Jessie. He didn’t say what, drugs, maybe or it was the company she kept. She always toyed with the wild side. Jessie was a smart kid, but maybe a bit unstable. She wasn't so sane a psychotic break under duress is outside the realm of possibility. As for Willis collapsing at Marty's the night of the murder, it was a seizure. We were all with Willis earlier, Faust. We saw her kiss the floor in the bar during the first fit. Whatever triggered it, it was real and the revelation that came next was real, unexplainable but real. She knew Marty was in trouble the moment her eyes opened.” 

The Captain gave a heavy sigh as Faust shot him an incredulous look. “I can’t explain it any better to you, Faust. If Colby hadn’t managed to bolt while I was trying to get her in the ambulance, if I hadn’t tracked her down to Marty's place, we wouldn’t have discovered … shit, maybe if I hadn’t taken so long getting there, I could have done something. Maybe called Emergency Services and gotten Marty some help … there was so much blood. I don’t know."

The Captain looked very old, "And you, Willis, you know you can’t speak to Jessie. Nobody can speak to her without counsel present. After Afonso’s last stunt, the esteemed team from Robeson, Grace, and Strake will have my head on a silver platter if I assign anyone to go within a mile of the Abhordale Clinic.”

Colby grinned, “I can talk to her if her lawyer agrees to it.”

Faust took a deep breath before looking over to the Captain. "Sir, I respectfully request to change partners. This situation has been going on far too long and it just crossed the line into out of control."

"When you say situation, you really mean me don’t you?" Colby taunted. "Grow a pair, little girl, spit it out."

"You're nothing but a stinking, shittin' drunk. You’re sick, Colby, and you’re dangerous. I'm done babysitting you.”

“Captain,” Faust turned to him with a plea. "Captain, I cannot continue to work with Detective Willis. Her deteriorating mental state speaks for itself. If you need me to file a complaint about her ongoing substance abuse just give the word."

"Fuck you, asshole!" Willis shouted.

The Captain ignored Willis for the moment, "Okay Faust, you'll be reassigned to Sampson. I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off on an official complaint at this point, but that's not an order."

"Thanks for the support, Captain," Colby muttered.

He continued to ignore her. "Faust, go connect with Sampson then hit the showers. You probably need to clean up after being in the field since dawn."

"Thanks, Captain." Faust left without another word or a backward glance at the woman she had protected out of a sense of duty for the past year.

"Another one bites the dust, lasted all of twelve months too. Must be some kinda of record for me," Colby deadpanned.

"You better zip it," the Captain growled.

Colby shuddered with the familiarity of his words.

“Faust tried her best to keep you from falling face first into the shit you keep stirring up. The drinking and the drugs are beginning to show. I don’t blame her for wanting out. She’s a smart kid. You were smart once. I can't protect you anymore, Colby. You’re out of control and everyone knows it. I did what I could out of respect for Marty but you've used up all your good will and his and now you’re starting to cut into mine. Can't let you do that to me. My guess is Faust will contact IA by tomorrow or the next day at the latest about your problems. As much as she admires the work you used to do she hates your guts more because of what you've let yourself become. You used to be a cop, Colby, a good one. We would never have broken the Peterson kidnapping without you. You found the kid. Now you’re nothing but a washed up pile of shit. IA will be in here before the week is out asking for you to piss in a cup or give up a hair follicle. Either way, you’ll come up dirty and they'll take your gun away."

He waited but Colby offered no defense. "The number for the EAP is on the bulletin board by the women's bathroom. Call them. Call the union rep too. I'm not asking you for your gun but I wish you'd give it to me."

"Sorry Captain, you know the answer to that."

The Captain's lips curled back in frustration as he snarled at her, "Then you be sure you do the job right and get the mutha’ fuckin’ barrel all the way back in your damn mouth before you pull the trigger. Don't fuck it up, Colby!  Don't leave me to pull the plug on you."

Colby stood before she replied, "Nice to know you care so much. By the way, I'm gonna hold off capping myself and drive out to scenic Wellesley Hills to take in the air. That’s if it’s alright with you."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you do anymore. Just stay out of my way until IA suspends you. You get into trouble with Jessie's lawyers; you're on your own. Now, get the hell out of my office!  You stink of shit, puke, and Budweaselpiss."

The ring tone on the Captain's cell phone started to life.

"D?" Colby questioned.

Looking every day of his age, the Captain slowly shook his head in disgust, "I don't know why Jane ever wasted her time teaching you the piano. You only ever managed to learn that one fuckin' song."

"You think I'm pathetic," Colby sneered in reply.

"No," he shook his head and said, "I know you're pathetic." 

Colby was out the door and making for the stairs, before the Captain finished answering his phone. She needed out and she needed air. She had finally reached the end of the road, plain pissed on everyone’s head but it didn’t matter anymore. She was a dead woman walking. If the sharks at IA didn’t get her, the Feds eventually would. They would never leave her alone.

She knew things, bad things no one ought to know. It was time to go speak to Jessie. She was the only other person alive who knew what Colby knew. But, the difference was, Colby was certain Jessie remembered every bad detail.

***

The cell was pitch black, cool and dark the way she liked it until the lights came on in a flash of brightness and pain. She was unable to suppress the groan that followed or the tears spilling out in sympathy from her burning eyes.

"Visitors," she thought snapping her eyes closed.

Other than wait, it was all she could do to mitigate her discomfort. Her hands and feet were secured by leather restraints, while a chest strap kept her bound tight to the bed.

As the lights snapped off again, plunging her back into the dark, she counted the seconds before the door to her cell was unlocked. It was the same, a count of ten and the lights clicked back on. She knew the burly guards were now in the room, she could smell them. It was the unmistakable sourish tang of sweat mingled with cheap aftershave. After a brief pause the soft sound of Dr. Leshkari's silk slacks followed.

Jessie Walsh smiled at the subtle hesitation. Although she appeared confident, the doctor always delayed her usual regal entrance for several seconds so she could reassure herself from the doorway her patients were still securely restrained. Jessie learned over the years Dr. Leshkari's seemingly abundant confidence was merely superficial—a smoke screen to fool the dull and the inattentive. Unfortunately for the good doctor, Jessie was neither. 

Jessie briefly opened her eyes curious as to the reason for this unexpected call. After three years of waiting and watching, she could distinguish the times when the doctor was truly frightened beneath her otherwise outwardly calm exterior. She looked forward to these occasions, savoring each precious moment like snowflakes on her tongue, each delicious in its own naked purity.

Letting her eyes take their time along each curve and plane. She noted there was a change in Dr. Leshkari's stance. Jessie was witnessing something different on the doctor's part, not just fear but uncertainty to the point of panic. She let a small smile crack the edges of her parched lips. The doctor's raw emotion was novel entertainment on what was a very slow dullish day.

"You have visitors coming. They will be here within twenty four hours but will only be permitted to stay less than thirty minutes. You will not speak or make eye contact. You will be a model patient or I will document your uncooperative behavior on yet another report to your guardian. Who knows, perhaps if I write my note correctly, it may trigger a surprise visit. Wouldn't it be lovely to have a visit from your guardian?"

Jessie's smile faded allowing the doctor's to grow broader.

"You will be washed and cleaned up before the visit and you will be allowed to eat afterwards. Perhaps, I might even let you sleep for a few nights without your restraints, if you're a good girl and only if you are a good girl." The doctor smiled wistfully trying to stoke up her own confidence on the back of Jessie’s distress.

Jessie giggled. "But, I'm not a good girl, Doctor. I'm as far from being a good girl as a girl can get. I was dreaming about you drilling my upturned ass again with that big, bad cock of yours. You cum so much the last time, I could smell it leaking out of your cunt. Does Mr. Leshkari know you think of me at night when he sticks his dick into you?”

Jessie’s small smile slowly widened into a broad grin as the doctor abruptly turned away followed by the guards. The doctor's distinct high heeled footsteps echoed off the hard concrete floor before the door slammed shut again.

*****

Chapter 4

Saturday, March 14th

Colby’s first thought as the gothic spires loomed into view, high above Route 9, was it all looked too much like a page out of a Batman comic book. The wild rolling hillside, an endless road, and the big creepy building waiting to swallow her up at the end of it. The steel grey March sky hanging menacingly low over the hill like a history of violence did nothing to lighten the mood. Colby knew it would pour soon in classic New England fashion to complete the inhospitable setting.

She took the first right after the sign for Wellesley Hills. The road narrowed considerably with overgrown trees and greenery crowding the shoulder. Their wild, untamed branches made a dark day, darker still. What would Bruce Wayne say? All in all probably something gloomy, deep and cheesy about madness making us what we are.

Colby never told anyone but she loved the Caped Crusader. Her secret obsession with the Dark Knight began with the very first issue of Detective Comics she clipped from the half rotten wooden rack at the Park Street T newsstand. All his brooding machismo struck a chord with a skinny, insecure kid from the wrong side of Dudley Square. Batman was the ultimate survivor. The hero the bad guys could never kill, but no one ever stopped to count the myth's real cost. The burden of guilt he carried when the people around him dropped like so many flies amid the never ending carnage.

Colby startled back to full attention at a particularly sharp turn. Half expecting to be overtaken on the curve by a speeding Batmobile, she shifted a little late. The pitiful sounds of metallic torture coming from the much abused engine as the gears started grinding made her cringed.

“That’s gonna bite me in the ass when I can least afford it,” She muttered to herself as a stray piano chord formed in her mind.

"F#." 

The car belonged to Marty once upon a time. Being a sentimental old fool, he entrusted the care of his baby to Colby in his will, never actually expecting he would die before selling it to fund his retirement. Colby was the type nobody in their right mind would entrust with anything mechanically more challenging than a can opener much less a classic and lovingly restored 1973 Dodge Charger.

Marty loved cars. He could never quite put a finger on it but there was something about bright spray painted sheet metal and exhaust fumes which lulled his senses in a siren song. He told Colby he couldn’t afford his own set of wheels when he was in high school and it left him feeling cheated, like he somehow missed out on a youthful rite of passage. He bought the Charger from a junk yard in West Roxbury spellbound by its 440 engine, content to spend more than a few summers restoring his long neglected sleeping beauty.

The car, like Colby, suffered since his passing. The transmission needed work and the engine was beginning to splutter. Despite her best intentions, Colby knew it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to sell out. She loved the car but she lacked the cash and the genius to keep it running and on the road.

The road levelled out close to the top of the hill. There were several smaller side roads that broke away on each side but she decided to keep to the main thoroughfare climbing ever higher up into the Wellesley Hills. Colby slammed on the brakes a little harder than needed at the sight of a small blue sign with a white arrow just before an obscure left turn, causing the temperamental Dodge to fishtail on the slick road.

The roadways around Route 9 were always slushy this time of year regardless of the weather. Today the melting snow was causing run off from the hills to flow right into the road. A horn blast from the truck behind her let Colby know she needed to take the turn quick or her back end would soon end up in need of more repairs than the transmission.

Colby managed not to spin out on the sharp turn. Carefully she came off the brake and tapped the gas to give her car a fighting chance on the slippery road. It might be spring but there was still plenty of black ice to spin her tires and send her careening backward down the long, narrow way.

As she drove, an ancient red brick fortress came into view. The Abhordale Clinic was designed as a convent for Roman Catholic nuns at the turn of the 19th century. Built at the direction of Cardinal O'Connell, it was a towering architectural statement of the growing strength of the faith in America. Viewed by some as an unprecedented insult aimed at the affluent Protestant community living in the surrounding area, it heralded the end of an establishment that started with the Mayflower and the rise of a new world order, built brick by brick on the backs of the immigrant faithful.

But, that was a long time ago. The property was eventually redeveloped by the diocese into a private psychiatric hospital, despite the protest of surrounding residents. They had lobbied the Church for years to tear down the eye sore, more commonly known as “The Castle,” and replace it with something of benefit to the local community, such as a school for special needs children.

Keeping an eye out for a familiar dark green Ford Explorer, Colby did a loop round the outer edge of the parking lot. The vehicle’s presence would signal the formidable Melissa Swartz was already on site. Colby was mildly disappointed to see counsel had not yet arrived.

Ms. Swartz had been appointed Jessie’s lawyer at the time of the arraignment. She was instrumental in convincing the presiding judge to order a thirty day mental health assessment. While the prosecutor was attempting to charge Jessie with her father's murder, she was just as eager to paint Jessie as a victim. In the end the mental health team deemed Jessie Walsh mentally incompetent for trial. Story was they didn’t need thirty days to come to a decision. They closed her file after Jessie bit into the femoral artery of the first analyst she saw.

The prosecutor and police commissioner determined after the mental health assessment came back to clear Jessie of any possible involvement with the Ripper murders. It would not do to have the Ripper's Daughter end up a drooling maniac unable to stand trial when she had eluded capture for so long. This left Jessie Walsh on record as nothing more than an innocent bystander to her father's murder.

"You get what you pay for and it seems Jessie pays well," Colby commented to herself as she pulled into a parking spot in front of the palatial institution.

Colby always found it strange Jessie could afford a high powered defence team from Robeson, Grace, and Strake and a private psychiatric hospital. The firm was not known to take on many pro bono cases, while the Abhordale Clinic was very private and very exclusive. It was one of the few in the country to offer private care for the criminally insane.

Colby tried to ferret out from her sources at the courthouse who would have the pull to secure Jessie her legal team. Her questions quickly got back to the Captain. He told her in no uncertain terms to back off, like he was running scared or something. Colby always had a bad hunch about the “or something” part when it came to Jessie Walsh. Nothing about her after Marty’s death made sense.

“Well,” Colby remarked dryly climbing out of the car,” here we are at The Castle. Let the games begin.”

***

“Detective Willis,” Colby announced loudly as she flashed her shield at the receptionist on duty, “I’m expected. I have a one o’clock appointment with Jessie Walsh and her attorney.”

Dressed in a shapeless smock, the woman behind the counter was in her mid-fifties, frumpy with thick plastic framed spectacles. The charmless glasses made her shifty eyes look even more rat-like in the dank surroundings. She took no notice of Colby and continued, instead, to straighten out a paperclip which she carefully added to a half filled jelly jar placed prominently in front of her otherwise barren work station.

Colby narrowed her eyes and mentally counted to ten as the woman reached into an open drawer and took out another paperclip. She hated having to deal with the staff at “The Castle,” it was always mind games with them. They were always trying to push her patience and patience was in short supply with Colby. But Colby knew the deck was not stacked in her favour, one slip of the tongue, a raised voice and they would throw her out faster than she could say “motherfucker.” If she wanted to see Jessie Walsh it was in her best interest to dig deep and be pleasant. Determined not to be brushed off again, Colby was about to open her mouth when the woman suddenly cocked her head at the lobby area and whispered out loud to an imaginary point somewhere above Colby’s right shoulder.

“One, two, the lawyer man? Button his shoes. He’s waiting over by the fish tank. Three, four, I’ll let Dr. Leshkari know both of you are here. You fuckin’, sucking dyke.”

Without giving Colby a second look the woman picked up the phone and began to page the doctor on the crackling PA system in halting Spanish. Colby trudged to the lobby somewhat sullen with the abrupt dismissal, but not unhappy to put some distance between the woman and herself. It was too bad she pissed Faust off before the trip. Colby hated having to deal with The Castle's crazies alone.

“What a cracked cunt, I friggin' hate nut jobs.” Colby’s muttered complaint was met with a loud chuckle and a blazing smile.

“She’s probably a former resident of the facility,” a booming baritone voice attempted to stifle another chuckle and failed miserably. “According to Social Services, the Abhordale Clinic is attempting to integrate their long term residents back into society by providing them with meaningful work experience."

Colby glanced at the pudgy hand extended as an offered greeting.

"More like getting away with slave labour," Colby countered and the man laughed. He was late twenties at most but well on his way to bald; a large man over six feet tall with blue twinkling eyes. His round face and ruddy cheeks seemed hairless at first glance, but a second, more careful look revealed fine blond eye brows and lashes. The delicate cherubic features looked out of place on the burly man, making him resemble an overgrown boy scout, with the finely tailored suit adding to the allusion of lightness in spite of the obvious bulk.

“You must be Detective Sergeant Colby Willis. I’m Harrison O’Neil. I’m Ms. Walsh’s new attorney.”

Colby shook the man’s hand, before opening with an unkind question, “What happened to the old bull dyke Swartz? Jessie decided to bite off her face or something?”

Harrison gave a gentle smile which belittled any offence Colby might have intended.

“I'm surprised the appointment coordinator didn't mention the change of representation to you. He must have thought you already knew. Most everybody knows by now. Ms. Swartz passed away last winter. It was a private funeral. She didn’t have any family left in Boston so the office arranged it. She had an accident at home, a bad fall down her cellar stairs. She broke her neck and quite a few other bones as well. She survived for a few days but was too injured to summon help. It was weeks before we found her. The undertaker said it best, there's nothing worse than dying alone unable to ask for help which you know for certain is within reach.” 

He blushed slightly, "It’s a bad habit. Some lawyers remember judges' rulings, I remember pathos."

Colby raised a shocked eyebrow at the information. She had never been fond of Melissa Swartz, but even she would not have wished a lonely pain filled death at the bottom of a freezing flight of stairs on her worst enemy. There were more comfortable ways to get to hell and Colby was an expert on most of them.

Harrison misunderstood her expression as doubtful and rushed to explain.

“She was on Christmas leave from work. Nobody from the office was unduly alarmed when we couldn’t reach her. We thought she might have gone away to Florida to visit her aunt and not told anyone. She was a very private person. We didn’t start worrying until she didn’t show for an appointment with an old client. Ms. Swartz was always very reliable," Harrison O’Neil explained.

“I suppose Jessie Walsh has an air tight alibi for this last holiday season,” Colby asked in a tone that was only half joking.

Harrison’s reply was refreshing if boring, “I reviewed the parking lot security tapes from Abhordale myself. Foul play involving Jessie Walsh was my first thought as well. The Medical Examiner’s report indicated no foul play. She suffered no other injuries except the fractured neck and broken bones consistent with a fall. Still, I would have been happier if the Boston PD was informed. I had reservations about the Wareham cops finding their own dicks never mind uncovering a murder by somebody as dangerous as Ms. Walsh. But, Mr. Strake did not want undo attention brought to an accidental death of a rising partner.”

“Mr. O’Neil …” Colby stammered as she tried unsuccessful to close her mouth before she swallowed a fly.

Harrison was a man of many surprises and Colby was beginning to like him against her better judgment. She could just see him working the courtroom with those Boy Scout manners of his, wrapping the jury around his pudgy little finger.

“I thought you guys were all about defending the rights of your vicious little nut job clients and screwing the system.”

Again, Colby found Harrison unflinchingly open and candid.

“My job is to protect Ms. Walsh. That means protecting her from unfair treatment by the Commonwealth but, also, from any harm she’s likely to inflict on herself. Detective, I am well aware my client is seriously ill. There is no doubt in my mind that left unsecured, Ms. Walsh would harm herself and anybody stupid enough to be within striking distance of her. Her financial guardian agrees with me on this and while officially our priority is her eventual rehabilitation, we are both realists. It is unlikely Ms. Walsh will ever be well enough to live in an unsupervised setting.”

“Any chance of me finding out who the hell her financial guardian is?” Colby ventured boldly hoping to get some information out of counsel while the going was good. But before the attorney could answer, their conversation was interrupted by an annoyed nasal voice shouting across the lobby from the reception counter.

“I only have five minutes!  Both of you are late,” Colby turned around to meet a pair of angry black eyes belonging to a small neat woman with the beginning of a five o’clock shadow on her upper lip. Dressed in an oversize white lab coat, Dr. Leshkari was hurrying their way a good fifteen minutes behind schedule as usual.

Colby met Dr. Leshkari once or twice before when she and Faust drove up to talk to several of her patients on some of their other cases. The woman was a class ‘A’ bitch—the absolute top shelf of assholes. The only reason Colby could come up with why the Commonwealth hadn’t yanked her license yet given the complaints floating about how patients in “The Castle” were being treated was that most of the complainers were disgruntled former staff with rap sheets a mile long themselves.

“I’ve set up a room on Jessie’s unit for the three of you to speak. If it would do me any good, I’d tell you to leave without seeing her. Jessie is a very sick woman and these visits upset her fragile mental state. But I know I’d be better off telling those fish in the tank behind you to stop swimming so if you would follow me, I have patients to ...”

Without finishing her sentence the woman abruptly turned her back on Colby and Harrison. She then strode out of the room as quickly as she entered, leaving the detective and the lawyer to run after her down the corridor to the locked double doors leading to the secured wing of the hospital.

Pulling a worn lanyard out of her coat pocket, the doctor inserted a battered key into the side of the control box before entering a five digit code into the punch pad. Colby watched as the light flashed green and the doors clattered open despite the shrieking alarm.

“Wrong code? Or did someone forget to turn something off?” Harrison asked.

His voice sounded overly concerned as he stepped into the foyer. Colby could see the place was starting to give him the creeps. It was not a good start to the beginning of what should be a lengthy security procedure for entry into the secured wing.

On the other side of the heavy doors, Colby looked on as the doctor punched the security code and then inserted the key into an identical control box. The alarm stopped immediately. Without a word of explanation Dr. Leshkari resumed walking to the open elevator doors at the end of the hall. It appeared she was intent on ignoring Harrison’s question, leaving Colby to allay the attorney’s fears herself.

“This is one of the most secure mental health units in the state. It's the only private facility equipped to deal with violent patients who are mentally incompetent to stand trial. The entry and exit doors will sound an alarm when opened properly. It is to alert their security team to visually monitor persons entering or leaving the secured area.” Colby smirked before adding, "You should hear what the alarms sound like when there's a security breach.

Dr. Leshkari inserted the same key into the elevator’s control panel and punched in another code as Colby and Harrison stepped on next to her. As the elevator started slowly up, Colby noted that Harrison was mentally taking in the fact there was nothing in the compartment to indicate the number of floors they passed. There were only two buttons on the control panel; up or down. If something was to happen they would be suspended in a metal box somewhere in space between ground and the secure unit.

“Detective Willis is correct. There’s nothing to be concerned about Mr. O’Neil. If I had entered the wrong security code every door in the entire facility would have immediately gone into lock down and the Wellesley police chief would have to drag his ass up here and unlock each door manually.”

“Jesus,” Harrison muttered. “Hate to think what’ll happen here if there was a fire?”

The doctor looked at him and replied with a nasty laugh, “Secure unit patients are not a priority in a fire. There is no evacuation plan for these patients.”

“What the fuck?” Harrison blurted out. “You know, I’m not entirely sure that’s in my client’s best interest.”

The doctor gave him a small, tight smile, “Your client’s unsupervised survival is not in anybody’s best interest.”

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doctor repeated her ritual with the key and the punch pad. When the elevator doors slid open the doctor all but pushed Harrison and Colby off. Almost immediately the doors slid shut again and Colby could hear the elevator quietly humming as it slowly descended back down.

“Walk in a single file behind me straight down the centre of the corridor. Keep your hands by your sides. Make no physical contact with any patient or staff you encounter. Do not speak until we are in the locked room.”

Colby had seen the inside of many prisons over the years but none of them were as frightening as this facility. There were no windows and the concrete walls, ceilings and floors were all painted a stark blinding white. The lighting was painfully bright, giving no indication of time, but it was the silence that chilled Colby the most. The long corridor they walked past was lined with heavy, steel doors on either side. Numbers above each door indicated which were occupied. Yet, there was no other sound but their footsteps on the linoleum.

The last door at the end of the corridor had no number. The doctor inserted her key in the lock and a loud buzzing started up. The door opened automatically and the trio entered. As soon as the door closed, the buzzing stopped.

Colby was startled to see Jessie sitting in the sparsely furnished room. Her mousy brown hair was stringy and damp. It hung over her face like a wet, dirty curtain obscuring her eyes. She was dressed in bright orange scrubs with no shoes. Her bare feet secured to the base of the chair with leather restraints. Colby noticed that her feet were bruised and scratched. There were leather restraints on her wrists as well, shackling her thin arms to the torso harness that held her upright in to the chair.

Two burly security guards stood on either side. Colby noted they were armed with mace and night sticks.

"Isn’t this overkill for a routine client attorney visit?" Colby asked turning to Harrison who was becoming visibly upset at the state of his client.

“Her feet are covered with bruises and what the shit happened to her arms?”  Harrison asked angrily as he pointed to the deep, fresh furrows up and down Jessie’s forearms.

Dr. Leshkari shrugged indifferently, “An unfortunate incident. It was shower day. She always puts up a fight. She broke the aide’s arm the last time.”

His face fast becoming an unappealing shade of red, Harrison turned to the doctor, “Dr. Leshkari, do I need to remind you that Ms. Walsh is not a prisoner. She is a patient here in this facility and she has patient rights to refuse treatment. You people are supposed to take care of her. What the fuck kind of a piss hole are you running here?”

The doctor stiffened at Harrison’s comment but before she could open her mouth to rebuke the attorney, Colby spoke up.

“I agree with the lawyer here. The guys at Walpole aren’t treated this rough. Jesus, there’s something seriously wrong going on here for so many people to be afraid of a woman barely 5 foot 4 and all of 110 pounds.”

Colby was surprised that she could feel anything but anger for Jessie. She had steeled herself to come face to face with a snarling creature hell bent on destruction, not some broken, battered toy. In her mind, she had reconstructed the woman she once knew into a monster after Marty’s murder.

“You are mistaken Detective Willis, the guys at Walpole are commonplace psychopaths. My charges are violently disturbed killers with no sense of remorse. Ms. Walsh is an extremely disturbed young woman, and you would take care to remember that.” 

Dr. Leshkari turned and spoke directly to Jessie.

“Tell them, Jessie, what you think about your father being disembowelled alive and left to die.”

“Good,” the voice that answered on cue was thin and robotic.

Colby felt a wave of fury rip through her gut, despite her deepening sense of unease. There was something stage managed about the exchange. The words spoken were crude and inflammatory. It seemed to Colby like a calculated effort to enrage or disgust the observer. But, why would the doctor want to disrupt the interview? Why would the doctor even care about the interview?

“And the suffering he endured, the hours of misery. What do you think about that, Jessie?”

“He deserved it.”

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Colby hissed softly under her breath, unable to contain her growing anger despite her reservations.

Dr. Leshkari sneered at Colby, “What were you saying about being too rough on her?”

“Jessie,” Harrison ventured as he stepped a little closer to his client only stopping when one of the guards extended his hand to block the attorney from coming any further.

“Jessie, I’m your lawyer now, I’m taking over from Ms. Swartz. My name is Harrison O’Neil. And I want you to know you don’t have to stay here if these people are hurting you.”

Jessie lifted her head to look at the man for the first time. Colby flinched at the sight of gaunt cheeks and pasty skin. Jessie Walsh had been an intelligent, vivacious woman in the weeks before she was committed to the Castle, but the vacant eyes staring back at Colby belonged to something less than human.

Harrison noticed the black eye which appeared to be fresh and Colby could see his obvious agitation.

Before he could ask about the injury, the doctor interjected, “You are out of line, Mr. O’Neil. There is a court order for Jessie to be confined for treatment.”

“There is,” O’Neil acknowledged. “But, there is nothing in that order saying she has to stay here. The arrangement for Jessie to stay at the Abhordale Clinic was made with her financial guardian and approved by Ms. Swartz, her then legal guardian. Doctor, I’m Jessie’s legal guardian now and I do not approve of this arrangement!”

“What?” The doctor was stunned.

“She is supposed to receive treatment. The only treatment she receives here is dished out with a fist. I won’t allow this situation to continue. I am not blind. I will not ignore the obvious and choose not to look and not to question.” Harrison looked at Colby and pleaded, “Detective, please take her into custody. Bring her back to Boston with you.”

Colby shook her head, unable to mount a verbal refusal but at the same time unable to do what was asked of her. Harrison must know that Jessie was confined to the Abhordale Clinic because she was found mentally incompetent to be charged or even testify in the murder of her father, Detective Marty Walsh.

Harrison must also have been briefed that although the District Attorney’s office ruled there was insufficient evidence to charge Jessie with conspiring to commit murder, Colby was reluctant to let go of her suspicions. Jessie was in the house while Marty was sliced open like a melon, yet escaped without a scratch. That Colby was dead certain Jessie knew and conspired with the killer.

Still, Colby was stunned by the change in Jessie’s physical appearance. The cuts and bruises were unsettling. Although, smacking perps around was not an alien concept for Colby. Those same heavy handed techniques by doctors and nurses bordering well into abuse was brand new territory for her. Beating the mentally ill crossed the imaginary line of decency Colby played with in her head.

“As an officer of the court, I’m asking you to take my client into protective custody,” Harrison was shaking with anger.

“Please, don’t make her stay here alone with these people while I try to round up a Sheriff this late in the day.”

“No. Not her,” Jessie mumbled suddenly. “Don’t let her take me.”

Colby paused. Jessie’s resistance was beginning to excite her; it spoke to a part of her she buried long deep within herself. The thought of being in control of the other woman appealed to Colby and in a snap made the disagreeable task before her acceptable.

“Okay, Harrison. I’ll take her but shackled. No sissy assed liberal whining from you on this. She’s a prisoner, my prisoner.”

“No,” Jessie pleaded again, this time sounding more urgent.

“Fine,” Harrison agreed the relief clear on his face.

“Jessie, you’re going with the detective. She’s taking you back to Boston. I’ll find you a better facility, I promise, somewhere safe where you can get help. You’ll only be in the downtown lock up for a day or so.”

“No,” Jessie whined. “Not her.”

Harrison pushed by the guard to kneel in front of Jessie.

“Listen to me Jessie, I know you understand me. My job is to make sure you stay safe. I thought the doctor here was doing right by you. She sent all these reports saying how comfortable you were and how well you were doing. I shouldn’t have believed them without coming to see you first. That was my fault and I’m sorry. But I’m not going to make another mistake and leave you here with them.”

“You are making a mistake. You cannot coddle someone like her,” the doctor snarled.

“Your predecessor Swartz understood that. She was a smart woman.”

Jessie whimpered softly at the name, causing Colby to mentally cringe. In the back of her mind, Colby recognized the pain behind that sound. She heard it before from her time on the beat. It was the sound sexual assault victims made when they were asked to pick out their attacker from a police line-up.

“Harrison, fuck it. Let’s just take her as is,” Colby recommended as a sick feeling lodged itself deep in her belly.

It was the same sick feeling she got whenever things were careening out of control. A throwback to the time she was a rookie and stood by helplessly at the first unprovoked police beating she ever witnessed. Colby knew she needed to get out of the building and fast. No sense in giving the good doctor a chance to fill another open bed.

“Jessie is my patient and I can’t allow that,” Dr. Leshkari blurted out firmly.

Colby turned on the woman with a cold smile.

“My car seats four, Doctor. You want me to take you into custody too? Throw you into the lockup with a big, fat dyke called Bubba who’s going to fist fuck you another hole?”

The doctor stepped back and put her hands up palm forward indicating that she would not interfere.

“Didn’t think so."

Harrison stood and stepped closer to Jessie. She cringed as much as her restraints would allow. He glanced over at Colby, his distress evident. His jaw clenched tight and a bright blue vein throbbing heavily in his forehead. Colby worried the attorney would need a hospital bed before this day’s business was done.

“Okay, which one of you tough guys is going to unlock the harness from the chair so I can take my prisoner into custody? Or do both of you want to take a ride down to the city hog tied in the back of my trunk? You two pretty boys are going to be real popular with the guys in the holding cell downtown.”

The taller of the two struggled briefly before pulling his keys free. As he unlocked the padlock at the base of the chair and roughly tugged the leather tether out of the harness rings, Harrison and Colby simultaneously took hold of Jessie by the upper arms. Colby cocked her head in surprise, despite his overgrown Boy Scout act Harrison apparently had some kind of police training. Noticing the expression on Colby’s face, the man blushed.

“Old habits die hard. Six years military police with an honourable discharge. I was in the Marines, saw action in Kuwait. Got myself a purple heart.”

Colby gave him a genuine smile. “Nice to know you used to be a good guy once upon a time.”

Harrison gently put a hand on Jessie’s back to help her stand as he answered,

“Detective, I’m still the good guy.”

“No. Please don’t let her take me,” Jessie begged Harrison as she sagged against him.

“Jessie, don’t make me drag you,” Harrison replied in a no nonsense voice as he slowly righted her.

“Now, I want you to try to walk and don’t stop until I tell you to sit. Once we get you comfortable in the car, Detective Willis will drive you back to Boston. I'm going to wait here for my associates to show up with a court order to release all your records to me.”

Colby asked, "You starting a lawsuit already?"

"Absofuckinlutely," Harrison replied with a wide smile and a firm nod of his head.

***

Jessie’s silence was beginning to unnerve Colby. She had not spoken a word since Harrison buckled her into the front passenger seat of the Charger like a helpless child.

Colby thought she heard a small gasp of recognition when Jessie saw the car from the main entrance of the hospital, but it could have been nothing but an involuntary response to the feel of cold ground against bare feet. Colby turned on the radio to drown out the quiet. It was an old rock and roll station and the sounds of “Tutti Frutti” ate up the silence between the two of them.

“Could you turn that off?”

Colby smirked, “That’s a classic. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like real music? Thought they taught you culture in that rich bitch Dana Hall School of yours.”

“Dr. Leshkari used loud music as a punishment. Please, could you just do this one thing for me?”

“What shit did you get up to at the booby hatch that needed punishing? Did they catch you drinking out of the toilet bowl again? Or did you go kill someone else?”

Jessie looked out the car window and muttered back, “Forget it. It’s nothing I can't handle. I’ll deal with it.”

“Oh, poor little old you. Let me tell you something, you no good piece of shit, a little music is nothin' compared to the hours you stood by and watched Marty suffer. Tell me, how long did it take him to die? Did you enjoy listening to his cries for help while he was being curved up like some goddamned Thanksgiving turkey?”

Colby’s voice became low and dangerous as she steeled herself for the wave of impudent anger and tears that she was sure would accompany Jessie’s reply.

“Did that turn you on, Bitch? Watching him slowly bleed to death on the floor of his own fuckin’ house?”

“Shut up, Colby.”

“Did I hit a nerve?” Colby asked with a deep laugh.

She expected a scream of frustration from Jessie or at the very least a string of obscenities. She even thought perhaps, if she played her cards right an anguished confession might follow. Her own pen jammed hard into her thigh by Jessie’s suddenly free left hand came as a complete shock.

“You fuckin’ psycho bitch!”

Colby screamed as she struggled to fend off the enraged woman while trying to keep the car on the road. In the end, she finished the fight by letting go of the steering wheel long enough to pop Jessie hard on the jaw.

Jessie’s head snapped back and hit the passenger side window with a sickening thud just as the Charger jumped the curb at the entrance to Shopper’s World. It came to a sudden stop with its mangled hood wedged tight under the greeting sign. Colby could feel her confidence deflate as rapidly as the tire on the driver’s side.

“Why in hell did you go and do that for, you stupid bitch? You could have gotten both of us killed.”

Colby groaned as she clutched her thigh. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to pull the pen out but she was going to do it anyway.

“I asked you nice to turn off the radio and you made fun of me. I don’t like it when people make fun of me.”

Jessie answered softly as she wiped the trickle of blood from the side of her mouth and resumed staring out the window as if nothing had happened.

Colby stared at her in disbelief.

“Maybe she really is fuckin’ crazy." Colby wondered to herself.

Either way Colby knew she was going to find out soon enough.

*****

Chapter 5

Pat Pickman snuck a quick glance at the two disheveled looking women huddled near the curb from the side mirror of his tow truck. He was glad they looked so miserable. It was a sin what they did to such a beautiful car.

"No respect, no respect at all," he muttered with a shake of his head as he grabbed the tools he need to winch the car free of the crumpled sign.

They weren’t local that’s for sure and an odd couple, they were at that. One was tall and lean in a beat up leather jacket and shades. She looked mean enough to eat shoe leather and spit out the nails. The smaller, skinnier woman was some drugged out hippie type with long dirty hair, stinking of dried sweat and disinfectant. From the way she was dressed and restrained, he figured her to be a Framingham girl. Pity was she went all to hell in the looks department. She could have been a real heart breaker with a bit of soap and water and a lot of scrubbing. Make up wouldn't hurt none either. She wasn’t his type, though. He liked his woman well-padded and friendly. This one looked cold enough to freeze the balls off King Kong. There was something about the eyes. They were empty, nearly dead.

The tall, mean looking one caught him staring at the other woman out of the corner of her eye and flashed a gold shield at him. It was enough to get his fat ass moving and more than enough to keep his yap shut before any questions dribbled out of his sunken cheeks.

Pickman slowly nodded and focused his eyes on the task at hand. He hated the goddamned pigs. No need asking questions when the cops were involved. It never did any earthly good to talk when it was police business. Piss off the wrong one and before you knew it a swarm of regulatory agencies would be descending on his auto shop like hungry locusts all wanting a piece of the pie.

He learned his lesson the last time he asked a Statie if he was drunk after the man tried to bend his cruiser around a tree. It took three years and ten grand of clean up money he didn’t have to get the Environment Police out of his life. Nope, it was definitely not worth sticking his neck out as far as he was concerned. The she cop could rip the ice queen’s head right off in front of him and she wouldn't hear a peep out of him. As long as she paid him, he didn’t give a damn what she did.

After Pickman finished securing the chain to the rear of that sweet ride, he stopped a while to blow on his hands trying to warm them up. It was rotten weather to be out on a job, but the bills didn’t pay themselves not in this economy. The weatherman on the news said it was spring, but it didn’t feel like spring to him. Old Man Winter was not ready to give up his grip on New England and, in spite of brilliant sunshine, it was windy and cold.

He got to the winch and prepared to hoist the Charger ass end up and out from under the sign. He checked over his shoulder at the last minute to make sure the cop and the other woman were back far enough from the disabled vehicle. It was bad business policy killing the customer before you collected.

Pickman noticed this time around that the smaller woman was shivering in her thin orange scrubs; her bare feet ghastly white against the cold concrete. She looked young but badly kept. Looked a little like his daughter, Sue Anne, first thing in the morning after a really wild Saturday night, except for those dead fish eyes of hers. There was something wrong with those eyes. They belonged in an old woman’s face not one as young and pretty as hers. But then Pickman figured he wasn’t the best judge in the world when it came to these matters. Truth was his baby, Sue Anne, was no spring chicken herself. She was pushing thirty five with nothing to show for it, but a dead end waitress job at a highway rest stop and a string of no good boyfriends. But he decided that except for the leather restraints, the ice queen looked harmless enough. Her cop friend however, was another story altogether.

Against his better judgment, Pickman abandoned the winch and approached the cop. Her eyes narrowed into slits and her lips were a colorless straight line. He imagined it had something to do with her bleeding thigh. He didn’t know how she managed to cut herself there, but he didn’t like the look of the dark colored stained. She was bleeding out like a stuck pig. Her shoulders noticeably stiffened when he was within five to eight feet of them. The pain was making her cagey and he knew to be careful, only thing worse than a cop was a cop nursing a wound. He respectfully bobbed his head in her direction before he spoke, no point in making things more awkward than they already were.

“Lady, you want to wait in the truck?”  Pickman cleared his throat and added, “You look kind of cold.”

“Just take care of the car,” Colby snapped. She didn’t want to admit it, but the pain, the cold, and the waiting was getting to her. She needed a drink and some place warm to lie down for a bit.

Pickman raised his hands in surrender. If this was how the bitch wanted to play it, it was fine with him. He was just being a Good Samaritan.

“Just tryin’ to be helpful Lady, is all. Car’s gonna need a day or so to fix up. Thought you’d need a ride somewhere, is all.”

Pickman quickly turned to walk back to the winch when Colby asked, in a somewhat strained voice, “A day?”

Pickman nodded and hurried back to the truck to put some distance between them. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that bitch in case she took out her gun and started pointing it at him. The goddamned pigs were all crazy as far as he was concerned.

“Why a day? It's a fuckin’ flat! Why do you need a whole day to fix a flat?” Colby bellowed, the veins in her neck standing out in bright relief against her white skin.

Pickman engaged the loud winch system before shouting his reply.

“Charger here needs special tires. They gotta match or you’ll flip. You got an extra in the trunk? A spare ready to go?”

Colby shook her head. The spare was the flattest of her five. She meant to get it fixed, but somehow never got around to it. Now she was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, bleeding from a puncture wound to her thigh, and arguing with a tow truck driver who was giving her the evil eye. She wanted to punch something hard.

Pickman nodded with a grin, “Figured that. Most people don’t keep good spares, cost too much.”

He stopped speaking for a minute to gently edge the Charger out from under the sign. It was a thing of beauty, it was. Just slipped out like a well-greased hog from Old MacDonald’s hands. The damage rendered to the sign and the hood wasn't too extensive. Neither would win a beauty contest, but neither were gonna keel over which was all right by him. Pickman secured the settings for the winch before turning back to the cop.

At the jangle of the chain, the cop mumbled, "F."

"Huh," Pickman asked but the cop waved him off.

He turned his attention to the ruined front tire and winced. He was going to have to make sure she understood the repairs needed to get the car back on the road. The car was a classic and he was going to do his best by her. He couldn’t give a fuck about the she cop and her creepy lady friend.

“Might need to get you a replacement rim by the sight of it. Done a helluva job, you did, but it could have been worse. A Charger can take a fair share of knocks. They sure don’t build them like they use to.” He sighed and rubbed his head gathering his thoughts before giving her the bad news.

“Lady, I gotta get you a matching tread. Better to get two but start with one, at least. If I go to a dealer, it’ll cost all outdoors and still take a couple of days. These tires are special order. Since you’re in a hurry, my boy can head over to the junk yard and find something suitable. We’ll get you good to go, but it’ll take a day or so to get the right fit so you don’t do cartwheels out on the road.”

It was Colby’s turn to wince. When she drove out to “The Castle” in the afternoon she had not intended on it being more than a routine visit, much less get herself and a first class psycho stranded in the boonies. She knew she should get on the cell and call the local cops or the Staties or even Faust for a ride back to the city. But right now, she didn’t really want anybody poking around in her business especially with her thigh giving her crap. She was feeling really motivated to have a deep and meaningful conversation with Jessie Walsh—alone.

“Any place around here we can hold up until you finish?”  Colby asked, immediately adding in a lower tone, “Any place private, really quiet?”

Pickman flashed a big wide smile for the first time since he set eyes on the women and their broken down ride. She cop was planning some unscheduled personal one-on-one with her lady friend. He heard that sort of thing was real common in prisons. Although the higher-ups didn’t like it much, which meant it would be easier for him to negotiate his way out of trouble later.

“My wife used to work the weekend desk at ‘El-Crapo-Helltell’ before they closed for renovations last week. They got shut down by the health inspectors. Said it was bugs or mice or something, but as far as anyone could tell there was nothing wrong with the place. Maybe it was a little old and rundown, but it was clean and reasonable. It’s right at the end of the mall.”

Colby frowned unsure as to the direction the conversation was taking. The confusion in her face brought another broad smile to Pickman’s cheeks.

“My cousin Bernie’s the night manager and for $30 I can get you a key for a suite and shut off the alarm. The water and the lights are still running and my wife’s the one to get called if any thing’s up so you got no worries. I’ll give you and your friend a lift over on my way to the yard.”

Colby nodded in agreement. A motel off the highway, all to herself and Jessie Walsh, the offer sounded too good to be true but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I got an overnight bag in the trunk I'll need.”

Pickman took a deep breath and counted to ten. No matter how many times he asked people if they got all their gear before the lift, some idiot always needed to get into the trunk after a perfectly good hoist. He went to the winch to ease the Charger back to the ground.

“No wonder she ended up under the fuckin’ sign, she a moron,” he thought to himself as the winch groaned into action. It was going to be a long drive.

***

‘El-Crapo-Helltell’ was a low slung one story building housing a single row of ‘family’ rooms along a common corridor. These were slightly more upscale than the hourly rooms directly facing the parking lot that normally saw a lot of traffic.

The property was old and water stained but it had its own bar and outdoor pool with a barbeque pit. Despite Colby’s initial misgivings about the man, the tow truck operator was good to his word. The room was clean and spacious. He secured them the “honeymoon suite” with a tub and a large double bed before driving off with her money safely tucked away in his front shirt pocket. They were now left alone in an empty motel with hot running water for the tub, electricity for the TV, and all the privacy Colby could stand.

Once alone in the room, Colby marched Jessie straight toward the bed. The fact that the bound woman was still somehow able to snag the television remote from the dresser top as she walked past was not lost on her. While Colby began to secure Jessie’s waist restraint with a set of handcuffs to the wooden bed frame, Jessie ignored her and continued playing with the remote. Jessie remained oblivious to Colby’s presence, her eyes never leaving the flashing screen, even as Colby struggled to lock her down.

Heaving a sign of relief after finally managing to secure the cuffs, Colby grabbed her bag and made a break for the bathroom leaving Jessie alone in front of the blaring TV like some dirty, neglected five year old. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Colby struggled out of her blood stained jeans careful not to jar her throbbing leg. The wound was messy and mean looking with blood continuing to ooze out from the opening. Colby knew she ought to have it stitched but she was in no mood to play twenty questions with some pimple faced resident. She carefully cleaned the laceration while counting off a hundred different ways she would like to strangle Jessie Walsh. Her fertile imagination assured each one was more innovative than the last. The distraction, at least, made the pain bearable.

There weren’t any bandages in the bag so Colby grabbed a roll of duct tape left over from her last quickie on the go repair job. It was better than nothing. Using a small face towel to stanch the bleeding she secured it over the wound with the tape. It worked like a charm. She read about using duct tape to seal a wound once in a book but never thought it would work.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Stieg!” Colby muttered as she tugged her jeans back on.

She quickly gathered her things together before limping back into the bedroom. Jessie was still channel surfing. Pictures flashed by in a nauseous blur. Colby suddenly felt light headed and looked away.

“Okay, you’re next. Get up.”

“What?” Jessie asked dully not bothering to stop or look up.

Colby took the remote out of Jessie’s hand, clicked off the power and tossed the remote onto the other side of the bed.

“Hey!”

“What?” Colby answered sarcastically as she bent down and unlocked the cuffs.

“Colby, I was watching that.”

“And, now you’re not. Come on. Get on your feet. You need to get cleaned up. You stink worse than me.”

Ignoring the killer looks Jessie was shooting her way, Colby began unfastening the main harness of the restraints. As she methodically removed the leather wrist and ankle cuffs a slow smile spread across her face.

“Oh, aren’t you a clever girl?” Colby smirked as she looked at the left wrist cuff. “You’re just about stretched the hell out of this.”

Jessie smiled sweetly at her. “It’s an occupational hazard. They wrapped me up almost twelve hours before you and fat boy showed. A girl gets bored strapped to a chair all day long with nothing to do but stare at the wall.”

“You know, an attitude like that wins you shackles from now on,” Colby winked. “If you’re gonna be a little Houdini, I’ve got to take precautions.”

“You always know how to show a girl a good time, Officer Willis,” Jessie replied smugly. “But, what makes you think a chain is going to be so much harder for me to slip out of. A girl learns to take care of herself on the inside.”

“Oh, tsk tsk, we have a challenge. I’ll just have to make sure I take extra steps. Now, get up and hit the bath, time to get clean.”

Without saying a word, Jessie stood up, stripped out of her grubby scrubs and walked to the bathroom stark naked. She left the door wide open as she reached over the tub to turn the water on. The motion was slow, deliberate, and calculated to give Detective Colby Willis a long, hard look at what had always made Jessie Walsh a walking wet dream for the guys back at the squad room.

Tearing her eyes away, Colby grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt out of her bag, before reaching into the zippered side pocket and pulling out a pair of ankle shackles. Whistling a happy tune, she strolled over to the night stand to retrieve the clock radio. She crossed the room still whistling and knocked loudly before entering the bathroom. She placed her stash on the closed toilet seat as Jessie looked up bemused at her.

The chains went on first. Colby reached into the hot water and pulled Jessie’s left foot up. A cuff was fastened around the ankle. Then the other end locked securely to the hot water pipe for the sink. Jessie chuckled, clearly unimpressed by Colby’s action and playfully attempted to squirt water at her. Colby smiled back and picked up the radio. Jessie stopped laughing and watched as Colby plugged the device into an empty socket. Any trace of humor left Jessie’s face. Colby set the radio to a classical station before placing it on the floor out of arm’s reach from the tub.

“Please, Colby … don’t,” Jessie stammered as she tried unsuccessful to claw her way out of the tub. Gently pushing her back into the water, Colby leaned in close and whispered in Jessie’s ear.

“I recommend you stay right where you are and enjoy the hot water and the soft music until I get back. If you break the water pipe and flood the room, you’ll probably electrocute yourself. If you splash around too much, you’ll probably electrocute yourself. If you try to reach the radio to unplug it, you’ll probably electrocute yourself. Nope, I’d strongly recommend you stay right where you are until I get back.”

***

Slamming the hotel room door behind her, Colby limped down the hall towards the deserted lobby. She was sick of looking at Jessie Walsh. Just being around that woman was giving Colby the shakes and the beginning of a migraine that started from that damned spot just behind her left eyeball. Colby needed to be alone. She needed to be dead drunk and soon, and to get there she needed a drink.

Jessie Walsh was trouble, Colby knew from the first day they met. But for Colby, Jessie was something far worse. Jessie Walsh was forbidden fruit. The kind she had to stay as far away as possible until she could drown the demons screaming in her skull with a bottle of Jack. Scuttling down the dimly lit corridor like a crab, Colby hadn’t realized she left her wallet behind on the bedside table until she reached the front lobby.

“No wheels, no cash,” she groaned. “No credit. I’m fucked!”

Colby could feel her belly flip and her hands go clammy at the thought she would have to go it dry tonight. Heading back to the fuckin’ room to face Jessie without a shot of something potent under her belt was not an option. And there certainly was no way in hell she was going to score a drink from the bar back at the mall with her bum leg, no cash, and no gold shield. She would have to deal with the burning itch down her throat the best way she could.

“Shit, I’m gonna be swillin’ friggin’ aftershave like some squash rot cunt, if I don’t get a drink soon.”

Colby muttered in frustration as she paced the lobby. She was ready to let loose a string of curses until she saw the small neon sign beckon to her from across the empty parking lot.

“O friggin’ Flannery’s! Now, we’re talking,” Colby’s face lit up with a cocky grin as she headed out for the darkened bar.

The front door was padlocked and chained, but Colby managed to loosen the catch on the cellar entrance around the back. It popped open like a virgin’s cherry with a little pressure from her switchblade. It was a skill she picked up on the mean streets as a kid. Like riding a bike, it was something you never forgot.

She pushed hard against the half rotten door, muttering a curse under her breath as the door swung wide knocking an old empty paint can over. The lid rolled across the cement floor. It spun tight before losing energy and settling on the floor with a gentle tink.

"E#," Colby did not realize she had spoken out loud.

The place smelled damp and moldy, filled with the lingering ghosts of too many cold beers and cheap microwave dinners. O’Flannery’s Bar and Grill started out as a sweet tribute to Ireland as bright as the American dream. Catering to a host of travelers over the years it saw its fair share of fights, Elvis sightings, and in one instance a knifing in the parking lot. Now well beyond its twilight, it was a shuttered little bar full of someone else’s memories fading away like the smoke stained wallpaper.

Feeling her way along the wall in the dark, Colby eventually located a sole light switch at the far corner of the room and tried her luck. The switch on the wall only illuminated the inlaid bulbs beneath the smoked glass bar top, but it was enough for what Colby had in mind. The mirrored back looked twice as empty without a single bottle in sight. Colby’s heart began to race. Some tight-ass had done the right thing and cleared out the stock before locking up the place for good to deter break-ins. She hated it when that happened.

“Can’t a cop catch a break around here?” she grumbled.

Driven by an insane craving for alcohol, Colby hurried behind the bar. Quickly she opened and systematically emptied the half dozen cabinets under the counter. Her search yielding nothing of promise, a bottle opener, a shot glass or two, a few bags of expired peanuts, until in the last place she looked, she found a half empty bottle of what she needed.

“Ah there you are, my good old friend JD.”

She grabbed the bottle and headed for a stool. Planting her ass on the worn wooden seat, she unscrewed the top and took a long, deep swig from the dusty bottle. The amber elixir burned its way down her parched throat. She could feel its familiar warmth filling her.

Lulled into a stupor, her eyes drifted closed and for a moment, everything became painfully clear, free of all the lies and the hiding and the fear. It was the profound perfection of despair—a scream lost in the pain filled silence of an amber sky.

It took the unmistakable thunk of a shot glass hitting the bar top to startle her out of her self-pity. Jumping off the stool, Colby gagged on the Jack, throwing it up all over the front of her last clean shirt.

“I taught you better manners than that, girl. Use a glass.”

“Marty!”

Marty stood smiling behind the bar, one hand on a shot glass and the other clutching the dark wetness soaking through the front of his crisp white shirt. Black pants riding high over his roundish belly. The beer gut that grows when a fit man stops exercising and starts spending Friday nights in bars. His starched long sleeves were fastened at the cuffs with gold links, out of place anywhere but a funeral home. Sparse brown hair ringing the sides and back of his slightly oversized head, eye brows creased in permanent distress over pale grey eyes and cheeks devoid of laugh lines. His expression as tightly synched as his black leather belt with the highly polished gold buckle.

“And, stop spilling the good stuff. If you can’t hold your liquor then stop drinking.”

“Marty, you’re dead,” Colby tried not to stammer but failed miserably.

Marty rolled his eyes, “I’m goddamned sick of you telling me that, kiddo. Sure, I’m dead. I got myself cut open by some psycho. Took on more than I could handle and you’re lying on your back on the fuckin’ floor back at that El-Crapo-Helltell taken’ a fit.”

Colby started to turn to look but quickly turned her head back. The floor behind was dimly lit, and she was afraid of what she might see. Afraid that the dead man standing in front of her just might be right.

“What’re you looking at kiddo? There’s nothing to see there, just lots of dust bunnies hiding in the corners. They won’t hurt you. Relax, have a drink. It’s on the house.”

Colby watched him ease the bottle out from between her trembling hands and pour out a shot into the waiting glass. His hand was colder than ice.

“What are doing here, Marty? Why you haunting me? Does this have anything to do with Jessie? I wasn’t going to hurt her. I just needed to get some air that’s all. You know how crazy she makes me.”

Frowning Marty pushed the glass over to her with the bottle’s long neck. She could see the slash that ran down from his left ear down into his shirt. It must have damn near decapitated him. When in the dying did the killer inflict the grisly neck wound?  Why couldn't she remember seeing it before?

“Shit, if I was a friggin’ Indian or a yoga screwball you’d think I was your personal spirit guide. But I’m just a fat, dead Irish cop so I’m haunting you. Thanks for the support … and I know you would never hurt my baby girl. Take a bit of advice from a dead man and quit being so hard on yourself. I remember the time she sent you out for ice cream. Only you didn’t know she wanted a flavor they didn’t make anymore. You came back with every single flavor they stocked. Jessie plays you because she knows she can. You care too much, that’s your problem kiddo. You just don’t know when to fold your cards and walk away.”

Colby couldn’t hold back the smirk, it was pure Marty. He always tried to make her laugh when he knew she was scared stupid. She made a small effort at amends.

“Sorry, oh wise dead spirit guide. What have you come to tell me? The winning State lottery numbers would be nice. I could do with a couple million bucks. Maybe buy my own tropical island. Maybe you got me a name for the Ripper’s Daughter? An address or a driver's license would do fine.”

“Funny. Ha. Ha. Ha. Nope, you were right the first time. I’m just haunting you, but I’d like the same presumption of mystical powers you’d give any old new age crack pot, that’s all.”

Colby swallowed hard and fired back the shot. “Hey buddy; can I buy you a round?” She quipped as she set the glass back down.

“Nope,” Marty grimaced as he refilled her glass. “No booze allowed in hell, girl.”

“You’re in hell, Marty?” Colby whispered unable to swallow back her terror.

“Where did you think I’d end up with all the drinking and whoring? Florida? I lied and I cheated. I made my own goddamned hell bit by bit.”

Marty waited while Colby fired back another drink, then refilled it and watched dispassionately as she tossed it back again.

“So, why are you haunting me?”

“You’re a dead woman, Colby. You just don’t know it yet. Now, pay attention or you’re gonna be working as my bar back before the week is out!”

Colby’s temper flared, “I suppose you’re gonna take me on a tour to the great beyond then. Show me the errors of my ways. Tell me I’m nothing but a washed up has been, that I need to clean up or ship out like the fuckin’ Captain. Thought once they let you into hell you don’t get a hall pass back to the land of the living. What? You get good behavior furlough?”

He growled at her, “I ain’t here to tell you nothing you don’t already know.”

“Go fuck yourself with the cryptic eight ball shit!”

“You saw him the night I got sliced, you stupid shit! Think! It’s time to remember! Now wake the fuck up!”

Colby groaned. Her pants were soaking wet. She was lying flat on her back on the floor of the motel lobby and everything felt horribly wrong.

*****

Chapter 6

Sunday, March 15th

She was dead; limbs bound tight in cotton wraps, eyes glued shut against the light. She opened her mouth to scream but her tongue had dried up and withered away to dust. Was this how his victims felt in the end after he finished with them? After he made them his grotesque masterpieces?

She found herself grasping at snatches of memories that made no sense. Trying to focus against the torrent of sensations in order to tease out the bits of reality which still made a difference to her was like trying to grab a fistful of water.

The stink of mildew, the soaking wet clothes, the hardness of the concrete underneath her, her pounding head, they all conspired to push her further and further away—back down under a tide of darkness. If she stopped struggling, she would sink and it would be over.

Reality was slowly but finally edging back into her consciousness. She was lying on the floor. She had an attack. She wet herself. That was it. No other coherent memory voluntarily surrendered itself. She would need to hunt for her own answers.

Willing her sluggish brain to remember, she painfully retraced her steps from now to then and back again. Her seizure left her lying on her back on the filthy carpet in the lobby of a deserted motel. She meant to call out, seek help because something was wrong—very, very wrong. But her world spun out of control, before she could even open her mouth to utter a cry.

She felt herself falling. The seizure dragged her along like a broken doll towards the gaping maw of an open sewer. She flailed out blindly but there was no one she could reach out to, no one to save her before the darkness came and swallowed her whole.

Then she heard it, a sound piercing through the darkness. The thin voice calling out in perfect timing to the sound of metal clanging against metal. A voice calling out the names of the dead. She listened for her own among the multitude named, ever aware of the futility of her struggles. Only this time, she was not among them. Colby Willis remained among the living for now. The realization left her gasping for air as she surfaced from beneath the veil of darkness.

“What the fuck?” Colby cried out as the cotton sheet finally ripped apart and she slammed her elbow against the nightstand.

Her head pounded in time with the angry buzzing voice echoing from the bathroom. It was someone shouting for attention. The bed spread was twisted around her sweaty body several times like a python, trapping her within its many cotton layers. The shouting only made her shaky efforts to free herself more frustrating. Losing her temper, Colby kicked the nightstand sending the wood crashing against the wall. The shouting stopped.

Colby looked around the room to get her bearings. She was sprawled fully clothed on a double bed in an old motel room. Her clothes and the bedding were soiled and reeking of dried urine and sweat. She wondered if the stench was hers or someone else’s. Was there someone else in the room with her? Someone she knew?

Her shoes and socks were nowhere in sight and her vision was blurred. She guessed one of her eyes was swollen shut. Had she been in a fight? Attacked? Vague memories began to wander back into her cloudy mind like travelers arriving at a bus station just opened for the morning commute. Her first thoughts were the usual—alcohol. Generally she would assume she blacked out in a drunken stupor, but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. There was no booze last night. She was certain she did not touch a single drop.

Colby slid herself to the edge of the bed and pulled up into a semi standing position. Whatever happened to her would have to wait. There was something in the bathroom that needed seeing to. There was something important in there. It was the one thing she was sure of.

Once her head stopped swimming enough so she could stand, she began to make her way across the room to the open bathroom door. On the last step before crossing the threshold, her bare foot squished in a water stain on the ancient carpet.

“How the fuck did I piss all the way over here?” Colby wondered silently as she leaned on the battered door frame to catch her breath.

“Jesus You look like shit. How much did you drink last night?” The hoarse voice questioned. It was a woman. There was a woman in the bathroom.

Colby glanced up and frowned. “You. Forgot about you.”

Colby managed to drop her pants and sit on the toilet bowl without keeling over. As she painfully released her bladder, the urine streamed out in a long foul rush, brown water against the pale yellow of the aging porcelain. If she didn’t know any better she would have just said it was another morning after she’d been on an all-night bender. But no morning after ever felt as bad as this. Leaning over she rested her feverish forehead in her hands, her elbows propped awkwardly on her thighs. She was exhausted like she just spent the night running laps around the Common.

“What the fuck happened last night?” She muttered out loud not expecting an answer, unable to shake off the ominous feeling something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

“Well if you need to know,” Jessie began cheerfully as she eyed the taller woman, “I spent the night in here naked and chained to the plumbing while you were snoring and dead to the world. Thanks a lot for forgetting and leaving me here alone in this rat-hole, by the way. Just the sort of professional conduct, I’ve come to expect from you, Officer Willis. Oh, in other news, the ceiling has seven hundred and twenty two stains on it and could really do with a fresh coat of paint.”

Colby flashed a quick look at the naked woman sitting in the dry tub with a bloody ankle where the shackle cut into tender skin. She would have to see to that ankle later. Despite, whatever happened between them over the years, she hadn’t meant to hurt Jessie. Colby didn’t consider herself cruel. She was no monster.

“I didn’t mean you. You were here. Nothing happened to you. I meant, what happened to me.”

“Damned if I know. You got me naked, chained me up, set a booby trap with that stupid radio, and went on your merry way. It was hours before you came back. You didn’t say shit to me when I shouted for you to let me out. I assumed you were dead drunk and just passed out.”

Giving Colby a wicked smile Jessie asked slyly, “What’s the matter, Officer Willis? Another rough night with a bottle and a woman whose name you can’t remember?”

Colby shook her head and turned her face away. She didn’t want Jessie to see the fear in her eyes. She had enough on her plate with keeping herself together as it was. Jessie was baiting her again like always but this time she was cutting it too close to home.

When Jessie saw that she wouldn’t get an answer out of Colby, she taunted again, rubbing salt deeper into the raw, angry wound, “Can’t even remember where you put your tongue, Officer Willis? Figures. You could never say no to a bottle or a pussy. You were always such a friggin’ loser.”

Colby remained silent. She wished for once Jessie was right. The morning would be far less complicated if all this was the end result of a one night stand and a bottle of Jack. If she merely drank her way into oblivion then it would mean there was a logical explanation for the missing time however pathetic. But, Colby was certain there was no booze. The last thing she remembered was coming around on the lobby floor after the seizure. Another fit, a bad one, left her feeling so sick she had to close her eyes for just a minute and … then nothing. Nothing she could remember, nothing to explain the missing hours of her life.

“Fuck, what happened to me?” Colby muttered suddenly distracted. She needed to get away from Jessie Walsh. A migraine was fighting to get a foot hold behind her eyes. She needed to go lie down.

“Um, Colby you don’t look so good maybe you could unlock the cuffs before you croak? It would be really shitty to starve to death in a tub. What with the easy access to water and fairly protected surroundings and everything, I’d last for weeks.” Jessie pleaded this time sounding nervous.

The Colby she knew was always in control, all spit and polish from her neat pressed pants and tailored jacket to her shinning black boots. Jessie hated the sight of her father’s protégée, the spitting image of him with his stupid starched whites. But this was a new Colby, one that was angry and out of control with a wild light in her eyes Jessie liked even less. This Colby was beginning to frighten her. This unpredictable Colby reminded her too much of herself.

Colby gave her a puzzled look.

“What? Don't you know anything? It's basic biology. Mammals can survive on water for weeks without food. I put myself through college, remember? Got a full scholarship. I’m very, very smart, not like some dumb ass cop I know.” Jessie replied with a cocky grin trying to reclaim her edge.

Colby shook her head with a sad smile, “I know. You did the pre-med track. You wanted to work with sick kids. I was there when you graduated and what a fuckin’ waste you turned out to be.”

For a brief moment Colby thought Jessie looked hurt, her loss stripped bare and exposed like a deer caught in spotlights, before her eyes clouded over in a familiar expression of rage.

“If I want your opinion about my life, Officer Willis, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, shut the fuck up. Your compassion is reminiscent of my father’s limited empathy. That fuckin’ shit, may he rot in hell.”

“You have no idea,” Colby mumbled with a vague memory of Marty.

Trying to shake off an ominous feeling of doom, she pulled her shirt off, almost tumbling head down onto the bathroom floor in the process. It took a hand against the wall to steady her. Taking a deep breath, Colby let her eyes drift shut swallowing down the bitter taste of bile at the back of her throat. Her head was spinning. She needed to lie down.

“Oh no, wait, don’t faint, hey, Colby! Wake up!”

“Give me a second,” Colby grumbled as she struggled to open her eyes. She was so tired.

“No fuckin’ way! You’re going to pass out and if you smash your head on the floor. You’ll bleed like a heparinized pig and die right in front of me. Then I might need to eat your skinny ass to keep from starving to death very, very slowly. So, no way I'll give you a minute! Fuckin’ wake up!”

In the back of her mind, Colby could hear Jessie’s screams and the loud persistent rattling of the shackle as she began to yank furiously on her chains. The voice calling out in perfect timing to the sound of metal clanging against metal. She wondered how something so small could make such a din. Steadying her breathing, she began to collect the scattered pieces of herself. It was slow at first, but then, as the throbbing in her head began to die down, her thoughts began to line up in proper order. She opened her eyes. She was not named among the dead. Not yet, anyway. She‘d been spared and would live for now.

Colby recovered her bearings and began to unhook her sports bra. “Relax, nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Easy for you to say, Officer Willis. You haven’t been chained naked to a pipe for hours sitting in your own shit.”

Colby grinned for the first time that morning at the smile hidden in Jessie’s voice.

“Don’t be so sure. Besides, we know this ain’t the first time you’ve been chained up for the night. Hey, wait. I thought you were some kind of Houdini of restraints. Why didn’t you just pick the cuffs open with your teeth or something equally amazing?”

Jessie remained sullen as Colby stood up. She scowled as she watched the taller woman shuffle over to the clock radio on the bathroom floor and tug the cord out of the socket. Without warning, Colby hurled the electrical device like a projectile over her shoulder smashing it with a loud violent crash against the wall above Jessie’s head, showering the shell shocked woman with bits of plastic and wire. When Colby stepped closer to the tub Jessie started crying.

“What are you going to do?  Where are the keys?  Just let me get out of the tub, ok? Shackle me to the bed but let me out of the tub, please.” Jessie blubbered like a frighten child, “Please, Colby, don’t hurt me.”

Colby chuckled softly. “So Ms. Walsh, I’m Colby now, not Officer Willis. Why would I hurt you? Oh yeah, right, I forgot. You stabbed me. Don’t worry; I’m not the vindictive sort.”

Colby leaned over Jessie and turned the shower on full blast. Cold. Jessie screamed as the freezing water hit her naked body.

“Well, not too vindictive.”

“Bitch,” Jessie hissed as she tried to squirm away from the spray of pelting water. Colby ignored her as she adjusted the water temp. Once it was warm enough, she eased her wounded leg over the tub edge before dragging in the rest of her aching body. She used the bar of soap which she’d given to Jessie earlier to lather everything including her hair. She kept a toiletry pouch in the gym bag but she didn’t have the time or patience to search for shampoo right now. She didn’t care how she looked. She just needed to be clean. Ivory Soap would work fine for that.

“You fuckin’ enjoy humiliating me, don’t you? You sick piece of shit,” Jessie snarled while hunkering down away from Colby trying to limit their body contact.

“Yep,” Colby hummed happily as she finished washing her hair.

“I hate you.”

“Funny, I hate you too. See, we do have something in common after all these years.”

Colby quickly finished up her shower with a full body rinse and a mouthful of water. She swished the tepid water around her cheeks before spitting it out like a fountain.

“Shit,” Jessie cursed as the water sprayed her.

“Oops,” Colby said and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry, didn’t actually mean to do that but I can’t say I regret it.”

Jessie just glared daggers at her while rinsing the spit out of her hair, too angry to even say a word. Colby gave her an extra couple of minutes before shutting the water off. Then came the hard part, easing herself out of the tub. Her leg was throbbing and needed attention. No choice but to limp back to the bag. She grabbed a towel and began to dry off when the sound of clanging drew her attention back to the bathroom.

Jessie climbed out of the tub. She stood staring at Colby in an awkward but defiant pose. Her arms neatly folded over her small, hard breasts. One foot planted firmly on the tiled floor. The other still stuck in the tub tethered to the short chain holding it there. Colby pointed to her clothes on the floor. Jessie looked at them and then stared back blankly.

“Wash ‘em then I’ll let you get dressed.”

Jessie’s arms came down by her side, hands clenched tight into fists, “What the fuck? Am I some kind of slave now? Barefoot, shackled, forced to work. What are you gonna do next? Tie me up like a prize cow and screw me up the ass? You’ll enjoy that won’t you, you freak.”

Colby made a grimace, “Screw you? Are you kidding me? Why would I want to fuck the cunt that killed my buddy?”

“Because you’ve always liked fuckin’ me, you filthy dyke. You've been sniffing around my skirts from the first day we met … my father never stopped warning me about you. You should have heard some of the things he said. Said you were a …”

“I’ve never touched you without you begging for it in my life and you know it. Shut the fuck up or so help me I’m going to blow a big fat hole in your head,” Colby screamed livid with uncontrollable anger. “Now, wash my clothes!”

“With what?! You freakin’ bitch!!!” Jessie shouted back as she picked the soiled clothes up off the floor.

“A little water, a little soap, a lot of elbow grease. I don’t care the fuck how! Just get to it!”

“How ‘bout a rock to beat them against then I can brain you with it when I’m done, you fuckin’ asshole!”

Slamming the bathroom door hard enough to rock it off one of its hinges, Colby stalked over to the far side of the bed and took a deep breathe. The door drifted back open behind her. She hated it when she lost control and Jessie Walsh was oh-so-good at pushing all her buttons. Colby decided the faster she got what she wanted out of Jessie and the faster she got that witch off her hands the better. The woman was driving her crazy. Even just looking at her was making Colby nuts.

“Pay backs are a bitch,” Colby mumbled.

She turned on the TV before rummaging for fresh clothes in her bag. The sound of running water and television commercials filled the air. She needed to re-bandage her wound before she got dressed. There was an old tank top in the bag which was soft enough to double as a dressing. Still her leg was feeling pretty good considering a pen was sticking out of it less than eighteen hours ago. Jeans and a black tee shirt quickly followed. Underwear, apparently, was a luxury item on this trip.

"Goin' Commando," she hissed as she tore the duct tape from her skin

It hurt but not as bad as she gingerly pulled the face cloth off the dried wound. Some fresh blood oozed at spots where the material stuck. But, there was no heavy flow. The worst of the bleeding was done.

"Hmm, probably good enough as it is," she decided and tossed the tank top back in the bag before tugging on the worn out jeans.

“Breaking news from Metro West. A murder with an alarming connection to the Ripper’s Daughter serial killings here in Boston. For more on the story, we go to Natalie Wu live in Framingham at the State Police barracks.”

Colby spun on her heels at the news of the killing. This was not happening. He couldn’t be here. He was in Boston. She felt her head suddenly grow heavy. She needed to sit down. Dropping onto the bed, Colby struggled to focus her attention on the flickering screen. The sound of running water abruptly stopped as Natalie Wu began her report.

“Thank you, Joe. State Police are releasing few details of the investigation. What we do know is a body was discovered on a closed access road behind Shopper’s World just before 6 am by an elderly man walking his dog. The scene was so grisly, according to investigators; the man suffered a heart attack after using his cell phone to call the police. Boston Homicide detectives are on the scene due to striking similarities with the long running serial killings in Boston known as the Ripper’s Daughter Murders. No details on the victim have been released pending notification of her next of kin. This is a developing story and additional information is expected to be released during a noon press conference here at the State Police Barracks.”

Colby grabbed her phone. There were twenty two unanswered messages staring back at her. She hit the recall button and waited.

“It is about fuckin’ time!” The Captain barked as he picked up her call mid-ring. “Where the fuck are you, Willis? We need you here now. We have a lead on the fucker.”

“Car broke down. Getting it fixed. I’m at a hotel,” Colby replied careful to avoid giving him a direct answer. Her immediate proximity to the murder scene was too unnerving to mention.

“Faust is on scene with the Staties. Can you guess who else is there, Willis? Hmm, can you just guess?”

“Feds,” Colby swallowed hard.

“Fuckin’ Feds is right! Shit! We’ve lost control of this investigation and now all our hard work is getting gifted to those fuckers and we’ll be out in the cold! And, this is the break we needed! Fuckin’ pissin’ shittin’ suck fest!”

“What break?”

“The victim is still breathing!”

Colby could feel her stomach curl itself tight into knots. It worried her. This uncanny feeling that something was wrong that she could not account for her whereabouts for the last twelve hours coupled with the unwelcome knowledge the latest victim was still alive. Colby looked toward the silent bathroom and the unusually quiet figure standing there for a long moment before returning to her call.

“It’s not like him to leave them breathing. It’s not his MO."

“Oh, the victim will be dead very soon. This is definitely our killer. Massive injuries. Can’t go over it again so soon or I’ll puke—again. But, the body is still warm. Tossing heart beats for now. Brain dead for sure but warm enough to know we aren’t too far behind the muttafucker this time.” 

The Captain asked again, “Where are you? I’ll have Faust pick you up. But I’m warning you Willis, don’t fight in the car or I’ll write you up. I don’t have time for your stupid macho shit.”

“I gotta get my car. It should be ready by now … I have Jessie Walsh with me.”

“What? Jessie? The Jessie Walsh? You better have an explanation, Willis.”

“Her new lawyer wanted me to take her back to Boston for a few days while he looked for another place for her. The nut house wasn’t up to snuff. They were using her like a punching bag. You should see the bruises on her. It was bad stuff. But, the car broke down. It was late so I got a hotel room instead of bothering Faust.”

“You are the dumbest fuck I’ve ever met! Jessie out of the loony bin and we score another murder? Fantastic! That’s just perfect! Where the fuck is she now?

“She’s in the bathroom. I have her in line of sight and the door’s open. Look, I was with her all night. She didn’t leave my side the entire time.” Colby looked up and saw Jessie watching her. “Look Captain, there’s no way in hell she could have gone out, thumbed a ride, and killed anybody with me right here.”

As the lie fell from Colby’s lips, Jessie smiled.

*****

Chapter 7

“You are kidding, right?” Colby asked Pickman as she stood staring at the chugging station wagon he arrived in.

The car stood out like a behemoth in the empty parking lot, a throwback from the golden age of cheap gas and huge families. It was an old-fashioned Ford LTD station wagon, with a long heavy body and rear wheel drive typical of older American cars. Despite its obvious age, it was a solid vehicle with no dents to mar its straight unyielding lines. The chrome was still intact, although time had mellowed the original silver finish into a subtle greyish hue. Other than a scattering of cigarette burns in the leatherette seats, there were no rips or tears in the sea blue vinyl.

It was, as far as Rick Pickman was concerned, a gorgeous example of an American classic. He had a soft spot for Ford wagons. He used to drive one round himself as a young man. He even got lucky the first time in the front seat of one. So he was getting real sick and tired of she cop and her skinny, scruffy girlfriend looking down their noses at a decent ride.

He had hauled himself out of his nice, warm bed after getting a phone call in the early hours of the morning telling him to bust his butt over to the motel with a ride pronto. She cop and company were already standing out in the cold waiting like he was late for the Second Coming. Although, he had to admit the other woman cleaned up real nice. She was a sight for sore eyes in her oversized sweats with her hair washed and tied up neat in a ponytail. She cop was meaner and uglier than usual in a pair of ripped denim jeans, shades, and that tired old bomber jacket of hers. Heroin chic, as his mama used to say.

There was no ‘good morning,’ no ‘thank you very much’ and certainly no ‘sorry for getting you up so early on a Sunday.’ Typical. All she cop handed him was a hail of abuse, so much for respecting the poor, hardworking slob trying to help her out. That was the pigs for ya. Always running their mouths and cuddling their guns like they were cocks.

Keeping his temper under check, Pickman cleared his throat and replied in a firm voice, “Well, no, I’m not kidding. She’s all I got running. She ain’t much to look at but she’s got eight cylinders and new plugs and a starter and should be good for another three thousand miles before she’s due for an oil change.” Quietly adding more for himself after a moment’s reflection, “and a tire rotation and maybe a nice hot wax to bring out the shine.”

Gritting her teeth, Colby was just about to tear into the man when she felt Jessie squirm in her grasp. Despite her better judgment, she fitted Jessie in Smith & Wesson transport shackles complete with a belt chain to secure her wrists at waist level. Colby knew that severely restraining Jessie in this manner would probably invite a violent backlash from the smaller woman later. But she did not dare give the Captain even a hint of an idea she’d been lax with her prisoner. Especially today, with another Ripper murder investigation front and center.

Hoping to dissuade Jessie from causing trouble, Colby hobbled her further by limiting her stride to a fifteen inch allowance with the ankle chains. Still, Colby only felt remotely in control holding Jessie firmly by the arm to further discourage any escape attempt. She was very much aware of Jessie’s penchant for getting herself out of tight spots. Jessie stabbing the Captain in the neck while on Colby’s watch was definitely not something Colby wanted to risk.

Yet there was something very viscous about the feel of Jessie’s arm—warm and ropey with hidden muscles, under her sweats that paradoxically intoxicated and disturbed Colby. It was the intimacy of Jessie wearing a familiar piece of her clothing, the smell of ivory soap mixed in with the faint unforgettable scent of the other woman. Colby felt things beginning to stir inside her. Secret things she tried very hard to forget since Marty's murder. Getting Jessie secured inside a vehicle would give her back the use of her hands again. She'd be back in control regardless of what four wheeled hunk of crap Pickman provided. Right now that option appealed more to Colby than the gratification of kicking in his fat smiling face.

Turning to Pickman, Colby asked in a low growl. “When will my car be ready?”

“Three days, maybe four, but I got you cut rate prices for the replacement. This whole shebang, what with the rental and parts, will only cost you about three bills. It’s a steep discount considering it’s the weekend and door to door service and everything.”

Colby rolled her eyes. “Okay but if this hunk of rust breaks down, you better be there in a heartbeat.”

“I won’t need too, car’s solid as a rock.” Pickman replied with confidence.

He watched Colby drag Jessie over to the front passenger side of the wagon and dump her inside. After a little tussle with the seatbelt, Colby slammed the door shut sending the side view mirror crashing to the ground.

“For the love of God woman, go easy. Have a bit of respect. It’s a goddamned classic.”

Pickman made the remark with a wince as he waddled over to retrieve the broken mirror. Silently cursing the day he first laid eyes on these two GD women and their inexplicable need to break every decent car they got their hands on. It was like watching your brother fuck your best girl but pull out short of shooting off his wad.

“It’s a piece of crap! And it better get me where I’m goin’ or you’re gonna have all sorts of shit hitting you from every angle.”

“Nice way your mama taught you to say thank you,” Pickman spat back in a mumble watching Colby get into the car. “Pump the gas, the brakes too. I want her back in one piece. You break it, you pay for it.”

“Shithead,” Colby muttered and got behind the wheel. She shoved the key in the lock and the metal tinkled. "E," she muttered.

"What?" Jessie sounded alarmed.

"Nothing forget it."

Colby turned the key in the ignition. It fired up on the first try. Carefully navigating the long boat-like car out of the deserted parking lot, it took Colby a few minutes to get the feel of the wagon. There were no brakes to speak of. She would need to be pumping them for a country mile to get the beast to stop. The shift arm was held in place with a bent bobby pin and the steering was looser than a goose. Colby was glad for once she secured Jessie for the ride into Boston. She would need to keep both hands on the wheel for this trip and she didn’t relish getting stabbed in the face with another cheap plastic pen. But, even Colby had to admit that Pickman did a nice job with the shocks considering the mileage on the heap was reading 198,000.

Colby wondered how many times this particular 1978 station wagon saw 198,000 in its lengthy career. She decided this particular spin around was one too many. Someone ought to have done the right thing years ago and driven it into the old Quincy quarries.

Once the car was up to speed, Colby turned to Jessie and tried engaging the other woman. As much as Colby hated having to sweet talk Jessie, she was going to have to bite the bullet. It wasn't worth the risk of having to deal with her going ape-shit at the scene of a murder investigation, especially with an audience of news cameras. It was damage control from here on in.

“Okay, back to business. I know you’re hungry, but I’m sure you heard my end of the phone call and the news report so you know there’s been a Ripper murder out here and I’ve been called in. We’ll be at the crime scene for a while and if you’re good we’ll go grab a burger afterwards. You give me any shit and I’ll hog tie you in the cargo space for the rest of the trip. Your choice.”

Despite the fact, she hadn’t eaten in over forty eight hours and this was her last chance for a bit of food before they arrived at Boston, Jessie seemed disinterested. She continued staring out the window refusing to volunteer an answer. Deep down inside she knew she was just unwilling to let Colby have the satisfaction of knowing she would chew her arm off for a bowl of cold oatmeal.

Colby waited a full minute before continuing evenly. “The news said the latest victim was left about a half mile from where we spent last night. You know what I think? I think the killer’s still around. No point gutting someone and leaving the body out in the open, if you can’t hang around and enjoy all the excitement …”

Before Colby could finish speaking, Jessie turned and snarled, “Right you got me. I confess. I got free last night while you were dead to the world. Went on the hunt and killed somebody for shits and giggles. After I finished slicing the sucker, I hurried back to the hotel room, hoping you didn’t wake up while I was gone. Lucky me, you were still snoring like a buzzsaw. Then I chained myself back in the tub so you could drag me to Boston this morning to sit in a cage until fat boy finds some new nut house to lock me away in.” 

Jessie gave a snort, “Oh Officer Willis, you just crack me up. Your powers of deduction rival Columbo—the yogurt, not the TV show. But, if you’re buying I want eggs, lightly over, with bacon drowning in maple syrup and not at the usual craptaculous pancake house. Someplace nice like the Ritz on Arlington. I hear they do a wonderful brunch.”

Biting her tongue, Colby had to suppress an urgent need to scream. She knew Jessie was baiting her. She wasn’t going to let it get to her again. She needed to turn the tables and get Jessie on the defensive. Giving Jessie a gentle smile, she calmly sighed before beginning.

“Granted, no sane person would go to those extremes, but I have it on good authority you are anything but sane. There are court documents saying you’re a certified nut case. And, for the record, I’ve seen you drown bacon in maple syrup. Only a psycho would ruin good pork like that.”

“And I’ve seen you dunk yours in coffee which makes you just as crazy, no? But, you’re right. I’m nuts. You’d do well to remember just how unstable I am, Officer Willis. Your life might depend on it.”

An opinion of her eating habits was clearly not the answer Colby wanted from Jessie Walsh. Colby knew that she had to take a different tack, forcing herself to continue with the present display of good humor she decided to go for broke.

“Okay crazy lady, let’s make a deal. I buy you the breakfast of your dreams and you … you tell me about Marty’s notebook.”

Jessie sucked in a deep breath and went deathly pale. Colby did a quick double take. Gone was the cocky foul mouth bitch from a moment before, sitting in her place was a vulnerable fragile woman with a look of terror on her face. The metamorphosis almost took Colby’s breath away. It was the times when Jessie was racked with doubt that her beauty most frightened Colby.

“You don’t … you couldn’t possibly …” Jessie was off balance and stuttering. “He never would have told you. It was a secret. He said nobody knew.”

“He didn’t tell me. I saw it. I worked with him every day. Him and his little blue book. About 2 inches thick, wrapped with a thick elastic band, he kept it on him all the time. He was always scribbling away on it. So, where in hell’s the notebook?”

“Just there, in hell … with him.”

Colby wanted to push Jessie for a better answer but stopped short when the crime scene loomed into view. There were about a dozen or more police cruisers and unmarked vehicles randomly parked on the site, most with their lights still flashing. From her position behind the wheel, she could see at least five goons with their marked down Burlington Coat Factory suits talking into their head sets. The Feds were already crawling all over the place. The Captain would not be in a good mood.

The proximity of the crime scene to the edge of the parking lot was chilling. Instead of leaving the victim out on the far side of the access road in a tree spotted field heavy with years of untended foliage, the killer chose to abandon the body in the parking area of a busy mall located right beside an interstate highway. It was a calculated risk, choosing to rely on the low hanging branches from surrounding Evergreens to create enough of a canopy to obscure the grisly deed from the weekend traffic, casual motorists stopping for gas, coffee, and frazzled parents hustling their screaming broods into giant SUVs. If Colby didn’t know any better, she might have thought he was letting his guard down, getting over confident and sloppy, but there was a method to the madness.

She pulled the wagon in tight behind the Captain’s car causing the local on parking duty to raise his eyebrows. He puffed his chest out and strutted over to the driver’s side to ask her to remove her vehicle. She thwarted him with a flash of her gold shield after cracking the door open and climbing out of the rock hard seat.

The cop’s jaw dropped with disappointment. “Thought you Boston detectives earned a little better than a piece of shit like this. My old man used to drive us around in one. One big piece of crap it was too. Never thought I would see another one of those again,” he commented with a chuckle as he inspected the car.

“Have some respect Officer, it’s a classic,” Colby replied with a sarcastic grin. ”Now, be a good boy and keep an eye on it and the pretty lady sitting in the front seat while I go find my Captain. Whatever you do, mind you, don’t feed or tease her. She doesn’t like people making fun of her. She likes young, smart mouth cops and she bites. Hard. The other day she took the hand off a highway patrolman for trying to pet her.”

The cop bit his lip and answered, “Oh, you gotta be Willis. The Captain told me to watch out for you. He said to send you over double time when you finally showed. He’s way on the other side of the drainage ditch. Just walk straight through and tell the duty officer you’re here. He’ll see you to the Captain.”

“How’d you know it was me?”  Colby was curious.

“He said to be on the lookout for a complete ass hole and a nut job.”

Colby let him be. She had bigger issues to worry about than some smart ass, small time cop. Jessie would be safe with him watching her every move. He had a mouth, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let her out of the car. Pushing past the crowd, she identified herself to the duty officer who ushered Colby behind the yellow police tape and whisked her away from Jessie’s line of sight.

The cop walked over to the passenger side of the car and stood guard next to the door looking intently at Jessie. She ignored him and continued staring straight out into space. Her eyes dark after Colby disappeared from view.

***

“It is about fuckin’ time you got your ass down here!” The Captain barked.

Colby was surprised by his outburst. The Captain's usual hold on his temper was already shoved over the breaking point. His brow was covered in sweat and his lips were bloodless. Even Faust seemed worried as she kept glancing over at them.

“Where’s the girl?”

“In the car, I got a local watching her.”

The Captain blew his top. Colby thought he was going to go into cardiac arrest right there and then as he grabbed her by the front of her jacket and got into her face with a low menacing snarl. What he had to say would be off the record and for Colby’s ears only.

“You got Barney Fife keeping watch over Jessie Walsh. The same goddamned Jessie Walsh who you keep saying gutted her old man and left little bite sized pieces of him from here to eternity. The Jessie Walsh who by some joke of God is the closest lead you think we have to the Ripper’s Daughter. That’s great, Colby. Thinking with your dick has always been your strong point.” Pushing Colby away, the Captain turned towards Faust and shouted out an order. “Faust, go get Colby’s prisoner out of her car and make it snappy.”

"I'm on it," Faust replied letting out a sigh in relief as she hurried past.

“Colby," the Captain screamed at her, "Get over here! Now, Colby, take a good look around and give me what you came to give me. Then get the fuck out of my face.”

Colby knew better than argue. She walked over to the spot where the body had been dumped. There was a congealing puddle of deep red turning to black at the base of a nearby tree. The strips of yellow police tape wound round the trunk and left to flutter like crepe paper streamers in the wind made the scene almost festive. A glossy black and white was shoved under her nose.

“Vic is between thirty to forty years of age, Asian female, possibly of Indian descent, with only one obvious sign of trauma on visual inspection,” the Captain intoned nasally with an undertone of distaste clearly evident in his voice.

Colby looked at the picture of an older woman in running clothes leaning against the tree, legs stretched straight out neatly in front. She could have been resting after a strenuous run if not for the crimson line that ran from left to right across her abdomen. Stomach contents and intestines splayed out across her lap. Colby guessed the Ripper must have hit an artery because of the deep sea of red surrounding the woman. Death would have been quick from the massive loss of blood. It was a miracle she was still breathing when they found her. Blood soaked into the front of her white t-shirt and light grey windbreaker, dyeing them deep rich velvet. But, there was something odd about the position of the victim. He wanted them to see something Colby was sure of it only she couldn’t figure it out from the black and white.

“Lips sealed?”

“Of course,” the Captain choked back. “Aren’t they always? She likes to empty her pockets into other people’s mouths before she superglues them shut, the sick bitch.”

“What else? What aren’t I seeing?”

"How the fuck should I know? I called you to help out!" The Captain was just short of blowing a vein in his neck.

The Captain rubbed his forehead. ”It really shouldn’t bother me so much. I’ve seen mutilation. I was in Iraq for Christ sakes. Two tours of duty in the bloody heat and sand, the goddamned sand that gets into everything. Why this is getting me, I don’t know,” he whispered honestly. ”Vic’s eyes were glued down shut like the lips. She probably did it while the vic was still conscious.”

Colby nodded and decided retreat was a better option. "I'll follow the vic. Take an in person look. He wanted to tell us something that’s why the body was dumped here where someone would find it fast and not in the field across the access road. But I'm missing it in the pictures. Where did they take her? Framingham Union?"

“Body’s already heading out to the ME’s table in the South End. Call Dickie Woodford.”

“Thought the vic was alive,” Colby asked as she hit the speed dial for the ME's office.

“Warm but dead. Heart still tossing beats every few minutes. Probably on some cardiac med to regulate her pressure. ER pronounced her as a formality ’cause the ME wasn’t driving out here on a Sunday.”

The Captain waited until Colby finished passing instructions to Dickie, their boy in the autopsy room. Dickie was to get the doctor to keep the body on the table until Colby could get there.

The Captain calmed enough by the end of the call to question, “What makes you so sure he suddenly wants to communicate with us?”

“This scene is a major change for him." Colby explained. “All the bodies up until now have been found in secluded places. Our boy likes to leave his handiwork hidden from sight but give the vics plain view of public areas. He’s a sadist. It’s part of the game. All of his vics were found long dead. Their bodies staring at public areas where help was just a shout away only he made sure they couldn’t get help.”

“You mean all the bodies you found so far, Columbo,” an emotionless voice stated flatly behind them.

Colby and the Captain turned around to see Jessie staring at them with Faust holding her by the elbow. Faust looked as stunned as they did by Jessie’s comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jessie? You know something? Something you’re not telling?” The Captain asked, his voice hardening into an angry whisper.

Jessie looked straight at the Captain with an ugly sneer. “You’re the one the Feds are fuckin’ up the ass like some twenty dollar whore. You figure it out, unless you like the attention, pretty boy.”

The Captain bolted for her, snarling expletives. Faust dove forward to intercept the man while Colby charged Jessie and dropped her easily to the ground.

“Don’t move!” Colby whispered before taking her position standing over Jessie—protecting her.

“Come on, Cap, it ain’t worth your pension,” Faust grunted as she struggled to hold back the enraged man.

“Get out of my way, Faust. Don’t make me hurt you,” the Captain warned, roughly grabbing her by the biceps.

“Cap, you really gonna smack me stupid and have a go at whacking Colby so you can kick some fucked up psycho’s ass?  Seriously, let’s just go to Smokin’ Joe’s and have a drink or two or maybe twenty. It’ll be my treat. They even have them ribs you love as a Sunday Special.”

Slowly Faust reached out and placed a trembling hand on his clenched fist as she whispered, “Please don’t make me go to my sister’s wedding with a black eye. My mother would cry. I hate it when she cries.”

“You’re worried about a black eye? Shit, if he hits you you’ll need a cervical collar, black eye my ass.” Colby quipped hoping to break the tension in the air. Her hand ready on the mace, just in case she needed to bring the Captain down herself.

“You’re both wrong,” the Captain said as he stepped back from Faust and regained his composure. He took an extra step back to clear his head before saying, “If I hit you, you’d be in a pine box before sundown.”

“You’re right.” Faust replied with a short laugh grateful for Colby’s intervention. She really didn’t want to have to explain how she managed to acquire facial injuries a week before her sister’s wedding to her mother and a hundred of her closest relatives.

Calling back to Colby with a tight smile, she urgently pleaded, “Get your friend out of here before he changes his mind. She’s a walking red flag and he’s the bull.”

“I’m all over it,” Colby softly replied.

“Hola Faust, estás tan caliente, que puedo oler tu coño desde aquí," Jessie shouted as Colby tried to pull her to her feet.

“One more word, bitch, and I put a bullet between your eyes and fuck your shivering corpse,” Faust snarled.

“Chica, deseas tanto mi culo blanco que ya estás saboreándolo. Admítelo y le daré a ese gran culo negro tuyo una profunda lamida justo como a ti te gusta.” Jessie grinned in reply even as Colby dragged her away to safety

Faust began to reach for her gun but the Captain rested his hand on hers. She glanced back at him and he gave a little head shake. It was almost too subtle to notice but his expression told her it was an order. She relaxed her arm. The Captain turned his attention back to the departing pair.

His last instruction rang out ominously in the crisp air. “Find out what she knows, Colby. Use any means necessary even if you have to break her into a million tiny pieces. Just do it.”

*****

Chapter 8

With uncharacteristic patience, Colby maneuvered the chugging station wagon into the empty spot next to the receiving door of the Boston Medical Center. Although it was a no parking zone, Colby’s apprehension about ending up towed like some two-bit loser paled in comparison to the morning’s fiasco.

If the run-in with the Captain was anything to go by, it was shaping up to be the start of a big, fat, fuckin' ugly day. The sort, which typically ended each sultry summer evening when she was a kid in Dorchester with screaming police sirens followed closely by an ambulance racing to retrieve someone lying flat out on the street. A body either dead or bleeding with a knife blade sticking out of an eye socket or some vital organ.

The only good thing so far, other than the fact that Colby didn’t have to mace the boss, was Jessie calmed right down after she took Faust’s advice to exit. Oddly enough, Jessie offered no resistance when Colby bundled her into the wagon and stranger still, remained dolefully quiet for the remainder of the ride. It was like she was looking forward to going back to the city. Back to the bloody playground of the Ripper's Daughter. Back to deadtown.

Colby couldn’t quite put her finger on the pattern of Jessie's behavior. The flashes of paranoia and aggression she could understand even come to expect. It was the pockets of calm that disturbed her. The fleeting periods of lucidness betraying a stronger, saner presence hidden away in the recesses of Jessie’s fractured mind. The demeanor reminded Colby so much of Jessie’s mother. Jane Walsh was a woman with an iron resolve, the emotional glue that held all of them together as a family, Marty, Jessie, and in some sense, Colby herself.

It was the echoes of summer barbeques, Thanksgiving with all the trimmings, and the sound of laughter in the backyard on lazy afternoons haunting Colby. Hours of a happy life now long gone seared into her memory. Images of Jessie sitting out on the back porch, stripped down to her black lace bra and a small tight pair of daisy dukes, slowly icing herself down with a handful of melting ice cubes, while Marty busied himself with the grill. In her mind’s eye, Colby could still longingly trace each trickle of water as it dripped down naked skin and exposed flesh.

That episode ended like so many others with Marty shouting at Jessie to get back in the house and put on some decent clothes. He was not having a slut for a daughter. It was no secret that Jessie and Marty never got along. They were too alike—smart, hot tempered, and bull headed to a fault. But, Jane loved the both of them with a fierce passion that to Colby seemed far more than either of them deserved. Then Jane started getting sick.

It started with a cough that wouldn’t go away. None of them could have foreseen it was the beginning of the cancer. It would eventually eat her insides out. Marty could not deal with the fact his Jane was dying. He was always talking about the things they would do when she got well enough to travel. They were going to drive down all the way to Florida to see the Everglades and maybe take in the Keyes where the fishing was good. They’d skip Orlando, though. The park down there was nothing but a tourist trap.

When the end came, Marty was away working a lead on the Ripper case. He hated hanging around the hospice, said he felt like a ghoul waiting around for the dinner bell. Colby was out in the corridor, cradling Jessie when he finally retrieved the hundred odd messages she left on his cell. He came barreling through the swing doors in a wild panic fifteen minutes too late. He wasn’t there to say good bye. Jessie never forgave him for it.

Glancing at the silent woman sitting next to her, Colby followed the line of her unblinking gaze to the black funeral hearse parked across the lot. The driver left the engine running, sending plumes of exhaust billowing upwards into the stone grey sky. Like their loaner wagon, it was obviously illegally parked, but might as well be invisible for all the lot attendant cared. The man was scrunched in a shabby shed a dozen feet away, snoozing on a broken chair with his mouth hanging open. Snug under a tattered hospital blanket as a rat in his filthy nest.

“I don’t think I need to say it again but just in case you haven’t been paying attention do not give me any trouble inside the building. Jessie, I mean it. It’s a secured area and I don’t want to have to mace you,” Colby said as she killed the wagon’s spluttering engine.

Jessie turned around and gave Colby a frightened look that gradually hardened into defiance. ”I’m not going in there. I’m not leaving the car. You can’t make me.”

“Yes, you are. There’s no heat with the engine off and I’m not leaving the car running until I get back … and I can make you.”

“You, you, you don’t need to worry I’ll take off. I got no shoes. There’s nowhere for me to go. And, you don’t have to take my word to stay put. You could chain me to the steering wheel,” Jessie pleaded frantically as she huddled herself deeper into the seat, away from Colby’s reach.

Colby ignored Jessie’s rising panic and got out. She was in no mood for an argument. Jessie was getting out of the freakin’ car even if Colby had to drag her out kickin’ and screamin’. There was no way she was leaving Jessie Walsh alone and unattended for the hour or so she needed with the Medical Examiner to gather the autopsy results. She wasn’t stupid.

The air outside was crisp but far from fresh. The remains of the old Four Point Channel, buried beneath a hundred thousand pounds of land fill trash was at low tide. You could smell the noxious stench of rotten eggs in the wind.

Colby pulled open the car door on the front passenger side and leaned forward intent on releasing Jessie’s seat belt. What came next was a vicious head butt she never saw coming. As the blow connected to her face, Colby stumbled back seeing nothing but stars. For a split second, she struggled almost managing to stay on her feet before gravity won out. She fell with a solid thump against the brick wall behind her and slid down to a seated position on the ground.

“Fuckin’ Son of a Bitch! That hurt! You are crazier than a crack whore!” Colby gasped holding her throbbing face. Jessie’s forehead had caught her on the rim of her left eye orbit where the skin was thin, tearing it.

“I don’t want to go in there! You can’t make me!” Jessie screamed defiantly. Her eyes glazed over with equal measures of fear and rage.

Colby squinted at the ranting woman and felt her temper finally break. From here on in there would be no tamping it down. Not now with her hurting and stone cold sober for almost twenty-four fuckin’ hours. Colby couldn’t remember the last time she'd gone so long without a drink. It seemed to her she started drinking at Marty’s wake and never ever stopped.

“I’m going to bring you inside. If you try to hit or stab me again, I promise you I’m gonna mace you right here and now and drag that skinny ass of yours across this parking lot. If you continue to give me shit, I will get my nightstick out of the trunk and beat you until you resemble a pile of slush. You hear me, Jessie. Don’t push me, baby girl because I’m just a sick fuck waiting for an excuse to put the hurt on you.”

Jessie sat staring at Colby for a while, her eyes regarding the other with an expression akin to grief. “You always used to call me baby girl. It was always the same with you. Baby girl. I hated it, but Jane thought it was cute. She always liked you. What happened to us, Colby? Why didn’t you come get me? Why did you leave me there?”

Looking at Jessie's abject confusion, Colby felt a deep twang of guilt. Three years was a long time to be locked away and forgotten in some Dickens excuse of a psych hospital. Colby knew Jessie was aware she had been abandoned. They had shut the door on her and gone on with their lives for better or worse—family, friends, even Colby herself.

“You’re bleeding,” Jessie whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Colby. I get scared, Colby. So very, very scared. Do you know what it feels like to be scared, Colby?”

“Yes,” Colby mumbled. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. I didn’t want … it to be this hard too, Jessie. I’m so sorry.”

Colby got up from the ground and approached the car with utmost caution. She was going to issue another warning to Jessie about hitting her again when she released the seat belt but Jessie had gone quiet. Whatever it was she was afraid of had won out. Jessie Walsh was gone, retreated back inside the recesses of her mind. Colby wasn't too sure who was left minding the front desk at the moment.

***

They entered through the heavy metal doors. As they rounded the corner towards the corridor leading to the Medical Examiner’s Office, Colby noticed she needed to tug a little more with each step. The closer they got to the autopsy suite the more Jessie was dragging her feet. The reek of death, decay, and disinfectant was strongest in this wing of the Center. It was the oldest section of the medical complex where the ancient air was stale and heavy from more than a century of death. Colby could feel the foul stench beating down on them in successive waves, each one stronger than the last causing even her already bloodshot eyes to sting and tear.

“No,” Jessie blurted out as she dropped to her knees on the heavily waxed tiles.

Colby raised an eyebrow, “No? Come on. What’s-a-matta now? Don’t tell me you’re ‘fraid of a little blood and guts?”

“Yes,” Jessie replied in a soft whisper as she used her shoulder to wipe away a tear trailing down her cheek. “Why not just leave me outside and chain me to one of the pipes while you do whatever you came to do? I feel sick. This place makes me want to throw up.”

Colby squatted in front of Jessie and lifted her chin up with two fingers to look her straight in the eyes. “But, I came here ‘specially to let you see the grisly remains of the Ripper’s last kill,” she joked as she pulled her face into a crude maniacal grin. “Thought you of all people would appreciate a good gutting.”

Jessie swallowed hard trying not to get sick, “You’ve gotten to be a real jackass over the last few years, Officer Willis. Where’s your goddamned bleedin’ heart?"

Cupping Jessie’s face with her hands, Colby pulled her in close and corrected her in a softer whisper, “You say it like it’s a bad thing and no, I have no heart. I lost that three years back …”

The sudden bang of a metal door opening behind them shattered the quiet, causing Colby to reach for her weapon. Craning her neck, Colby could see the foot end of an overburdened stretcher as it edged out into the corridor, filling it with the sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit. Slowly, the length of the stretcher followed as it angled into the narrow space. After several long seconds, a blond-haired gentleman in a finely tailored black suit came into view as he emerged pushing the head of the stretcher straight. He paused a moment to make sure the door was secured behind him. When the man turned around he seemed shocked to see the two women blocking his path.

“Edwin, Edwin Dodd,” Colby called out with a happy grin as she stood and put her weapon away. “How the hell are you? I haven’t seen you since what? St Patrick’s Day two years ago or so?”

The man smiled back warmly in reply. Tall, trim, and good looking, he was beautifully turned out in what even Colby could see was an expensive Italian suit and black patent leather shoes. His black Cashmere overcoat was the perfect outerwear for an undertaker's morbid work. He moved the stretcher aside and walked towards Colby with a purposeful stride. She politely accepted his extended hand and returned his greeting with a firm shake.

"It’s been too long. Good to see you, Edwin," she said.

“Colby, it’s good to see you too but I’m a bit stunned.”

“What’s to be surprised about finding me down here heading to see Dr. McGhoulish?” Colby was confused by his remark before she realized she had a gun pointed at the man until a few minutes ago. “Sorry about that, Edwin. The Captain has me working a big homicide case and you know how hairy things get on the job.” Colby apologetically offered by way of explanation.

Edwin Dodd gave a gentle sigh and looked away with a small tight smile, “Yes, I do but that’s not the surprise. My niece is an unexpected surprise. Why is Jessie here with you? I thought she was supposed to be at the Abhordale Clinic getting medical treatment.”

Colby reddened at her error, “I’m so sorry, Edwin. I forgot you were once married to Marty’s sister.” Colby shook her head and said, "My memory hasn't been right since …"

Edwin waved Colby’s explanation aside. “Ah yes, those were the days—cookouts, baseball, piano lessons, and Carson Beach. We had it all didn't we? We were all still one big happy family back way then, Christine, Jane, Marty, Jessie, and you. But Christine and I were not to be. It was a personal failing on my part. I knew it then as I know it now. I’ve always assumed we’d have more time. Who would think somebody so young and beautiful would become so distraught? The hardest thing I ever did was to cut her down from the ceiling beams in our bedroom. I was such a fool not to have been more insightful to the nature of her depression. We’ve lost quite a few friends and family between us, haven’t we, Colby?”

“We have,” she agreed sadly.

For some unknown reason, talking to Edwin Dodd was making Colby misty eyed. Few men had this effect on Colby, but there was something very reassuring about Edwin Dobb. He had this calm assuredness that made people want to trust him. Colby was no exception. His smooth bedside manner was probably the sole reason his funeral home was one of the most sought after despite its location in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city.

"You still at the place on Melnea Cass?" Colby asked him with a wink and a grin.

Edwin chuckled, "I’m a creature of habit, Colby. I'll never leave my little shop. Why would I? The rent is cheap, business is good, and I live right upstairs saving on the commute." A satisfied smile crossed his lips, "It isn’t much but it allows me to do what I can to contribute to the community and I walk every day, all the way to the MFA and when I’m feeling ambitious to Kenmore Square. I’ve made so many good friends over the years and the gentrification of the Fenway has really added to my social life."

Colby laughed, "You old dog, Edwin."

He blushed a little, "What can I say, guilty as charged. But, Colby may I speak with Jessie? Just for a moment. She’s so pale and thin. I need to know if she’s okay.” Edwin asked quietly as he looked over Colby’s shoulder to where Jessie remained kneeling on the floor.

“Oh sure. Of course Edwin, just let me help her up first.” Colby quickly answered.

She leaned over and gently tugged Jessie back to her feet. Jessie didn't resist to Colby’s surprise. She had reverted to a cationic, robotic shell. Her eyes fixed firmly on the floor unwilling to meet Edwin Dodd’s penetrating gaze.

“Jessie, I don’t know if you can understand me but it’s Uncle Eddie. I want you to know I’ve missed you. I know I haven’t come to visit much and I’m sorry. Your lawyer, Ms. Swartz, didn’t think it was a good idea. I shouldn’t have listened. You’re so thin. Are you okay? Are they treating you well where you’re at? Do you have everything you need?”

Although Edwin’s tone was gentle and full of concern, Jessie didn’t answer or even attempt a response. She continued to hang her head and stare passively at her feet without a sound. Seeing Jessie was indifferent to his questions, Edwin tried a different approach.

“I know, you don’t believe me, but I do care about you very, very much. I always have and I always will. Please call if you ever want my help. I’m your only living relative now, Jessie. We shared a great deal before Marty passed away. It can be like that again. It’s not too late. You only need to ask, Jessie. I can help you. You know I can.”

Colby felt a slight shudder run the length of Jessie’s body when Edwin reached out and placed his business card into her limp, shackled hands. Otherwise, there was no other outward reaction from Jessie. It was like she was playing a childish game of possum.

Colby knew Jessie understood Edwin wanted to help. She found it unusual Jessie didn’t even lift her head up to look at him. She seemed content to continue staring at her feet. Her lack of response in the face of Edwin’s kindness embarrassed Colby.

“Sorry Edwin, I know it must upset you seeing her like this,” Colby apologized.

Edwin shook his head. “I’ve never blamed you for what happened to my Jessie. I know we’re not related by blood, but I would like nothing more than for her to be well enough to come home. It would be nice to share a home with family again. Jessie and I talked about travelling and I like to think that someday we’re able to do that, just the two of us. On the practical side," he gave a wink, "these days it is just me lifting new clients like John Doe, 179z, over there. But then as Martin Luther King Jr said ‘every man must do two things alone, he must do his own believing and his own dying’. Which reminds me, will you excuse me, Colby I'm on a bit of a tight schedule.”

They exchanged handshakes and Colby watched as Edwin Dodd walked back to where he left the stretcher with the extra-large body bag strapped down onto it.

“Need a hand?” Colby offered as Edwin dug down and started to push.

“Oh no, it’s quite alright. I’m much strong than I appear. My looks are quite deceptive.”

“Right,” Colby laughed out loud. “You’ve got a killer set of abs.”

Edwin grinned, “You caught me, Colby. I’m a real lady-killer all right. I’ll be seeing you real soon, Colby. Please take care of Jessie for me.”

***

Colby dragged the reluctant Jessie the last four feet into the autopsy room. She hip checked the swinging door open and shoved her shackled prisoner over the threshold. The dank sterile room reeking of death and decay was startling even to the most crime hardened Officers. Colby knew a couple of guys who would rather have their toe nails pulled out one by one with a set of pliers than do a visual on an autopsy.

“The floor is fuckin’ cold,” Jessie gritted out loud between chattering teeth. “I want a thicker pair of socks, you psycho cop.”

“Wow, your lack of respect for everything is amazing,” Colby replied as she pushed Jessie deeper into the room. “Me, the dead, even your uncle, you’re a cold hearted bitch.”

“You think I’m a terrible person for wanting a better pair of socks? Just read my file and you’ll learn how truly horrible I really am, Officer Willis. I’ve even asked for seconds at dinnertime on occasion. Feed me, cloth me, shelter me, I’m a real fuckin’ cry baby.”

Before Colby could open her mouth to tell Jessie to shut the fuck up, a thick, nasal voice boomed across the room interrupting their conversation. “Willis, what the fuck? You on a date? Or are you giving tours to South Bay lock up rejects now for spare change?”

“Not really, McGhoulish. Meet Jessie Walsh. The Jessie Walsh. I’m just letting the Ripper’s biggest fan come see his handy work up close and personal. You got the latest body hanging around here someplace? The Indian woman,” Colby asked as she stepped closer to the gurney keeping a firm grip on Jessie's bicep.

The Medical Examiner frowned. “Your date’s too pretty to be hanging out with a loser with a mug like yours and I’d prefer you not call me that. Try to remember when they haul your dead ass in here, I’m the one that’s gonna remove your brain and weigh it. So, show me some respect, girl.”

Colby grinned, “You sound pretty sure that I’ll kick it before you. So, now you're a friggin' psychic."

Ignoring Colby, the stoop shouldered, balding man in the green scrubs let out a long sigh before shuffling to the middle table in the row of three. Each stainless steel top held a body covered in a zippered black body bag. Stretching a little to grab the zipper tab, he began to open the second bag.

“Oh, I’m sure some irate person will do the world a favor and cap your ass long before your liver gives up on you. You’ll be dead before me. You’ll be dead before I retire. I’m never wrong about these things. My grandmother had the gift. She always knew. You best be careful, Willis.”

A chill tore across Colby’s belly at the Medical Examiner’s words, but she managed to force her bravado. “If I have to go, I hope I get knocked off by a pair of naked redheaded twin strippers or maybe their husbands.”

Colby’s last statement earned her a wicked sneer from Jessie, “Don’t be stupid, Officer Willis. You know you can’t handle a real woman, much less two.”

Colby roughly grabbed Jessie by the scruff of her neck and marshaled her over to the metal slab.

"Put your powers to police work for a change. What gives with the stiff, Old Man? You want to spill it?”

The Medical Examiner had already stitched closed the gaping wound across the victim’s throat. Colby was unsettled with the rapid completion of the autopsy.

“McGhoulish, what’s up with the vic? How’d you finish so fast?”

The disheveled older gentlemen in the blood splattered green scrubs replied sourly. “Someday you’ll call me that and I swear I’ll stab you with my scalpel. As to why I was so fast, I could remind you, Officer Willis, of my decades of practice … I was the first …”

Before the Medical Examiner could list out his professional achievements, Jessie let out a rude snort drawing color to the old man’s cheeks.

“But, I don’t need to defend my skills to you or your girlfriend there. The kill was straight forward. Just like all the others. A caesarean like wound across the midsection. An unclottable wound with massive blood loss and mutilation of the body. Few of the vics had food in their bellies but most had water suggesting they were exercising before the attack. Multiple broken bones at strategic locations: wrists, knees, sometimes an elbow. Lips crazy glued together. The only ligature marks were to hold the body in place. The broken limbs kept the vic from getting help. The sealed mouth kept the vic quiet. Only one deviation with this body. A slice to the throat. Not to deep. I believe it was purely decorative. Yes, this is the same sadistic bastard.”

“What about the eyes on this one?” Colby asked.

She was beginning to feel dry and shaky. The smell of blood in the room was getting to her. She needed to move this part of the investigation along. Get the damned job done and out of the way, so she could get out of the fuckin’ building and go get a drink. She’d been dry for far too long. She needed a Jack to forget.

“Forget-me-not,” the Medical Examiner said. “Petals from the Myosotis flower, commonly known as the forget-me-not, were shoved into the vic’s eyes before the lids were glued shut.”

“Ah ‘silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossom the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.’ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline." Jessie mused before asking a single question. "What was inside the wound?”

“Inside the wound? What’s inside the wound?” The Medical Examiner asked blankly, but got no reply from Jessie other than a grim twisted smile. "You got something to say then spit it out."

“You haven’t looked, have you? Don’t you know joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most beautiful gift? You've been missing the messages, haven't you? You got a second chance with this one. A second wound for you to explore and still you missed it.”

Sighing heavily as he tugged out the stitches along the throat wound. The Medical Examiner took a long gleaming pair of forceps and began to dig around inside the wound. He stared off into space as he focused on making the long metal prongs an extension of his fingers.

“Son of a Bitch!” he exclaimed as he grabbed another pair of forceps. Holding the first one steady as he lined up the second. He carefully cleared a mass of blood clots obstructing the opening of the wound with the second pair of forceps allowing him to pull his prize to the surface. “Fuck me!”

“Not a chance,” Jessie quipped as she edged closer to the table to get a better look.

Welding his tools with infinite care the Medical Examiner slowly unfolded the tiny wad of blood covered paper. “He laminated it. The goddamned asshole. Shit!” The Medical Examiner swore as he hurled the surgical instrument into the metal container next to his elbow.

"C#," Colby muttered absently in response to the resulting ping.

“Let me guess, its dear old Marty’s business card.” Jessie quipped cheerfully as the silent hateful glare from the medical examiner confirmed her statement, “Now boys and girls, let’s see what the number on the back is?”

The Medical Examiner turned the card over and Colby read the number out loud. “27.”

“You guys better start exhuming bodies. You’re coming up short.” Jessie giggled suddenly tickled pink at the blind incompetence surrounding her.

Before the Medical Examiner could even muster a reply, Colby pushed Jessie back into the corridor. Grabbing a fistful of hair, she steered the smaller woman to the metal doors that Edwin Dodd exited on their way in. A firm kick was all Colby needed to achieve entry. She hustled Jessie into the darkened room. It was the cold storage for the recently carved up stiffs. The overpowering stench of formaldehyde made Jessie gag, but Colby was too angry to give in to her nausea.

“What the fuck is going on! What’s this all about? Spill it now or, so help me God, you’ll never walk out of this room,” Colby screamed as she slammed Jessie against a wall of metal drawers.

Jessie groaned, but remained defiant. “You think dying scares me? I spent three years in hell because of you. Every day I prayed for strength. If only I was brave enough to end it all and embrace the sweet relief myself. And do you know what I learned in the end? I learned that God is deaf.” Jessie chuckled bitterly before continuing with a second thought, “Or maybe he hears me just fine and the problem is I’m just not sane enough to take the hint and kill myself.”

“If you’re looking for sympathy …” Colby started before being interrupted by a mocking laugh.

“Sympathy? From you? Colby, I’m fuckin’ crazy not stupid. You are my father’s creature. You’ll never spare me a moment’s kindness even if I gave you a chance like this.”

Colby was stunned by the suddenness of Jessie’s advance. Her police training readied her to anticipate a violent physical response from her prisoner but never something like this. The kiss was innocent and warm and to Colby not nearly long enough.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?” Jessie whispered. There was no malice in the remark, only a hint of disappointment.

“Are you trying to, I mean, you’re trying to ... to what? What? Shit.” Colby babbled helplessly as she tried to make sense of Jessie’s actions, flustered beyond measure by the electric feel of Jessie’s lips on her own.

Jessie seemed dejected at Colby’s response, “Am I so ugly that you can’t even appreciate a kiss from me, Colby?”

“Shit, no. I’ve always thought that you were the most beautiful thing ever.”

Colby saw the burden of the lost years fall away from Jessie’s face as she started to smile and for a fleeting moment Colby remembered the two of them sitting out on a porch one lazy summer afternoon sharing a popsicle and laughing. They were close once. What happened? Colby wondered. When did everything start going wrong? Did things fall apart the night of Marty's murder or were they already going to shit before his last breath.

“Maybe the ugly part is the kiss ended before I got a taste of you. Maybe it would have been better like this.”

Colby eased in. She was almost shy as she gently nibbled Jessie’s lips. But, once she felt the warmth and welcoming parting, Colby plunged in deep like a woman possessed, growing bolder with each moan she elicited from the woman under her. Jessie’s tongue caressed Colby’s advance, accepting, surrendering completely to Colby’s control.

“Is that the more you were hoping for?” Colby whispered as she softly kissed Jessie’s neck.

“You don’t get it do you? This isn’t about me. This entire nightmare is about you. Don’t you understand, Colby? Don’t you see, hell is empty and all the devils are here?”

Colby’s frustration at Jessie’s riddles overwhelmed her, causing her to momentarily tighten her grip on the other woman. Jessie’s whimper of pain as Colby dug her fingers deep into her shoulders only added fuel to the fire.

“You think this hurts? Imagine how Marty felt with his guts spilling out.”

“Imagine? We both saw him suffer. You don’t have to imagine. You couldn’t save him, Colby, so you did the next best thing. You saved yourself. You fuckin’ coward.”

“I came in after,” Colby stuttered as a sick feeling of guilt ignited like wild fire in her stomach.

Jessie snorted back a laugh, “Careful Colby or you’ll start to believe the lies you wrote in your report. You were there for a very long time before Marty died. You just fuckin’ don’t want to admit you stood by and let your superior officer bleed to death on his own floor. Does that sound familiar, Colby?”

“No, I didn’t get there until after,” Colby insisted shaking her head. ‘I wasn’t there when it happened. Jessie, I swear. I wasn’t there.”

Jessie laughed. “Colby, save it. I know this is another dodge, right? Just covering your tracks and taking care of number one, right? You freakin’ liar.”

“No. I’m not lying. I’ve never ever lied to you, Jessie. Never.”

“You don’t remember?” Jessie whispered. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you really don't remember. Curiouser and curiouser as they say. In which case, we need to go, Colby. Get away. Go someplace safe. He’ll come back again and again. He’s got nothing else."

"If you know who he is, just tell me," Colby begged.

Jessie shook her head, "Not here. We need to be safe. Take me home, Colby."

*****

Chapter 9

Colby expected trouble. She expected Jessie to flip out—rage, shout, scream, cry, do any number of things. In the end, she did none of it and that was the problem. She didn’t do a damned thing.

As the minutes ticked by even a nasty remark, cursing her stupid to the darkest corner of Satan’s broken toy shop would have been welcomed relief to the torturous silence. But, Jessie just sat there in the front passenger seat of the mud-covered station wagon studying her former home with a strange, quiet smile that chilled Colby right down to the bone.

The house, across from Carson Beach in Southie, was left to stand empty after the investigation ended and the last police officer exited. Colby knew the man by sight. He was a rookie named Jose Parla, a small Latino guy with an easy smile and a killer right hook. Like Colby, he boxed at the academy and he was good at it.

The Captain assigned him the grim task of shutting off the lights and locking up after Edwin Dodd finished making his inventory of the property for the tedious probate report. A week after Jose let Edwin out the door; he walked straight into the Captain’s office and tried to turn in his badge. Told the Captain, he was accepting J. Edgar Hoover as his personal savior. His new Overlord told him in a message spelled out in dried toothpaste on the sink he was going to be a fuckin’ warrior priest on the third moon of Mars or Newtonville. The assignment wasn't actually finalized yet.

He was eventually given a medical discharged from the force. After a sixty day rest at McLean, he ended up working for his father behind the counter of the family’s dry cleaning business in the South End. The talk was Jose claimed he could hear someone, mean and drunk, shouting obscenities at him the entire time he stood guard alone in the living room, waiting for Edwin to finish up in the upper rooms. Colby was ready to dismiss the talk as cock piss until she heard the disembodied voice continuously taunted Jose by calling him, ‘a green behind the ears Action Boy.’ It was Marty’s favorite drunken slur for minority hires. The one he used in private with people in his immediate circle, all of whom could be counted on the fingers of one hand clapping. There was no way a Cuban rookie named Jose Parla could have known. Colby started a forty eight hour bender the day Jose was buckled into the ambulance.

As haunted houses went, the house on Day Boulevard was disappointing. It was hopelessly average. Nothing to look at from the outside, just another weather beaten, single-family home in an aging neighborhood. The realtor hired to assess its worth for the probate described it on the valuation report as one of those charming old places with paint perpetually peeling from its whitewashed window frames, set back a distance from the street by a wide expanse of manicured green. Marty would have gotten a real kick out of reading the listing. Maybe even have cut it out and brought it home in his coat pocket to read out verbatim to Jane. It was always more her house than his.

As Colby sat looking out at it from the curb, she half expected to see Jane Walsh open the door and wave impatiently at them to come in from the cold. It was something she used to do when Colby and Jessie dawdled too long in the car after a trip to the store, the two of them having another argument about who was to carry what into the kitchen. Jessie never allowed Colby to touch the groceries. Colby was always too rough and tumble with the bags and their perishable contents. She was always leaving behind a trail of broken eggs, crushed milk cartons and ugly bruises the size of walnuts on the white skin of Jessie’s expensive Nashi pears. In Jessie’s once orderly mind, Colby was only fit for hauling spam, bottled water, and charcoal. Colby realized Jose Parla was right in a way about one thing—the air was thick with ghosts.

When Jessie finally spoke, it was a question. “Why did you bring me back here, Colby?”

“You told me to take you home. I got nowhere else to bring you,” Colby explained certain Jessie could tell it wasn’t entirely true.

She could have brought Jessie back to the apartment. Although the place resembled a toxic dump with soiled clothes and empty booze bottles strewn all over the floor. Paper takeout cartons filled with rotting, half eaten food completed the ambience. Colby knew Jessie had personal experience inside worse places. Places where the floor was overlaid with urine and vomit, and once a day, grim faced men in scrubs hosed human feces off the solid concrete walls. Places Jessie was sure to spend the rest of her life in.

If Colby wanted to, she could have easily cleaned up the bathroom, changed the sheets, and made Jessie comfortable in front of the television. A quick trip for Tex-Mex around the corner without even breaking out into a sweat would cover them for lunch and dinner. Maybe breakfast even. If she wanted to, Colby could easily make the rest of the day bearable for Jessie. Colby, however, was not ready to put her ego aside for Jessie's comfort. She would not let the woman see the inside of her personal torment.

It was book quality irony Colby still cared. She was just as sensitive to what Jessie thought of her now as way back. It was the same bone-in-the-throat feeling she got whenever she felt she was not nearly good enough. But the stakes today were very much different. It wasn’t about grocery bags and fuckin’ Nashi pears anymore. It was about her personal failing to protect the people she loved, first Jane, then Marty and finally Jessie—especially Jessie.

She could have taken Jessie and ran. Get her help, made things right. But, she just stood by and watched as they shut her up in the nuthouse. Christ knows what they did to Jessie there. Colby knew Jessie must have waited for her to come get her out. Only Colby didn’t do any such thing. She didn’t even try. She was too busy drowning herself in Jack. Colby was disgusted with herself. She was nothing but a fraud.

In spite of all the other reasons, the cop part of Colby's brain knew the house would be the best place for them. They would be safe. It was the last place the Captain would want to go look if Jessie’s Boy Scout lawyer raised an alarm over his missing client.

“It’s still got the lights and water on last I checked. Don’t know how much furniture is left inside after they did the probate, but most of the rooms should still be intact. Figured we could get a bite and a few hours’ sleep before …”

Jessie let Colby babble on for a while before interrupting with an abrupt nod. “Fine, let’s do it.”

***

Colby was careful helping Jessie out of the car. Despite the thick sports socks she made Jessie put on, Colby knew first hand just how easy it was for the steel shackles to cut up the tender skin around Jessie’s ankles on the walk into the house. Although the fetters were a necessary evil, Colby was reluctant to hurt Jessie more than she already had. It would have been the same as taking a stick to a muzzled dog.

“I don’t want to go in by the front. I want to go in through the back door. Go around back.” Jessie blurted out in sudden panic, pulling hard against Colby’s hold causing the taller woman to stumble for a moment before holding firm.

“What’s the matter? The front stairs are easier with shackles.”

“Take the stupid, fuckin’ things off me or let me crawl in on my hands and knees, but go through the kitchen. I don’t want to see the living room. Not again. Not since him.”

Colby thought she understood. Marty bled out in front of the fireplace. He was laid out to die on the floor of the living room. She didn't have an independent memory of it. It was in the report that the lab boys put together. Colby wasn't sure who got the shit duty of swabbing out the house with a mop and bucket. Six quarts goes a long way.

Colby often wondered what Marty was thinking as he was dying. The thoughts flashing through his mind as he struggled with a cold-blooded assailant. Was it surprise or shock or complete defeat? Colby didn't want to care but she did. It filled her with renewed bitterness standing at the gate where her life ended too.

“Can’t face the music, huh?” She snapped.

The remark was thoughtless and cruel. Colby regretted it the instant Jessie turned back to regard her with eyes full of grief. She was just being honest, Colby told herself. Honest like the grief, red and raw, in Jessie’s eyes. The look mocked the anger in Colby's heart. An anger sharpened by the loss of her mentor compounded by the throbbing in her head and the dryness in her throat.

“You will never understand. He was my father. I hated him and I loved him. Once he died, I was alone. I’ll always be alone now. Everything I loved has been carried away.”

Striking Colby dumb with her confession, Jessie hung her head as they stood out of reach of the well-tended lawn. Two people so out of sync with their surroundings and with each other it would have been almost comical if it weren’t so sad.

Colby never expected remorse from Jessie. She thought Jessie incapable of it, just as she believed herself to be incapable of forgiveness. The thought that Jessie could express regret at Marty’s loss was nearly beyond Colby’s comprehension. Yet, she heard Jessie with her own ears and saw the expression of naked grief in the other woman’s eyes. Jessie’s vulnerability cracked Colby's anger and left her defenseless.

“Come on,” Colby ventured as she heard her voice speaking words she was not entirely sure were her own. “Let’s go around back and see what we can do together.”

Convinced her opportunity to avoid entering the house through the front would be denied if she tarried; Jessie nodded and began to shuffle forward. She did not dare to look up or speak to Colby.

Colby wasn’t sure if Jessie’s distrust of her was unwarranted. She herself was unable to understand why she was even agreeing to Jessie’s demand. It was like handing the other woman a get-out-of-jail-free card as a reward for bad behavior. Colby considered the possibility that Jessie knew how to gauge the ever shifting tides of her mood far better than Colby herself could. It would not be the first time Jessie played her. She worried it wouldn't be the last either.

As they walked through the unlocked gate of the gleaming chain link fence into the perfectly ordered backyard. Colby could sense a feeling of unreality set it. It was all so untouched, as if somehow the house had stubbornly refused to submit to the rules of time. The trashcans stood empty at the corner of the yard where she last left them. The Rubbermaid shed was still locked and looked like it was recently power washed. Colby closed her eyes and made a wish. If she wanted it hard enough at any moment now, Marty would throw open the back door and yell at her and Jessie to stop fooling around in the yard and get in the house. Jane’s melodic voice would ring out from the background telling him to stop shouting at the kids and leave them alone.

Colby had wished this once before. It was a long time ago, right after they shut Jessie away. She’d driven by one day and stopped on desperate hope. She stood in the same exact spot she walked over just now and made a wish—wished everything bad away. Tears came from behind her tightly squeezed eyelids. When she finally opened them and looked around, nothing changed because what she wanted most in the world was already gone.

She sobbed all the way back to her car. Colby never came back to the house after that. She didn’t have the stomach for it then. She didn’t have the stomach for it today either. This time, however, it was Jessie’s trembling voice that brought her back to reality and grounded her.

“Colby, I’m scared …”

Taking Jessie into her arms, Colby held her tight and close as involuntary shivers raked the smaller woman’s body. Colby feared Jessie’s body could be shutting down in withdrawal from the Suzie-Qs they were forcing down her throat in that Castle of Horrors. Colby knew she had to get Jessie into the house fast. Keep her warm and safe until the shaking stopped.

“Ssshhhh, let me help you. It’s only a few more steps to the deck stairs. You remember the deck don’t you? You used to sit out there a lot looking at the sky and the clouds. Whatever were you thinking about? You remember?”  Colby smiled as she gently coaxed an increasingly hysterical Jessie up the rear stairs.

“I … can’t …” Jessie stammered.

She flashed a panic stricken look into Colby’s face, her eyes vacant and large, like black hungry holes eating up light and space. Eyes that continuously search the other woman’s face looking for something she could not begin to ask for.

“Just one more foot … and here we are.”

Colby coaxed as she all but lifted Jessie and carried her the last few feet to the foot of the stairs. Colby’s focus went back to the rear stairs and she grimaced. Like most wooden three deckers, the back stairs were cut deep and narrow. Colby would not be able to stand next to Jessie as she mounted them. Jessie would not be able to climb unaided from one step to the next with the ankle chains in place.

“Hold on,” Colby instructed when they got to the bottom step. “Please, Jessie, for the love of God, don’t run out on me.” The exhaustion in Colby’s voice made Jessie gasp out loud as much in surprise as in intent.

“What’s wrong, Colby? You’re that beat?”

Colby merely nodded before kneeing to unfasten the chains, pausing a moment to wait for Jessie’s reply.

“Well, if you promise to get me take out later, I promise I won’t try to run until after lunch time tomorrow.” Jessie slyly ventured with a giggle.

Colby chuckled at the bargain, “You promise, huh? How do I know you’re good for it?”

“Cross my heart and hope we die,” Jessie replied in whisper. It was the silly promise they made to each other over Jane’s grave.

Colby remembered the vow that they would take care of each other come what may. It was what Jane wanted, and in that, Colby failed miserably. Jessie could at least discharge herself from the burden of guilt that weighed heavy like a crown of thorns on Colby’s brow. Her illness providing her pale shelter, sparing her from the pain and bitterness that was slowly poisoning the scraps of Colby’s soul.

Colby unlocked the leg shackles without a word and pulled the chains off Jessie’s ankles. The gangling stuck a cord.

"D#."

"What did you say?" Jessie asked.

Colby shook her head, "Nothing important."

"Everything is important. You just don’t want to see it."

“Shut up, Jessie. I wasn’t asking you for an opinion.”

Colby was suddenly tired of being out in the middle of Marty’s backyard having yet another childish argument with Jessie. There were too many ghosts taunting her. It was frying her nerves. If Jessie tried to make a run for it, Colby would simply tackle her to the ground and taser her. She was done playing games.

She gave Jessie a pat on the butt and they began to climb the stairs up to the deck. Colby kept Jessie close as she retrieved the key from her back pocket. Grateful for once Marty cut the same lock for both the back and front doors. He never could keep two sets of keys straight. Key in hand Colby reached around a squirming Jessie and unlocked the red door with a loud click.

The noxious smell of disinfectant greeted them as the door swung wide open on voiceless hinges. With the heavy winter drapes drawn; the inside of the house was  dark and foreboding. A gapping void filled only with the soft mechanical hum of the refrigerator.

“Guess you’re lucky the cleaning service was here recently,” Colby muttered as she steered Jessie over the threshold with one hand while blindly feeling for the light switch with the other.

The shapeless pitch dark was a stark contrast to the gleaming landscape of polished surfaces when Colby flipped on the lights. The house was pristine.

“It’s like we just left yesterday,” Colby marveled as she looked round the spotless kitchen. She had never seen the floor so clean and shiny.

Jessie was less entranced with the scene, “I’m hungry. Do you intend to feed me, Officer Willis?’

At the cold hollow sound of Jessie’s voice, Colby relented. “I’ll call L Street for a pizza. They deliver.”

“Nope, no deal. I want better than Southie pizza. I want food. REAL FOOD!”

“You want what?”

“Let me spell it out for you, Officer Willis. I want PF Changs. C-H-A-N-G-S. The Park Plaza place deep in the heart of deadtown.”

“Hey,” Colby raised her voice and pulled Jessie roughly back to her side, “don’t be so bossy. You’ll be lucky I give you so much as a glass of water and a crust of moldy bread before I chain you in the tub again.”

Jessie looked up at the taller woman and replied evenly, “If you want answers, Officer Willis, you better get me food. I want pork dumplings, egg drop soup, and an order of Kung Pao chicken with fried rice. Otherwise, it’s zilch from little old me, Miss Information herself. And, if you don’t think I can hold my tongue, remember, I’ve been in lockdown for three years without a peep. I don’t have to say a damn word to you or anyone else.”

“You’ll go straight back to the loony bin,” Colby threatened, confused by the sudden change in Jessie.

“You have to do better than that, Officer Willis. Been there, done that, and survived no sweat. Did you know the good doctor was fuckin’ me up my ass in between the sleep deprivation and the beatings? She tore my anus the first three times. She liked me. I was her special patient. I made her cum buckets. I’m not clean, Colby, and I’m not good. Not that you care of course.” Jessie shrugged indifferently.

Colby could only stare with a dropped jaw at Jessie’s unflinching disclosure.

“What? Rat got your tongue? Where’s your snappy comeback? You don’t understand do you? Let me explain. Officer Willis, we are in a mutually needful situation. I want to be treated to a world denied me for three years while I was locked up in hell. You want answers you already have locked away in that cesspool you call a brain. So, you give me what I want and you’ll get what you want.

“What do I want, Jessie?” Colby breathed hard as she drew the bound woman close, their bodies fitting together like missing parts of a whole. But, there was something wrong; she could feel it in her bones. It was screaming at her.

“That’s the answer you already know. Ask me something else, Officer Willis.”

“Tell me who killed Marty.”

“Get me something to eat and I’ll give you an answer.”

“Alright, we'll play this your way for now.” Colby surrendered with a defeated shake of her head.

“Come on, back out to the car.”

“No, let me stay here. Put me up in my old room.

“Why?” Colby asked as she struggled to reconcile the spotless kitchen so reminiscent of happier times with her current position holding a chained Jessie at arm's length.

“What’s upstairs? Why do you want to go upstairs?”

Jessie’s face took a greyish turn. “I’m exhausted. My head is killing me. I’m starving. If I don’t lie down soon, I’ll going to puke my guts out. Just let me rest for a little while in a real bed … it’s been so long since I really slept.”

Colby felt a deep pang of sympathy. She was tired herself and the empty pit in her stomach echoed back a growl. She failed to take care of them again. They hadn’t eaten in God knows how long. They were exhausted, dirty, and hungry and Jessie was getting sick. It was her fault.

She gave a gentle nod and steered the smaller woman to the back stairs. This time the climb was easier, but she continued to keep a firm grip on Jessie’s arm like she was fearful of losing something precious.

Like the rest of the house, time was frozen in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Hardwood floors gleaming like they had just been buffed with sparkling walls painted a light shade of blue to match the off white curtains pulled back a quarter to let in the sunlight. It was the way Marty wanted it. He left everything as it was when Jessie left home for school, not having the heart to move anything. He once told Colby he liked to come home after a hard day on the job and just stand in the door way and look in at Jessie’s room. It made him feel close to her in a way they could never be in real life.

“Why is the bed still made?” Colby muttered as she entered the room.

“Who cares? It looks like heaven,” Jessie replied, her eyes wild with excitement.

Colby unfastened the remaining shackles from Jessie’s wrists and turned to fold back the blanket. “If you need to use the bathroom, do it now.”

“I’m good,” Jessie replied happily as she slid past Colby to climb into the bed.

Colby almost smiled. She took the shackles in her hand and went to the foot of the bed. The slap of the metal around Jessie’s ankle startled the other woman.

“If you leave the chains off, I promise not to do anything but sleep,” Jessie whispered.

Colby raised an eyebrow at the statement, “And what will you do if I leave the chain on? Try to strangle me with it?”

“I don’t want you to leave me chained up here alone like this,” Jessie said as she watched Colby fasten the free end of the shackle to the oak bed frame and pull it tight.

“We need food and you’re sick as a dog. Sleep and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Colby said rubbing her eyes. She needed a drink bad.

“You’re tired too. Come rest here, next to me like you used to. We can get food later. Please. Don’t leave me chained up while you run across town.” Jessie reached out to Colby.

Colby had an image in her mind of waking in the wee hours of the morning to the patter of rain against the window pane, her bladder aching for relief when all she wanted was nothing more than to wrap herself around the woman sleeping soundly next to her. The last time she slept in that bed, she was worried sick Jessie would throw up and choke on her own vomit.

She’d jumped into the car after Jessie called her on the cell in the middle of the night from some frat boy party—stoned, drunk and crying. Colby ended up taking Jessie home after threatening to kick in the face of her friend. Mr. Fuckface never called again.

Colby pushed down her own need for rest, “Thanks for the offer but the chain stays. Sleep. I’m going to get food. We’ll talk when I get back.”

***

The run into the city was delayed by a five-minute side trip to the packie. As she drove, Colby rinsed her mouth with a small wash of JD, savoring the burn of it on her tongue with a wince. She needed a sip to take the edge off the pain, but she also needed to be careful. She needed to make sure she was not having too much, too fast on an empty stomach. She might have a gold shield, but even so crashing a station wagon into a gaggle of nuns in Southie would be the end of her.

The soft clatter of plates and the lazy drone of late afternoon lunchtime chatter floated through the door when Colby entered the cool elegance of PF Chang’s. Considering the restaurant was located on the ground floor of a nondescript office block dully named, The Transportation Building, it was unusually trendy with a dark wood interior complete with bamboo blinds. It was not Colby’s place of choice, but Jessie would have loved it.

“Kafka, order for Kafka ready.”

Colby heard the discreet tones of the bartender informing the hostess of the takeout order packed and ready to go on the serving counter. As Colby’s luck would have it, it was a large party order for one of the corporate offices nearby. One of those companies Colby just knew would charge their lunch tab to a big, fat expense account. She grinned and strode over to the young, painfully white hostess with jet black hair trapped in a severe bun.

“Hi, I'm here for a takeout pick up.”

The woman looked up, her face an unmovable mask of makeup, “Name?”

“Kafka,” Colby said casually.

“Where’s the usual guy?”

“Who knows?  Making some me time with a PA and a photocopier on three, most likely. I got pressed into service. You got the food ready?  I’m starving. Oh, can you check if he ordered the pork dumplings, egg drop soup and Kung Pao chicken with fried rice? That’s for the boss. Hate to get back only to find out I have to make a return trip back here.”

“I’ll check,” the woman replied with a hint of annoyance.

*****

Chapter 10

Colby leaned back and watched Jessie eat. As the minutes ticked by, she grudgingly concluded she was no closer to understanding the woman sitting cross legged from her dressed only in an oversized white shirt than when she first set eyes on her at the Abhordale Clinic.

She’d been studying Jessie ever since they drove out together from the hell hole of a hospital. Watched her for hours from the corner of her eye as the miles rolled by and disappeared under the wheels and what Colby saw when Jessie didn’t think she was looking, increasingly bothered her. It was more than the mood swings, the periods of violent mania interspersed with lucidity. Colby was disturbed at first by the periods of calm, where Jessie seemed almost unaffected by the events that had overtaken both their lives. In time she came to appreciate them, saw them as opportunities where she could connect to Jessie as best she could and in a small way make her amends. Still, there was something about Jessie that Colby couldn’t quite put her finger on, something cold, manipulative, and alien that she did not want to admit both excited and frightened her.

The food was tasteless in Colby’s mouth, much too dry, too salty, and too oily to be edible. Chinese food made her sick. She could never get her head around how anyone could manage to gulp an entire meal with a small round bowl and a pair of pencil sticks without a six-pack to wash it down. Food, real food, for Colby meant chucks of red meat swimming in brown gravy topped with a lump or two of mashed white starch. Nourishment for the body and the soul was not intended to be slimy things no one in their right mind could pronounce much less put in their mouths. If Colby’s disgust at their shared meal showed, Jessie gave no indication she cared. She devoured the meal like a starving animal. Whatever Colby pushed away simply meant there was more for Jessie to eat.

Other than the occasional burp, there was no contradictory commentary about the quality of the food forthcoming from the dinner companions. They ate in silence on the floor at the foot of Jessie’s sleep tousled bed. The din of the unspoken left Colby feeling edgy. She was overdue for a time out. She could feel it cawing inside the top of her skull, behind her eyes, threatening to overwhelm her. She needed to rush back to the car and swig sweet relief from the bottle carelessly hidden under the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Willis, can I wash up then catch some more shut eye or is there a law against it?” The woman asked with a wide grin after dropping a well-chewed rib bone onto the plate with a melodic clack.

"F," Colby muttered.

Jessie cocked an eyebrow at Colby, but kept her thoughts to herself. Colby had given her what she wanted so Jessie saw no point in angling for a fight with the volatile Detective. She would keep the fragile peace. The woman, unlike Colby, was in a good mood. She liked eating. She wanted to savor every succulent morsel. The joy of food was one of the things she missed the most when they locked her away.

It was really all the fuckin’ bitch’s fault. She kept bringing Marty up during ‘therapy’ to elicit a cathartic reaction. In order to ensure staff safety, they strapped Jessie to a small wooden chair in the dank airless treatment tomb. Day after day, her tittie hard-on barely hidden under her white lab coat, the good doctor returned to throw random questions at her. Jessie’s stoic silence frustrated Dr. Leshkari to the point of ending the sessions early most days. Then the real fun would begin. Theo, the nursing assistant, would be summoned to drag Jessie back to her solitary cell. He was the doctor’s personal favorite. A big, mean brute with a heavy gold chain hanging from his thick-corded neck, part of his duties was making sure the doctor was sufficiently relaxed after a hard day on the wards.

One day she gave Theo a sweet smile after the doctor stormed out. His body reacted on instinct and tented his pants. Hung like a mule he thought himself a Greek god. She talked him into removing the restraints because they were so tight. She moaned while he pawed her. She enjoyed his undivided attention to her breasts. It reminded her she was still alive, still desirable. But, what she cherished most was the memory of his greasy smile seconds before she plunged a sharpened chicken bone into his left eye. After that he was easy prey.

It was a pity that no one responded to his screams and cries. Jessie thought him a real crybaby. He knew nothing about the dark and the monsters that dwell within. If he had, he would never have loosened the restraints holding her down.

The alarm was only raised hours later when they noticed him missing. After that orders were issued to cut her food down to 1,000 calories a day. She was to be fed just enough to make sure she kept breathing. The doctor said it was the only way to keep her compliant after the ‘incident’.

“Need to use the toilet?”  Colby asked.

She was already tidying up the scraps from the meal. Jessie gave a curt nod in response. She was too busy sucking her fingers clean to grunt. Colby noted Jessie ate enough at one sitting for both of them. It was a wonder she wasn’t sick.

“Okay, I’ll lock you to the sink while I clean up this mess.”

“Fine, Willis. Shackle me to the plumbing again like your personal fuckin' slave,” the woman let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been dreaming about sleeping in this bed for years. If you really think I’m going to make a run so close to that pillow then you’re dumber than I thought. But, fine. Go ahead and chain me down.”

Colby leaned in close and gave her a conspiratorial wink as she unlocked the cuff secured tight around the bed post.

“I ain’t stupid, Jessie so don’t you use the old tired sorry ass blah blah on me. You already slept plenty in your own bed while I went out on the take out run. So you can cross that item off your bucket list. I'm making sure you don’t go crossing off anything else while I try to get a little shut eye.”

“What other item on my bucket list could I possibly cross off in here, Officer Willis? Oh, I know, maybe I could give you a blow job? I’ve always wanted to suck off a jackass. I’m dressed for it, don’t you think?” 

Colby could see that the woman was amused by the notion.

“Baby girl, you have a dirty mind. And if you don’t watch it, I’m going to drag you into the bathroom and wash your mouth out with a bar of soap," Colby gave a deep dimpled smirk.

"I’m referring to little things like … oh, kill a cop. Oops, better make that kill another cop.” 

Colby recognized the anger building in her. It was warm and familiar. It was the only thing she still had—a blind, mindless rage lurking just below her smile. The perfectly banked fire ready to burn everything she loved down to cinders and ash with the slightest stoking.

Jessie glanced at Colby, but knew enough to hold her tongue. She could feel billowing waves of resentment coming off Colby’s skin, the smoldering heat threatening to ignite the cold embers within her. A wounded look crossed Jessie's brow before she regained her composure. She did not like the alien thoughts and feelings rippling through her mind. It had been much too long since she allowed herself to care about anything, anyone, much less someone as dangerous as Colby Willis.

Once she was back in control, Jessie got to her feet with a slow painful deliberation hinting at her brewing emotions. Seething anger howled and swirled within her. She winced with the effort to tamp down her rage, revealing a weakness in her usually steely resolve.

Seeing her adversary stumble like a sleepwalker, Colby could not resist the temptation to taunt.

“Killers are just like dogs. After getting a taste of blood they just want more. It’s like candy to them. Can’t do nothin’ but put ‘em down after they bite. It’s kinder don’t you think? Shoot them in the head and put them out of their misery?”

Jessie sidestepped Colby in an effort to get into the bathroom before the argument exploded. She knew Colby and recognized her black moods like the back of her hand. She was in no state to get caught up in another pointless quarrel. Colby thwarted her escape by standing directly in her path and snickering.

“Leave me alone, Colby. I need to go to the bathroom.”

Jessie didn’t struggle as Colby pushed her hard onto the bed, roughly pinning her down onto the mattress. The feel of the taller woman’s body pressed up against her breast and groin was almost sexual.

“What’s the matter? No pithy come back? Thought you wanted to suck my pussy? Show me a good time. That’s all you’re good for isn’t it?”

Jessie’s shoulders sagged at Colby's words. She was so tired of Colby. So sick of always having to defend herself against the person she thought should have protected her. Jessie turned to look directly at her tormentor. When she spoke, her voice was hollow as a sudden wind over an open grave.

“No, Colby, I have no flashy come back line. What do you want from me? Some weepy TV confession? You want me to burst into tears and say you nailed my greatest fear right on the head? What do you want me to say? I killed my own Father? OK. I gutted my old man. I’m a fuckin’ cold blooded murderer and you’re right, one kill probably wouldn’t sate my appetite. So, if you want to shoot me in the back of my head like a rabid dog and end my fuckin’ nightmares once and for all, be my guest. Otherwise, can I please go to the bathroom? I’m gonna be sick.”

Colby let Jessie go without another word. Marty had made a half bathroom out of Jessie’s bedroom closet when she hit twelve. He was always saying he had no intention of crapping in the yard because his kid was too busy putting on her make up to hear him banging on the door. Little did he know his efforts would one day save Colby the trouble of cleaning up after his little girl.

Although the bitter taste of regret was fresh in her mouth, Colby stubbornly steeled herself from breathing life to the emotion by dragging the memory of Marty’s dead body to mind. The image of his vacant bloodshot eyes staring blindly into oblivion always left Colby cold enough to do the unthinkable. Today it hardened her enough to chain Jessie to the bathroom pipes and walk away as the woman she once loved vomited violently into the toilet.

The door slam was reflex. She was certain it was only that and not her violent temper begging to be heard over the silence of her heartbreak. Cleaning up could wait as it always did. There were other more important things to do as she hurried out of the room heading straight for the stairs out to her car and the sweet comfort waiting under the driver’s seat.

***

Hands trembling, Colby got two swallows down in rapid succession. The amber liquid burned a fiery trail from her throat to her belly, filling the emptiness with momentary fire. She had no idea what she was going to do next.

It was not supposed to be like this, she had heard Jessie’s admission with her own ears. The woman she left chained in the bathroom was a snarling, vengeful, murderous monster. Yet, Colby knew Jessie could never be such a hideously ungrateful creature. Jessie was suffering like Colby. Colby could see the hurt in those eyes, a hurt that was mirroring her own heart.

Jessie was protecting someone. Colby was sure of it. If anything Jessie was a victim. Colby's anger had blinded her to the obvious; If Jessie was a monster it was because Colby made her into one. Colby had allowed her anger to twist her mind until it left her with nothing but a belly full of hissing spiteful snakes.

What would she do if she was given a second chance to spend another night with the woman she once loved, and still loved for that matter? With a firm headshake, she made a promise to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going to hurt her, so help me God.”

It was enough to restore a little sense of purpose. Colby stashed the bottle back under the seat and climbed out of the car. Her senses duly dulled, she felt nothing as she stumbled, feet entangled right over left. She bumped her arm hard against the door. Another day drunk and another limb bruised. It was becoming divine punishment. Physical penance meted out as part and parcel of being a barely functional alcoholic.

Colby made her way back into the house and up the narrow stairs to where Jessie was waiting for her with great deliberation. She refrained from conversation. She did no more than chain Jessie to the bed before clearing the dishes off the floor. Head down, eyes on the floor, so sure that one misguided look or word would breathe life into her tinder box of emotions. For her part, Jessie was silent as she sunk into the bedding leaving Colby to carry the remains of their meal down to the kitchen.

When Colby returned to the bedroom, Jessie was curled up on the far side of the bed. She was already asleep, but Colby could see she was anything but restful. Concerned, Colby tip toed over and sat lightly on the edge of the bed. Jessie moaned, still sleeping, in the way a child does when they are caught in the horror of a nightmare.

Colby wanted more than anything to be able to reach over and brush the stay wisps of hair back from Jessie’s sweaty forehead. Colby knew her touch was not welcome. Her touch would cause Jessie more pain than comfort. Oceans of distance filled the six inches of mattress between them. They were strangers now. Colby found her own heart weeping with the small inescapable fact, their love belonged in a past Colby could barely remember.

Colby found herself wanting to close the chasm between them for just a little while even if Jessie wasn’t awake to know. It might even be better for Jessie to be asleep. What Jessie didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her. Carefully Colby eased herself full length on to the mattress so as not to wake the sleeping woman. Slowly, she edged her way closer to Jessie. Their bodies gently coming together Colby could hear the other woman’s breathing even out with the familiar feeling of company in her bed. Transfixed she watched as the tight worry lines on Jessie’s face smoothened out and faded.

Colby allowed a smile to grace her own face as she felt the sleeper next to her relax into her embrace. The feeling of Jessie’s skin against her own was more intoxicating than the brew Colby just swilled. She felt a spark of happiness before she too drifted off to sleep.

“If you want to play better, you need to practice more and nap less," Jane said before stroking the keys of the high polished baby grand.

Colby realized she was dreaming but could not rouse herself.

"Don't bother, kid."

"Marty?" She was pretty sure she spoke his name out loud. "You're here too so does this mean I'm dreaming or I'm dead?"

The fool standing next to her grinned, "Well, I'm dead and you weren't on the attendance list this morning so I'll go with dreaming."

"Really, Marty, stop distracting Colby from her piano lesson," Jane scolded and punctuated the remark with a single key strike.

"C?" Colby guessed.

Marty snorted a laugh, "Hell, even tone deaf me knows that's wrong." His face grew very serious as Jane continued to play a string of notes, "You have to remember, Colby. You have to get your head on straight and remember! It's down to life or death time."

"You haven't been paying enough attention. I don't care if I die," Colby answered.

Marty grabbed her shirt lapels and shook her, "It ain't just your life, you stupid ass! You better fuckin' save my baby girl or I'll kick you from one end of hell to the other."

He released his hold with a shove. She was falling backward. Her arms flailed but the momentum was unstoppable. Another note struck seconds before she fell head first into the black pit of dreamless sleep.

"E," she remembered.

***

Colby woke in the dark with a full bladder and an aching head. Looking around the spartan room, she was not certain of how long she’d been asleep. She only knew she needed a drink. The need was immediate, undeniable, and excruciating. The alarm clock on the bedside table confirmed she had been sleeping for a couple of hours. Easing herself off the bed while trying not to wake a still slumbering Jessie, Colby felt a wave of acute dizziness. Quickly she hustled herself out of the room and downstairs. There was a bathroom just off the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was Jessie waking to the sound of her puking.

“What diabolical plan are you brewing for my baby girl?” His voice was deep with the wet morning quality most drinkers suffer.

The sight of Marty standing in the middle of the kitchen wearing Jane’s Christmas apron stopped Colby dead at the bottom of the stairs. Contrary to the alarm clock, it was morning. The kitchen was warm and bright, filled with the smells of cooking and Bing Crosby softly crooning in the background.

“Pull up a chair, kiddo! I got some ground rules for you.” He waved his spatula toward the table.

“Marty, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I swear. Look, I didn’t even touch her. We … just slept together, that’s all.”

Marty warned, “I’m fuckin’ dead, not stupid. Now park your butt in a chair and we’ll talk turkey. Don’t even think of lying to me. The dead have eerie powers.”

“You stole that from that stupid cartoon show on TV that’s not even funny.”

Colby shot back with a snarl. Marty gave her an evil eye and Colby decided she better do as told and take the designated hot seat. It was bad enough having this hangover from hell without Marty's ghost getting into the mix.

“So what? I’m dead and unlike you I can’t rack up sins such as cradle snatching. Might as well infringe on a copyright here and there. Not that there is a shortage of lawyers in hell mind you.” He paused with a wide grin on his face as he flipped a pancake high over her head.

“Marty, watch where you’re throwing those things. Are those real?” Colby asked wistfully prompted by the pangs of hunger coming from her empty belly.

He shrugged. “Real is in the mind, kid. A glass is half empty. A glass is half full. Depends on how you look at it. Now, let’s skip the metaphysical discussion and get back to the nefarious acts you want to commit against my daughter.”

“I told you I didn’t touch her!”

Marty turned and pointed at her, “You’re a rotten liar, kiddo. You were dreaming about more than just touching her.”

“You couldn’t know that,” Colby gasped in horror.

“Ha! I didn’t! I suspected it and now you’ve just admitted it. Now, what exactly are your intentions?”

“You’re still a bastard, Marty,” Colby sighed in defeat. “My only intention is to find out who the Ripper is. And, somehow Jessie holds all the answers. She’s protecting someone. She damn near admitted it upstairs just now. Only I can’t get the truth out of her.”

Marty barked out a short harsh laugh.

“What?”

“If you want to keep telling yourself lies then fine, but we both know the truth.”

“What are you talking about?

Marty flashed her a sympathetic look.

“What? Come on, Marty, quit jerking me around.”

“Colby,” Marty stepped closer to the table, “stop trying to forget. It’s time to remember. You need to remember. You and Jessie are running out of time."

Colby’s mouth went dry. She could feel her hands shaking. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. She was sure her tongue was swelling.

“You’re having a seizure on the stairs, kiddo. You’re almost through the worst of it. Colby, you have to remember. He knows Jessie's with you and he’s going to come after her. Don’t let him win, Colby.” He gave her a sad half smile his voice sounding suddenly very far away.

“And, keep your hands off my baby girl, if you know what’s good for you. She’ll eat you alive.”

***

Lighting flashed behind her eyes. When her vision cleared, she was staring face up at the ceiling with her feet above her head. She could hardly hear herself think from the sound of blood pounding in her ears. She needed to regroup quickly. The pressure in her head was killing her.

"Where am I?"

She was lying upside down on the stairs in Marty’s house.

"Did I get pushed?"

No, she couldn’t remember being pushed. Must have fallen then.

"What the fuck is the racket?"

Someone was frantically screaming her name. Jessie. Oh God, she left Jessie alone upstairs. She left Jessie chained and alone for the second time in as many days.

“COLBY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ANSWER ME OR I’LL CHEW OFF MY OWN DAMNED PAW!”

“Drama queen,” Colby muttered with quiet relief, before calling out in a slightly louder voice. “Quit shouting. I’m okay. Just tripped on the steps, that’s all.”

Colby lied as she tried to straighten her body without sliding down the remaining stairs head first. Her hip was wedged between the slats of the railing. She reached backwards to try to free herself.

“Shit,” she hissed.

Her hand was stuck in the foul stool. The harbinger of peace at the end of each seizure. She did not want Jessie to see her sick and helpless like this. She needed to get to the upstairs bathroom and clean herself up. She needed to move.

Sluggishly with faltering starts and sudden stops, Colby managed to get her feet lower than her head. However, walking up the stairs was not an option. Willing her traitorous body closer to safety, Colby crawled the distance of eight steps before collapsing on the top landing less than a foot from Jessie’s open door.

“Colby,” the voice was soft. “Are you sick? God, did you have a seizure?”

Tears stung her eyes. ”Can’t keep anything from you, can I, Einstein? Forgot about you and your Ivy League medical school education. No secrets between us, I guess. Yep, took another seizure.”

“Can you toss the key to the cuffs in here? You need to get them to the middle of the room for me to reach. Give it a good throw.”

“You’ll run,” Colby stated flatly

Her mind was racing. She needed to get up without Jessie’s help. She couldn’t let Jessie see how weak she was. At the very least, she needed to appear in control.

“I was going to be a doctor, remember? I took an oath. We aren’t allowed to run out on the helpless, even shitheads like you.”

“No. I don’t need your help.”

“Colby, I know you’re afraid, but I’m not going to hurt you. You remember the time you had that ingrown toe nail and you couldn’t walk and you wouldn’t let the doctor touch it? Just sat in your chair all day like a bear with a sore head growling at everyone who came too close, you remember? I told you it wouldn’t hurt if I took it out for you and it didn’t. Just trust me." More quietly she mumbled, "Can’t you stop being a fuckin’ asshole just this once?”

Colby laughed out loud. What the fuck? She knew despair made people do crazy things. She saw it all the time on the job. The mother who decides to take her kids swimming in the car after a drunken row with their father or the man who gives his wife twenty whacks, one for each year of their marriage, with an axe as an anniversary present on finding her in bed with his brother.

Despair was a contradictory human condition. It made sanity irrational. But, sometimes it made jaded people give trust another try. What else is there to lose when your life doesn’t matter anymore? If she was going to die on the landing anyway, what did it matter if it was by neglect or by Jessie splitting her head open like a ripe watermelon?

Colby nodded in agreement; maybe it was worth to try trusting once more. She reached into her front pocket to pull the keys out. With a mighty toss, she successfully launched them over the threshold about three feet.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

The sound of furniture dragging punctuated the reply, “It's okay, Colby. I can get it easy. Tons of practice with this kind of situation.”

“I’ll just bet,” Colby muttered under her breathe.

It was fascinating watching Jessie’s index finger stretch into view. Deftly the finger caught the edge of the key and began the arduous process of tugging the ring closer. Colby smiled as the darkness began to close in around her. She wondered if she would like the feel of Jessie splitting her head open like a ripe watermelon, before she decided it didn’t matter.

***

Someone was calling her name. She could hear it over the sound of the wind and the rain. She was driving in a thunderstorm in the car. Why was it so dark?

Colby, you have to remember.

Remember? Did she forget to do something? Something important?

He knows Jessie's with you and he’s going to come after her.

Jessie? Where was Jessie?

Don’t let him win, Colby.

Colby woke like from a bad dream with legs and arms flying. She was lying on the floor. It was coming back to her. God, she had another one and she had crapped herself stupid. She could feel cool fingers caressed her sweaty brow, calming her down. Jessie.

“Easy Ali, I ain’t Foreman,” Jessie joked. “Let’s get you off the floor and in the bathroom. Can you get up on your hands and knees? Try? Please? “

Colby nodded. Her head was spinning a thousand miles a minute but she knew she could do this. She had to do this. She was too busy to be dying; she had no business to be dying today. She grunted and pushed, but it seemed useless.

“Almost there, you’re almost there. Here let me help you.”

God, she’s strong.

“Okay, now bring the knee closest to the wall up to your chest and get that foot flat on the floor.”

Great, another set of gym instructions.

Her shoulder leaning heavily against the wall, Colby willed her right leg to move. It was another struggle. Right first and then left. It took all her strength and she needed every bit of support Jessie gave her, but she did it. Jessie stayed snug beside her, draping Colby’s arm across her shoulders.

“I shit myself,” Colby confessed with a sob. Her need for control seemed so silly now.

“Yep, that’s why we’re heading for the shower. Come on, Sweetie.”

Embarrassed, Colby meekly let Jessie maneuver her down the hall. They bobbled at the door, nearing colliding with the wall when Colby staggered, but made it in together on the second try. Colby could tell Jessie was tiring under her weight.

Jessie rushed Colby the last few steps to the toilet. Colby gently pushed her away. She was a big girl; she could handle this part on her own without a wet nurse.

“You haven’t called me that for years." She wasn't about to let the endearment fade into an afterthought.

“What’s that?” Jessie asked absently as she focused on starting the shower and then began to strip.

“What are you doing?” Colby asked in horror, her eyes recoiling from the sight of Jessie’s naked body.

Jessie’s tone was soft and neutral, “We need to get you washed up but you’re too weak to stand on your own. Let me do this so we can both get some sleep, Colby.”

Colby was too weak to mount an offense. She surrendered with a grudging nod before turning away. She did not want Jessie to see her cry.

***

Whispering words of kind encouragement, Jessie took Colby’s arm once they each finished drying off and gently escorted her back to the bedroom. The shower went surprisingly smoothly despite all of Colby’s unhappiness at being treated like a child. Jessie was wonderful. She even tried to wash out Colby’s pants while Colby toweled off. It was a senseless act because the clothes were history. Colby appreciated the gesture, none the less. She thought it was wonderful.

The kids would have loved you. You would have made an excellent pediatrician if things hadn’t turned out the way they did.

“Jessie, I’m tired. Please, don’t give me any shit about this,” Colby's tone was almost apologetic; “I have to shackle you to the headboard before I can sack out on the couch.”

Jessie hopped up on the far side of the bed without a fuss. She not only extended her foot toward the board but also untangled the chains for Colby’s convenience. Unlike the other times, Jessie didn’t lay back as Colby started to fasten the end securely to the heavy wood post. Instead she kept a fixed gaze on Colby’s every move, her face a furor of concern. Once Colby was satisfied the chains were secure she turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Jessie’s voice cracked. When Colby turned back to her with a quizzical look she found the courage to continue, “You could sleep here with me just as well. The couch wasn’t great in its best day. And it’s just too creepy for you to sleep in Jane’s bed. You really shouldn’t do the stairs by yourself yet either. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t slept here before … with me.”

Colby studied the woman chained on the bed before her for a long while. Her eyes raking themselves across Jessie’s naked ass, up her side to her small firm breasts. Being naked in bed together would be so wrong on so many levels.

“When we slept together last, I thought … we were falling in love.”

“No,” Jessie quietly corrected with a smile, “we were in love but neither of us was ready to admit it then.”

“So says you,” it was not an accusation but a statement.

Jessie nodded, “Yes, I say so. So it is true enough. Now, stop getting caught up in semantics and come to bed before you catch your death of cold standing there wet and buck-naked. Come if for no other reason than respect for an old friend. You’re my last patient ever. I don’t want you to die on me just yet.”

In a rare moment of unguarded emotion Colby spoke from her heart, “Am I only that to you? Your patient?”

Jessie pulled down the covers on Colby’s side of the bed, “I don’t know, Colby. All I know is that as long as you come to bed, I won’t ask why. I don’t want to sleep in this bed without you.”

Colby smiled an easy grin that softened the hard lines of her weary face. “An offer from a beautiful woman, I cannot refuse. Push over. Don’t hog the covers. And, we’re just sleeping so don’t get any ideas.”

Jessie nodded with a little smile and made space while Colby climbed into the warmth of familiar sheets. A silent prayer was on her lips for a night of trouble free sleep.

“Thanks.”

“For what? Letting me sleep in your bed? Here’s to old times,” Colby sighed contentedly as she settled down to rest.

***

It was late. Her brow was furrowed from the pounding in her head. Even the soft pillow did little to ease her discomfort her. Gentle fingers caressed her cheek and she could not stop herself from melting into the touch.

“Head hurt? Bad?”

“Yeah,” Colby moaned unable to keep the pain out of her voice.

Jessie pulled Colby’s head to her breast. Her fingers expertly stroked the still wet hair as she probed Colby’s skull. The further back she got, the more Colby’s face was pushed into the cleft between Jessie’s softly rounded breasts. The smell of ivory soap on Jessie’s skin was more erotic than Colby could have imagined.

“Oh wow! You got a big knot back here,” Jessie informed her. “Probably could use some ice or a cold cloth. Sleeping might not be such a great idea, right now.”

“I know,” Colby breathed and then before she could stop herself, she placed a light kiss on Jessie’s chest.

For an instant, the world stopped moving.

“It’s been a long time, Colby.” Jessie rasped.

“Sorry,” Colby stammered. She was ashamed of her own desire. Jessie was only trying to make her feel better.

“Don’t be. It’s okay. It’s funny I never thought we would be like this. You sick in my bed with a bump on your head. I always thought it would be … you pushing me onto the bed and ripping off my clothes. You always liked playing rough.”

Colby eased back to look up into Jessie’s eyes. They were so clear and certain. No hesitation or regret.

“You’re shackled,” Colby began but Jessie interrupted to steal her own hungry kiss from Colby’s lips as a hand was moving downwards to gently caress Colby’s breasts.

“Its okay, Colby. It’s better this way. I don’t want to hurt you. I have horrible dreams where I hurt people. Sometimes, when I wake up the dreams were real. I frighten myself.”

“I don’t want it to be like this.” Colby replied, “Its wrong, Jessie. Please, don’t.”

She tried to move away. A gentle tackle brought her back down onto the bed. Jessie was straddling her now.

“Shush. I just want to touch you. It’s been so long,” Jessie whispered.

Colby felt Jessie’s soft lips slowly kiss their way down her neck, ruthlessly breaking down her resistance. Jessie’s hands were all over her now, first gently and then insistently stroking, teasing the most sensitive parts of her anatomy. Whimpering, Colby felt herself opening up to Jessie’s touch, those long, talented fingers prodding and pushing. Entering her, slowly at first and then faster and harder until she found herself screaming Jessie’s name over and over and over again. When it was over, they lay huddled together, Jessie cradling a sleeping Colby, protecting her from the night.

*****

Chapter 11

Monday, March 16th

“Morning.”

Jessie groaned the greeting out loud as she stretched muscles stiff from a deep dreamless sleep. Turning over with a smile, she lazily peeled away the soiled bed clothes which clung like a second skin to her hot, sweaty body. She had woken multiple times throughout the night hungry for another taste of Colby and found the other woman more than accommodating.

Colby considered Jessie’s choice of a word versus the usual two before replying, “You didn’t use a qualifier. Is it a good morning or not?”

“It’s most definitely a good morning,” Jessie sighed happily as she pulled Colby’s naked body up close to her own, hands moving downwards to grope the other woman’s tight, compact ass, teeth sinking into the smooth, soft skin of her neck.

“I missed us more than you could know, Colby.”

Colby stroked Jessie’s tussled brown hair back from her brow, “I felt how much you missed me with every thrust of your fingers last night. You fucked me over good. What am I to you, Jessie? Your sex toy?”

Jessie frowned a little, “I thought I was making love to you.”

“Somehow fuckin’ and love has always been the same thing to you. So, I guess last night has to be close enough for me.”

Jessie’s frown deepened, “Are you saying my skills in bed aren’t so good? You weren’t complaining last night when I made you come again. You were screaming my fuckin’ name out loud for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re bed skills are fine, baby girl,” Colby retorted. “It is your romance skills that stink. I told you. I didn’t want it to be like this with you chained to the bedpost. Granted, it may be one big turn on for you but I wanted more than some mindless fuck. Shit, Jessie, I can get that from any crack whore. I wanted to sweep you off your feet. I wanted it to be special.”

Jessie’s grin spread across her kiss bruised lips. “Oh grow up! You want special? Compared to the stinkin’ back rooms and alleys where you’ve been screwing toothless hookers in for the last few years this is practically the friggin’ Ritz.”

“That’s the thing with you, Jessie, you’re happy if life is just good enough to satisfy you, never mind anybody else. The truth is you’ve always been a goddamned selfish little bitch. Marty loved you. I loved you, but we … I was never good enough for you, was I? We could have had something real together, you and me. And you know what else? The Ritz doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s the Taj now. You can’t even muster a fantasy romance never mind the real thing.”

“Well, fuck you too, Colby. What do you know about the real thing? I thought you were better than Marty. You’re just the same underneath. Just another cold, mean, drunken bastard, like he was. You never understood how tough it was for Jane and me. You never even tried to find out. After I stopped hoping you'd come rescue me, I nurtured a long, strong hatred for you over the endless hours I spent strapped to a mattress in a padded cell. God only knows why I even fucked you.” Jessie mumbled at her own realization, "I must be coming off my meds hard."

Jessie released her hold on Colby with a rough shove and retreated to the far end of the bed. She curled tight into a ball with her back to the other woman. Colby sat up on her side of the bed. Her head spun with the action. Unnerved, she reached out instinctively with a hand to steady herself on the nightstand.

The wood was real, heavy oak. It matched the bed and the dresser. But when she moved her fingers away, she noticed there was no dust. The thought troubled her but she found herself fast losing focus when the pounding headache behind her eyes doubled time with the strain of her thoughts.

“I gotta piss,” she announced out loud for no real reason to Jessie’s back.

There was no reply. Colby pushed up from the bed. She staggered balancing her dead weight on skinny mosquito legs. The bedpost was close enough to grab and she reached for it. She needed a lifeline on which she could brace her unwieldy body before attempting to take another step forward.

“Colby, what the shit?”

“I’m okay. Give me a minute,” her voice sounded muffled in her own head. “Re-entry is always a bitch.”

When Jessie didn’t venture a reply, Colby used the welcomed silence to practice a step. Her left leg held so she followed with the right. After two more tentative steps she was able to let go of the bed frame. Careening wildly she snagged the corner of the bureau before grabbing the edge of the bathroom doorframe just in time to prevent her face from kissing the floor.

Colby could feel a stormy sea of twisting thoughts swarmed through her brain like angry locusts. Lowering herself onto the toilet she cradled her pounding head in her hands. The reality of the disaster her life had become was hitting home even more poignantly after her post-coital blow up with Jessie.

Her today was a stark difference from her first day on the force. The straight arrow recruit who thought she had won the jackpot when she got paired up with a decorated Boston PD veteran detective all those years ago. And, the drunken, washed up has-been unable to get out of the friggin’ train wreck her life had become.

But Colby knew that between then and now there were plenty of milestones. The first time Marty used a nightstick to beat in a suspect’s face, she puked her lunch out into the gutter. The first time Marty screwed a prostitute instead of busting her pimp, she sat in the car with the radio on loud looking the other way. The first time Marty offered to split a payoff, he beamed like a proud father when she accepted with a muted nod. The first time Marty pocketed some powder from a coke bust, he smiled when she took a bit of the candy for herself.

It wasn’t long before she was the one fucking the hookers while he cheered her own. It was so easy to slip from silence to co-conspirator; she barely noticed the change herself. Sitting in his empty house, with his daughter’s slick still drying on her thigh, the same daughter chained to the bed outside for her own protection, the road to hell was remarkably clear in hindsight.

Still Colby had to admit it took two hands to clap. It was she who willing took each turn, in spite of many warnings from friendly voices over the years. It was her refusal to listen to reason and yield. She decided to believe his bullshit that she was bullet proof and above the law. Truth was Marty wasn’t bullet proof in the least. He had a finger in every dirty pie in town and he was pissing people off big time. Whatever Dark Angel came for him in the end, she was sure he had it coming. Either way the pigeons were finally coming home to roost. And, they were shitting all over her on their final approach to the runway.

Sitting there alone pushing the last of the liquid from her dehydrated body, Colby tried to make peace with her demons. At the end of it, she had little to celebrate and much to regret. Even if she could balance her failures with a triumph like finding the killer and ending the slaughter it would be short of redemption. It would be nothing more than a hollow victory.

It was too late now to make amends, she knew that. Marty, that bastard was long dead. His victims would remain forever faceless and voiceless. Jessie was broken beyond repair. Her destruction sanctioned by Colby's apathy. She stood by consumed by guilt and fear, and done nothing to stop them as they took Jessie apart piece by piece. Nothing remained but for her to end the game. She would make damned sure of it. Colby stood empty, but stronger in her resolve.

After washing her hands and splashing the sleep from her face Colby emerged from the bathroom. Jessie noticed the grim set of her jaw immediately and sat up in bed pulling the blankets to her chest, her eyes hooded and wary.

“What now?”  Jessie asked with a sneer. “Are you going to beat the shit out of me now, Officer Willis? Spread my butt cheeks and fuck me up the ass with your night stick like the good doctor because seeing me in pain turns you on. I’m so scared.”

It was all bravado on Jessie’s part. Colby could hear the fear in her voice. An emotion she could play on to get the truth she wanted. Colby grabbed the wooden desk chair and turned it backwards to sit.

“No more games, Jessie. I don’t want to play anymore. I want to end this charade. Tell me who the killer is, I know you know. You were here that night.”

Jessie looked at Colby and gave a slow, deliberately shake of her head, “Can’t. Don’t ask me.”

“I want to know the truth, Jessie. It doesn’t matter to me if you did it. I swear I won’t let them lock you up again in some shit hole like some goddamned animal. We’ll go south across the border to Mexico. We’ll go live by the sea somewhere in a shack on the beach. Swim all day and watch the stars at night.”

“They’ll catch us, you know that.”

“If they catch us, they won’t take us back alive. I’ll shoot you first. It won’t hurt. A single shot to the back of the head, followed by another to the heart. And then I’ll put the damned gun in my mouth and blow the back of my head off.”

“You’re one crazy bitch, Colby.”

“Yes, I’m crazy. Crazy enough to love you. Yes, I do love you, Jessie. I’m sick of all this running, all these lies. I want to know the truth. Talk to me, Jessie. Tell me who the killer is.”

Colby could see Jessie’s lips moving but a rushing in her ears drowned out the words. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was white.

“Hey! Dummy!  Wake up so I can knock your block off good and proper. You fucked my little girl under my own roof? You friggin’ piece of shit!”

“Marty? What the fuck?” Colby realized she was on her back staring up at the ceiling.

Marty was standing over her, all 6 feet, 200 pounds of him, glaring down. “You are a little shit, you know that? I taught you and fed you and treated you as my own and you screw my kid. A fine 'thank you very much, Marty. I am very grateful to you, Marty.' Let me just say I am very, very disappointed in you, Detective Willis.”

“Shut up, old man, you’re dead. Get over it, you jealous, controlling bastard. Your little girl wanted to sleep in my bed. You did everything you could to turn me against her and like some stupid, fuckin’ idiot, I did as I was told. I stood by and watched you try to destroy her self-confidence, watched while you egged her to go on dates with the neighborhood tough guys. Did you worry they were slapping her around? Or were you hoping they'd put her in her place.”

"You got no right talkin' smack to me, kiddo! I made you and I'll break you. Dead or not, I'm still twice as much a hard ass as you."

"Hard head is more like it. You didn't know a good thing when you had it. You treated Jane and Jessie like dirt. I fell for the perfect family scene you painted for me. That was what you liked about me, wasn’t it, Marty. I was a drooling sidekick too thrilled with your attention to notice what a prick you were.”

“I should've been so lucky,” Marty sneered as he squatted next to her. “As sidekicks go, you sucked. Once you join me here in hell, I’m gonna kick your skinny ass from one millennium to the next until the end of time. You’ll be screaming for every damned demon to save you from me!”

“So, same old, same old,” Colby choked and flashed a smile that slowly curled down into a snarl. “So help me God, no demon is gonna help you if I ever find out you laid more than a hand on her.”

Marty rolled his eyes, “I’m a heartless bastard, not a friggin' prick. But, you got more important things to worry about than me and where my dick fucked around. You need to find the killer. Asking her ain’t gonna get it done for you. You be a detective, go detect. “

“Detect? Don’t feed me a line of shit, Marty. I know all about you and your special arrangements. You had them killed, didn’t you? You were becoming a liability, old and sloppy. They were going to feed you to Internal Affairs, so you had to make some people disappear. You set this up. All this Ripper’s Daughter shit, you and some sicko you roped in to do your dirty work. But, you got greedy, you were going to double cross him, come out a big hero. Only things didn’t go according to plan did it, Marty? “

“You got some imagination for a washed up punk, I give you that. Now get off your ass before your screwed up body finds a couple more drops of piss to squirt on my one good rug. Do you have any idea what a mutha it was putting that thing down? Freakin' pain in my ass, it was."

Colby watched him stand and turn away from her. "See you in hell real soon, kid," Marty called over his shoulder. "We have a lot of catching up to do.”

A kaleidoscope of colored lights flashing obliterated her view of Marty’s sullen features. Colby blinked to clear her vision. The buzzing in her head dulled as her eyes focused on the image of Jessie hanging off the bed by one foot holding her hand.

Colby was gasping. “I’m having a seizure, right? They’re too close together. I’m dying, right?”

“That one wasn’t quite as bad,” Jessie reassured her as she clutched Colby’s hand tighter.

“Maybe from out there,” Colby mumbled around a thick tongue. “In here, it was pretty intense.”

Jessie flashed a brittle smile betraying the worry lines around her mouth.

“I’m okay,” Colby whispered reaching out to touch her face.

“No,” Jessie shook her head, “Colby, you are not okay. You should be in a hospital detoxing. I think this is withdrawal. You need meds and IV fluids.”

“Not gonna happen, I can’t risk them finding you. Besides, I don’t think that’s the problem,” Colby said.

Jessie gave a snort of disbelief at the claim.

“I’m sorry, Jessie for everything. The problem was me. I didn’t … protect you from him. I let him treat you and Jane like trash. And when the shit hit the fan I should have taken you and run. Instead I did everything to cover my own ass. I turned you in. I’m so sorry; we never really had a chance because I took the easy way out. I swear I won’t let them touch you again.”

Jessie raised an arched eyebrow in surprise.

“Please, tell me who the killer is so I can finally end this horror show.”

Jessie began to speak and Colby’s world went black.

***

“What?”

Jessie was speaking. Her words were starting to filter through into Colby’s fuzzy brain. Colby force her eyes open to look at Jessie.

“Ah, welcome back to the world of the walking dead, sleeping beauty,” Jessie deadpanned with a glassy grin.

Colby tried to sit up, but Jessie managed to thwart the effort with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Give it a couple of minutes, Hercules. You’re still groggy.”

“What were you talking about?”

“I was talking about you actually. The seizures are psychogenic. They are brought on by stress. If I want you to have a seizure, all I need to do is start to tell you who the k-i-l-l-e-r is. But, don’t worry, I won’t try again. Watching you have the shakes again is low on my list of things to do today. I rather watch Fox News if you don’t mind. They, at least, make me laugh until I piss myself.”

“So, what’re you saying is? I’m just as crazy as you are?” Colby bitterly spat out the remark as she pushed Jessie’s hand away.

Jessie smirked in reply as she stood back. She watched Colby struggle to sit up and face her.

She said with a small chuckle, “Welcome to the group, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. Honestly, I always thought that you would have been the first one they’d lock up, but let’s get back to your bigger problem.”

“What?” Colby was dizzy but desperate to pay attention to whatever Jessie was telling her.

“I was referring to your pathetic need to solve the murders. It must be a cop thing.”

“Did you manage to tell me before I started to chew my own tongue?”

“No.”

"But, you know who it is?" Colby floated the idea like a weather balloon.

Jessie nodded with an eye roll.

“Okay, I'm done.” Colby shrugged with relief. “I don’t care if it’s Marty you’re protecting. The bastard’s dead. Put your clothes on. I’ll bring you down to the station and you tell Faust while I stay safely out of earshot.”

Jessie laughed out loud. “You’ll never change. You’re just like him. I knew you were lying through your teeth about Mexico. Marty used to promise to take Jane out to Florida. It was like a game to him. Every year she would plan the trip, book the hotels and flights. Every year he would cancel because something came up." Jessie grimaced with an unpleasant memory, "One year she didn't bother to book the flight and he beat her black and blue. I fuckin' hate his rotten soul."

Colby ignored the family confession. “Jessie, listen to me. This isn’t about Marty. This could be your ticket out of the loony bin. Tell Faust who the killer is and we're both free. You might even collect some reward money. We could move away from Boston. Head out to California or Canada or Mexico, anywhere where we could start over. Just think, Jessie a brand new life for you, for us.”

“Right. Crazy girl reveals the ‘truth’ and the good old Boston PD runs out to save the day? Not with this killer and not in this city. You forget your pals would have been more than happy to pin the killings on me if the murders had just stopped. My only salvation has been the Ripper continues to be a very busy boy.”

Colby raised both eyebrows. “A man? The killer’s a man?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Colby. You know as well as I do the Ripper’s Daughter is no chick. You were freakin’ there." Jessie smacked her head with feigned emotion. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you can’t remember or you won’t remember the only important moment in your whole miserable life. You were always a coward when it came to seeing the truth. You never had the stomach for it.”

“Jessie, I’m …”

“Quit apologizing. You sound like a broken record. You need to figure this out yourself if you are going to come to terms with what happened to all of us—Marty, you, me.

A shiver travelled the length of Colby’s body. “Us?”

Jessie gave her a sympathetic look but did not reply.

“Fuck it. Let’s take our chances with the Chief,” Colby was unwilling to confront the past.

“This has nothing to do with me, Colby. I’m not talking to them to save your freakin’ skin. You know very well they’ll call me a liar and lock me away forever. I’m not helping them put me back in the hole, while you get off scot free on a full disability pension. You’d like that, wouldn't you?" Jessie tossed a skyward look. "Screw you. I'm not waiting around for a second time to take the fall. What do you think I am, Colby? Fuckin’ stupid? I am so getting out of here. Across the border to Canada sounds nice, thanks for the tip.”

“You’re chained to the bedpost, you’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s what you think, Officer Willis.” Jessie laughed as she flashed the turnkey under Colby’s nose. “My mother didn’t raise a fool. I took it out of the back pocket of your jeans, along with your wallet and your car keys. Now all I have to do is say the magic word and while you’re frying your brains out, I free myself, warp the chain round your neck, and watch you slowly choke on your own tongue. Only I’m thinking I might not be the sort of girl who kisses and kills.”

The metal handcuff key pinged against the metal ring when Jessie pulled it out of the bedspread. Colby's eyes focused momentarily on the key sparkling in the room’s muted light.

"C#," Colby said out loud. Jessie stared at her but did not venture a question.

“If you run, they’ll catch you and send you back. You won’t make it across the border by yourself, without me,” Colby countered.

Jessie flashed a sneer. “At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’ll rot in the fuckin’ cell next to mine. Do you know how it feels, Colby to wake up day after day in a cell without windows to the screams of the man down the corridor being raped? Do you, Colby?" Colby grimaced and Jessie continued, "What do you think the Captain is going to do to you when my lawyer reports me missing? You forgot about the Boy Scout didn’t you? Knowing him, he’s going to have himself a nice big press conference. I like fat boy. You could smell the stench of ambition waffling off him a mile away.”

Colby’s head was throbbing. She wanted a drink. She wanted the conversation to end. She wanted somebody, other than some goddamned ghost, to tell her what the fuck to do.

“Honestly, I don't know what to do. I’m open to suggestions.”

Jessie shrugged, “You never were before. You were always a control freak like Marty down to your shining black boots. Is this part of the sensitive new you I’m beginning to see? Like you said, Colby, the problem is you. You stood by and watched him treat me and Jane like dirt. You turned me in to the pigs to cover your own pathetic ass. Now there’s hell to pay, Colby.”

“What do you want me to do, Jessie?”

“Let’s play a game, Colby. Let’s pretend you’re the detective. What would you do if you were looking at the cases for the first time?”

“Go to the murder scenes,” Colby began and Jessie interrupted.

“Then let’s go start at the scene of the first murder. You can be Sherlock Holmes and I can be …”

“WITH ...” Colby shouted to silence her. Once she was sure she had the woman’s attention she finished her demand, “with Marty’s notebook in hand. Where’s the book?”

Jessie let out an exasperated sigh before she climbed back onto the bed. "Thought you would have realized that by now," she mumbled and began to inspect the cuts the chain made around her ankle. “I am the notebook, Colby. I'm all that's left of Marty’s dirty little secrets."

*****

Chapter 12

The gusty wind howled with a vengeance between the concrete pillars of the Neponset River Bridge as rush hour traffic raced above the dirty banks of the ancient brown water. The nameless, faceless commuters enclosed within their sleek, aerodynamic, metal coffins were happily oblivious to anything below the level of the frozen blacktop.

Forty years ago nobody noticed Whitey Bulger planting his victims at the foot of I-93's uprights. Then, as now, an idling car belching black smoke into chilled morning air along the same stretch of water wouldn't have raised even an eyebrow of concern.

Boston was a city with two faces. Behind the heavily promoted 21st century downtown was the rotten core of the city which kept on moving with eyes averted to looming trouble. The city faithful preferred to keep their secrets buried in shallow graves. It was here, in the shadow of Florian Hall and the echo of Whitey Bulger's backhoe that Colby arranged with Pat Pickman to pick up her car.

Colby glanced at Jessie. She looked infinitely better than when Colby first saw her restrained to the chair in the Castle. She even managed to comb out the snarls in her hair. Sixty hours later, rested, fed, and washed up, Colby was impressed. The Jessie sitting next to her was a very different person than the Jessie who stabbed her with a pen on Friday. There was an assurance, an aggressiveness, in this Jessie that Colby found undeniably attractive.

The clothes gracing Jessie's narrowed frame were old. They were baggy, hanging like dropped sails off her much leaner physique, but Colby thought they fit well enough for the time being. Jessie made it very clear they would be shopping for new ones once they blew out of this dump. Jessie hated Dorchester. The same streets Marty pounded when he was on the beat. She hated everything that reminded her of Marty.

Jessie shifted slightly in the seat trying to get more comfortable on the hard vinyl surface. Sunlight glinted off the chains wrapped around her waist shackling her wrists and ankles. The sight of gleaming metal caused Colby’s mouth to go dry. Images of the night before played back like a silent movie in her head. Absently licking her lips, Colby wondered if they had time for a quickie. If Jessie would mind very much if she got onto her knees and pulled the other woman’s sweatpants down. Colby didn't worry too much about her priorities when a flash of arousal sparked deep between her thighs. Life after all was a short exercise in brutality and she intended to get herself some more of Jessie while she was still on this side of death.

"What are we going to do, Officer Willis?"

Jessie's question was asked so softly Colby wondered if she were actually meant to hear it. When the grey questioning eyes turned to her demanding an answer, Colby looked away, shy and uncertain like a schoolgirl caught ogling her teacher’s crotch.

"Well, first off we need to get my car. Then we go to the first murder scene. We trace the killer's dumping sites in order until I can remember something or I die after thirty hours status epilepticus. Whichever comes first?"

"You've been watching too many medical emergency room soap operas, Officer Willis," Jessie muttered sounding more amused than annoyed.

"Naw, my medical info comes straight from the horse’s mouth. The Captain had them send me to a neurologist after the first attack. The prognosis was I have the potential to make my exit in a never ending seizure, lucky me."

Jessie searched Colby's eyes for a lie behind the remark but found only regret. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. It was nothing she didn’t already know from the morning’s fiasco. Colby’s death or survival was no concern of hers, she told herself.

"Should you be driving?" Jessie asked coldly as she checked out the approaching vehicle in the side view mirror.

"Nope and I ain’t letting you drive either."

The conversation ended as the Charger pulled up in front of them and parked. The mechanic, Pickman, looking as corpulent as ever, took a few minutes to get out of the car.

Colby pulled the keys out of the ignition before sparing one more look at Jessie. There were fine lines forming around the smooth skin of her pouty mouth as she flashed Colby her brilliant Snow Queen smile, her eyes vacant and glassy as ever. Colby didn't speak. She didn't think there was a need to say what would come next.

"What are you going to do, Colby?" Jessie asked again with a giggle but didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "What happens when you remember who the killer is, Colby? Are you going to shoot him in the face? Torture him with a chainsaw? Or are you going to do your duty and uphold the law?"

Colby paused. The idea of catching the killer was nothing more than a remote fantasy for her. It was Marty's obsession, his ticket into the easy life, not hers. She was just some stupid dumb fuck cop caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. What would happen when she remembered the face of the killer? What was she prepared to do?

Colby shrugged. "Got to remember before I know what to do about it, baby girl."

She ended the discussion by climbing out of the car. A swift slam of the door made her lose her balance a little. She recovered without a peep, but Pickman noticed anyway.

"You okay?"

Colby ignored him. "How's the car?"

"Fine," he took the hint to mind his own business. "Replaced what needed replacing and tightened the rest. All in all, not terrible considering what you drove into. She could be in worse shape I’ll give you that, but I didn't have the right paint for detailing the scratches. You can give my buddy James a call. He’ll get you fixed up good with the bodywork. I left his number in the glove box."

She nodded. "What do I owe you?"

"The whole shebang will set you back $732. That’s a discounted price on account that she’s a classic."

"Fuck," Colby hissed. "Take a check?"

Pickman shrugged. He didn't want to take a check but this was a cop, some skinny, greasy Boston PD detective. He didn't want to get all the wrong kind of attention from her kind.

"Sure. No worries." Pickman replied with a tight smile.

Colby pulled her wallet out and retrieved a loose check she kept there just in case. She was pretty sure it would bounce all the way to Timbuktu, but she didn’t let it concern her. She leaned on the car trunk and filled the blanks in on the nondescript slip of paper. She figured she’ll tell the Captain to add the rubber duckie to her tab when her luck finally ran out. In the meanwhile she didn’t give a shit anymore.

"Okay, you got everything out of my car?" She asked briskly as she handed over the check.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I need to get my prisoner transferred so I want you to go stand at the rear of your vehicle."

Pickman rubbed the back of his neck as he slipped the check into his front shirt pocket. He had almost forgotten about the creepy chick traveling with the cop, the looker with the vacant eyes and the sick, sugary smile.

"Sure. No problem," he said

The man hustled out of the way as fast as his bow legs could carry him. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the other chick. She made his skin crawl.

Colby went to the passenger door. She tugged it open but Jessie looked away. Colby could tell from the way she was sitting all hunched up that she had no intention of even attempting to get out on her own. Colby let out a loud sigh and leaned in to grasp her by the elbow. Colby was fast learning everything was a battle of wills with Jessie. Once out of the car, Jessie meekly allowed Colby to guide her each step of the way, pushing herself up close against the taller woman. Although the broken pavement under their feet made the walk a bit treacherous for Jessie in her shackles, Colby didn’t believe for a minute personal safety was foremost in the other woman’s mind. Still Colby kept a firm hold on her until she was safely settled into the back passenger seat of the Charger.

"Fuckin’ asshole," Jessie whispered in Colby's ear. "He's probably got a boner the size of a bratwurst. He's totally enjoying seeing me as your bondage bitch. Bet he’s going to beat himself off once he gets into the wagon. You'd like to get off too, wouldn't you, Officer Willis? Little old me all tied up in chains with my pants pulled down to my ankles and your hand between my legs."

Colby felt a rush of fire ignite deep inside her stomach. She knew she was enjoying Jessie’s sexual taunts far too much. But, she could not seem to back away from the dark edges of their relationship.

"Forget him. We have better things to do." Colby remarked before she stepped back and swung the door closed gently.

Standing at the side of the car, she curtly waved Pickman away. She watched him back his way out in the behemoth, her frown darkening when Pickman beeped her as he drove by. She stood and waited until she was sure he was heading for the highway travelling away from them and not coming back. Taking off her leather jacket, she walked to the passenger door and let herself into the back seat of the Charger.

"What are we going to do, Officer Willis?"

Jessie’s question echoed in her ears as Colby pulled the smaller woman towards her. Her hands travelled lower to yank the loose sweatpants down. Her actions answered with a deep moan, she forced the strong thighs apart and slipped her fingers into the wet, dripping slit.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

Colby hissed between clenched teeth. Encouraged her actions were welcome, her calloused fingers began to work on Jessie’s sensitized nub. Roughly pulling, stroking it to the sound of the other woman’s choking cries of pleasure.

“You like this, don’t you, bitch? All tied up with a woman’s hand hard at work between your legs. Marty was right, you’re nothing but a goddamned slut.”

Jessie smirked at the mention of her father’s name. Looking Colby directly in the eyes, she clamped her hands down onto the back of the taller woman’s hand and forced Colby’s fingers deeper inside her. Her thighs spreading as wide as her shackles would allow. She gasped when Colby pushed hard. First one finger then another.

“Jesus, you're so tight.”

“Fuck me, Willis. I want you to fuck me with your big, fat cock.” Jessie purred. Her lust reflected in Colby’s wild blood shot eyes.

"Baby girl, you can be sure once we get a chance I’m going to fuck your brains out with nothing less than an eight inch dong, but for right now I’m going to let my fingers do the talking.”

Jessie’s soft cries intensified into whimpers as Colby plunged her fingers harder and deeper into her, the steady thumping rhythm building itself slowly into a shrieking crescendo. Jessie climaxed with a jerk onto Colby’s hand, her release covering Colby’s arm with a thick coat of slick.

Rolling a sobbing Jessie onto her stomach, Colby kept a tight rein on the trembling woman’s neck as she urgently pulled down her own pants. Her hand snaked round the other woman’s waist to pull her up onto her knees allowing Colby to mount Jessie from behind.

“Fuck you, goddamned bitch. You’re so hot. I’m friggin' going to explode.”

Colby snarled out loud, her own body beginning a series of frantic grinding motions as she desperately sought her own orgasm. The sound of wet flesh furiously slapping against another warm body filled the car for a long moment before Colby tensed, her body going limp and falling heavy on top of the smaller woman with a shudder.

***

Colby hurried to the driver's side after getting Jessie seated safely in the front passenger side.

"Fuckin' shrimp!" She cursed out loud as she slid into the familiar seat before manually adjusting it for her long legs. Finally satisfied she was in a good spot, Colby announced, "Okay, murder site one, the Esplanade."

"Not so fast. The Esplanade is not the first one, not by a long shot. It was murder number four. Don’t you know anything, Officer Willis," Jessie stated flatly as she made herself comfortable on the worn leather seat.

Colby felt her belly flip. "What?"

Jessie cleared her voice, "Go to the JFK library site. The first one, the first of his recreational ones anyway, was the JFK site."

"Recreational?"

"The murders the cops and the press know about are the ones I consider his recreational killings. You know the ones he did for fun and laughter. There were a lot more before, but they were strictly business. The business ones aren't really important. His heart wasn’t into them. It is the recreational ones, the ones that brought out the artist in him that will trigger your memory."

Colby’s hands were shaking. She felt feverish, stunned by the information Jessie so casually let slip. She wanted to open her mouth to say it was a startling breakthrough, but that would have been a lie. The fact of the matter was Jessie's revelation was vaguely, frighteningly familiar.

Without bothering to question Jessie further, Colby started the Charger up and pulled onto Hallet Street. She headed for Morrissey Boulevard with a loud screech of tires, from there it wouldn't take them no more than fifteen minutes to get to the Kennedy Library.

As Colby made the right at the lights, she wondered if she should take the onramp to 93 and hit the expressway north until she got within sight of Canada. Toronto, Quebec, Montreal was all waiting across the border promising escape from current hell. Colby calculated it would only take her eight or ten hours of driving tops. Pickman had thoughtfully left her with a full tank. She had enough change in her pocket for another tank or two, a couple of hamburgers, and a change of clothes for Jessie if necessary.

The deathly slow lights at the Neponset River Bridge gave her ample time to plot their getaway out in her mind. They could start over. She knew the streets. She could get a job as private muscle at a strip joint until Jessie was well enough to go back to med school. They’d get new names and have a quieter life this time around. Maybe they'd even make it official and get married. A happy couple with regular jobs, Jessie down at the hospital doing rounds in the pediatric wards and she would work in a homeless shelter for battered women keeping abused women safe. They would live in a cute one bedroom apartment downtown with a balcony and window boxes growing tomatoes. A second chance for her to make it all up to Jessie and all Colby needed to do was take the right at the split after the Sozio store. 

The Charger stayed to the left on Morrissey, a winding road twisting under and beside 93, but stopping hundreds of miles short of the state line and two lifetimes away from the Promised Land. The jangle of chains in the seat next to her pulled Colby back to their collective nightmare.

"C#."

Jessie glanced at Colby but didn't ask about the note. She resumed squirming in the seat using extra care to extract the handcuff key from the pocket of her pants. Her thin practiced fingers nimble and up to the task. Colby wondered how many hours Jessie needed to perfect that skill.

"Don't," Colby muttered as they passed the Phillip's Candy House with the peppermint pillars.

Jessie didn’t even bother to look up as she replied. "Fuck off, Colby. Quit telling me what to do. I wore the chains so your fathead mechanic doesn’t go squealing to the tabloids when he sees my mug shots all over the evening news. Been there, done that. Now I’m taking these fuckin’ things off."

"Look, we are in the heart of Marty's old beat. His old station house is less than five miles down the road. Do you have any idea how many cops on the force think you sliced your old man open for kicks? All of them. You’re the wicked witch of the West End. You know ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead’? That got played over the PA the day they locked you up and threw away the key. Why did you think none of Marty’s buddies ever came to see you?”

Abruptly Jessie looked up, stilling her hands. Her mouth opened slightly but there were no words. Colby continued speaking seeing she had gotten the other woman’s undivided attention.

"If we bump into one of them good old boys and you aren't hooked up, I won't have enough time to open my mouth much less talk my way out of an ugly situation before one of them gets the idea to pay hero and a full clip gets unloaded in your chest. They hate you that much, Jessie."

Colby tossed a quick glance at her. There were tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Her chin quivered. Still, there were no words so Colby continued. "Look the chains and all that, it's just a cover. I know you won't run or try to hurt me. But, if Garrett or Tamulis or Spanky see us then I need to look like I'm in control, like I'm doing nothing more than a routine prisoner transfer for your big shot lawyer."

"Spanky's my godfather, he stood up for me at my confirmation. That man taught me how to drive. You think he believes the shit the press said about me? You think he'd empty his Beretta into me?"

Colby hit the right turn signal at the lights before turning onto the graceful driveway leading to the JFK Museum. "I'm sorry, Jessie. Spanky would skin you alive if he ever saw you again. He hates you just as much if not more than the rest of them. You were his number one girl, his pride and joy. He couldn’t even bring himself to mention you by name after they brought you in."

Jessie’s head dipped forward dropping a curtain of hair between them as Colby pulled the car into a parking spot. She waited a few moments after turning off the engine, but Jessie neither looked up nor spoke.

"Don’t be like this. Come on, let's get to work. The sooner we finish the sooner we can get out of here and the sooner you get out of those chains." Colby finally encouraged.

Jessie gave a brief shake of her head. "We'll do this part your way, but then it's my way or the highway."

"What do you mean? You have no fuckin’ choice. It’s the chains or a chest full of lead."

Jessie looked up with steely determined eyes and a snarl, "When we finish up here, we go to a CVS. You're going to get some hair color for me then we go back to the house. I’ve always wanted to be a petite blond and here’s my chance. I gonna take more than a few inches off my usual length with gardening shears and top my makeover off with a pair of dark sunglasses. That should keep the boys in blue more than a little confused if we stumble into any of them." 

“Come on, get real. Hair dye and sunglasses are not going to get you past a troop of Boy Scouts.”

Jessie gave a low growl as she stated her position in no uncertain terms. "I'm not staying on a leash while you parade me around the city like a dog, Colby. You better get it into your thick skull. I'm not your prisoner. Fuck it! I'm not anybody's prisoner. I didn't fuckin' kill Marty as much as he might have deserved it. I didn't get that privilege extended to me. And, if you could get your head out of your ass you'd remember everything on your own and not need me to hold your hand like some goddamned, fuckin’ wet nurse."

Colby could feel her insides cringe at the bitterness in Jessie’s voice, but somehow managed to maintain her stoic external composure. She gave a brief nod which passed for tough. Truth was she didn't trust herself not to cry.

Exiting the car, Colby could feel the winds off Dorchester Bay cut through her like a knife. An icy shiver ran down her back leaving her numb. Pulling her jacket closer, she hurried to the back of the Charger and retrieved the briefing notes for the JFK victim out of the locked case in the trunk. Tucking it under her arm, she went and let Jessie out of the car. They walked silently arm in arm to the bench where the victim was found.

"The victim was sixty years old, white female, no distinguishing tattoos or scars, no identification on the body. She was found in an upright sitting position on this bench. From a distance, it looked like she was slouching forward." 

Colby read monotonously from her notes before Jessie interrupted with a giggle.

"Screw slouching. Her thighs were nailed to the bench with a high pressure nail gun. The sound popped like a firecracker but security didn't notice. Probably told themselves it was a backfire to avoid coming out here to take a look."

"She must have screamed. Someone must have heard her," Colby stated.

"Couldn't. He stuffed her mouth with an apple before the assault. He sat down next to her and struck up a conversation. She was not nervous at all. He was a well-dressed man with nice manners. It was a bright sunny morning. What could happen?" Jessie whispered and knelt before the bench.

"She was homeless. Came here every day to grieve Kennedy. She suffered from mental health issues more than substance abuse but there was some of that shit as well. She drank and she often didn’t stop until she ran out of money. He saw her by chance one afternoon when he was here for a political event. He takes his civic responsibilities very seriously. He watched her for days after that. He liked her. She interested him. Soon an idea formed in his mind, he would make her immortal. She would be his first grand project. That afternoon he wandered over with a backpack like he was here for a picnic although it was much too cold for one. He sat down on the bench and fished an apple out of the bag, politely offering it to her. As she bit into it, he put his arm around her shoulders and wedged the apple firmly between her teeth choking her. She clawed at him but she was having trouble breathing and he's strong. His hands were double gloved under the leather pair. He likes sheer rubber surgical gloves, only the best for him. He smeared crazy glue around her lips. The nail gun took all the fight out of her. With her hands and thighs secured to the bench it was easy to tie a garrote with piano wire around her neck down to her ankles and then up her back to tie off at the back of her head.”

"The ME said she lasted a while."

Jessie nodded. "He didn’t intend for her to just die. She had to suffer for his art. He watched her from his car for hours. Came back once to check on her, even told a guard she was fine and just resting."

"What?"

"One of the guards saw him. Don't know why he didn't tell you." Jessie looked up with a smirk, "And, I bet the guard's name is in the file you're holding."

Colby sat down hard on the bench and began to violently flip through the pages. "Four guards interviewed. None of them saw anything unusual. None of them noticed the woman on the bench."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire. Read their names out loud, Colby."

"Jackie Eagan. Rachal Davis. Tan Huat Feng. Jose Rivera."

Jessie waited with a smile.

"Jackie Eagan," Colby muttered. "Jacob Eagan. He was a marathoner, lived just on the other side of the MFA, across the footbridge in the Fens." Colby felt her stomach lurch. "Is he the guy in the snow pile?"

"Oh, so you finally found him. Nice looker wasn’t he?"

"How the fuck did you know about him?" Colby's anger broke through. "You've been locked away in the twilight zone for three fuckin’ years. No TV, no newspapers, no visitors except your fuckin’ expensive lawyer." Colby stopped dead. "Melissa Swartz, how is she involved in this?”

"She fucked the devil. She wanted to marry him, have his little baby devils, the old cow. She got jealous of me so she tried to keep me locked away forever. Do you know I had a review due with possibility of a transfer to a low security facility? She deliberately bungled it, but he wasn’t fooled. The bitch got what she deserved."

"Who's your financial guardian, Jessie?"

Jessie laughed "If I try to tell you, Colby, you'll have a seizure and I don’t want to play that game anymore. You have to remember on your own and you are so running out of time."

*****

Chapter 13

The acrid stench of peroxide choked the second floor. The toxic cloud caused Colby to gag momentarily. Blinded with tears from the fumes, she stumbled over trash strewn across the floor.

“Jesus, Jessie, don’t you do anything but eat?”

Colby muttered to herself in complete resignation. She bent over to pick up the cardboard pizza box discarded in a sea of rainbow candy wrappers under the watchful gaze of a half-eaten jar of anchovies. She couldn't think with the battery of smells assaulting her senses. Greasy cheese, mixed in with the rancid odor of fish, chocolate, and hair dye was enough to send her already queasy stomach into an outright revolt.

“I let you fuck me,” came the sharp retort from the bathroom.

Colby looked up with a smile. She had not expected Jessie to be listening.

“Don’t you do anything but eat and fuck?”

There was a pause. Colby could almost hear the windmills turning in Jessie's mind. Her beautiful contralto voice resumed its quiet singing completely ignoring the question. Colby was not going to let a moment of normalcy end so easily.

“Well, do you?”

Another pause, before Jessie giggled out a reply. “Let’s make a deal. You shut up for the next ten minutes while I wash this gunk out of my hair and I’ll blow you. Then you can figure out what you're going to feed me next. Answer your question?”

Colby grinned. She wandered over to the open bathroom door. Leaning against the frame, Colby felt her pulse quicken. Stripped down to a tight, old pair of daisy dukes, Jessie had her back to her. She was head deep in the sink. Colby’s eyes glazed over for a minute remembering how good Jessie’s ass felt under her when she fucked the smaller woman in the back of the car. The act had a passionate urgency she had not experienced before in any of her many casual liaisons. Maybe that’s the addictive quality of love, Colby thought. What she and Jessie had together was far from fairy tale perfect but it was about as close to the big L-word as either of them were ever likely to get.

Colby waited for a few more minutes before she figured she could sneak off downstairs. Jessie was so occupied with what she was doing, Colby wouldn't be missed. It was too many hours between sips and her hands were shaking.

Colby’s mouth watered at the thought of an ice cold brew. When they stopped to pick up Jessie's supplies, Colby had snagged a six pack of Bud. The real deal, not the light shit which tasted like cat piss to Colby's burned out buds. Just one she promised herself and then she’ll go back up to see if Jessie was serious about blowing her. Colby was confident the deadbolt on the back door would slow Jessie down enough for her to catch up if the woman tried to rabbit out and make good on her earlier escape threat.

The pungent stink of burning sulfur followed Colby as she left the room. Grudgingly the stench faded the further away she got. By Colby’s reckoning, Jane's music room would be the only place in the house spared the noxious fumes. It was the furthest point away from the upstairs bathroom within eye shot of the front stairs. Jane taught Colby to play the piano there.

The room contained only one piece of furniture; a baby grand. It was a beautiful instrument. Jane bought it on the cheap years ago at an auction. Still gleaming after all these years, the black lacquer brightened the room with the reflection of the midmorning sun from the skylight above. It called out to Colby with a promise of rich tones as it sat mute without Jane at the keys. Another lonely presence filling the house with its sad silence.

Marty made sure no other pair of hands would ever caress music from the keys. The night Jane died he threw the bench out into the middle of the street. He completed his solo performance by unloading a clip from his service revolver into the perfect wood. His horrified neighbors avoided him like the plague after that, going so far as to run across Day Boulevard when they saw him coming. Marty always said he never cared what they thought. He was a full throttle bastard back then.

Colby stepped fully into the nearly empty room with the lonely piano set in its center. All thoughts of a cold beer forgotten. She approached the instrument like it was sacred. Gently running her finger tips across the side of the hardwood cabinet, she could almost feel the echoes of strings teased to life long ago. Like the rest of the house, the piano had been kept in an immaculate condition. Whoever Jessie’s financial guardian was, he was more than conscientious about property maintenance. From the finely manicured lawn all the way down to the well-polished silver picture frame neatly placed on top of the baby grand, the place was doted over.

"Could he really be a she?" Colby pondered as she picked the frame up to inspect the photo closer.

Six familiar but much younger faces smiled back up at her. It was taken the spring before Jane’s younger sister, Christine, committed suicide. Colby was all of twenty two and new in uniform. She had just started working with Marty. He stunned her by asking her over to the house for a barbeque and a couple of cold ones with the family.

"We'll watch the Sox open big at Fenway," he said. "I'll cook up a couple of steaks."

The picture was a memento of Colby's first day having dinner with the Walshes. It was to become the first of many dinners over the years, the beginning of their collective personal tragedy.

Even back then, her attraction to Jessie was obvious for any who cared to look. Jessie was seventeen, fresh faced and cheeky. She was still untouched by the darkness that would see her experiment heavily with alcohol and drugs by the end of the year. It was a beautiful spring and despite the age difference between them, they made fast friends hanging out in the back yard with Edwin and Marty. Marty was a demon with the grill, never tiring of evangelizing his true belief in the old time charcoal faith and the growing threat of destruction at the nozzle of the false prophets with their gas powered monstrosities.

"So, that's why you never clean the grill? You’re too pious to scrub the hallowed altar of charcoal?" Edwin's dry humor lightened Colby's nerves almost as much as the Guinness that was a fixture at Marty’s barbeques. A self-made man, Edwin was subtle with a casual manner masking his more ribald commentary.

Christine and Jane stayed in the house for most of the afternoon. It was all Edwin could do to get them to come out into the backyard to take the picture. Both women sported forced smiles. Perhaps, Christine confided her unhappiness to Jane or Jane was trying to wrench the truth out of the other woman. Whatever the truth was, Colby was damned if she could figure out why a beautiful woman like Christine, who seemed to have everything, would take her own life within the year. Christine didn't seem distraught to Colby. She was just unhappy and worn out with the compromises inherent to married life.

A visual reminder of better days gone by was more than Colby could bear. She carefully put the photo back, face down, where it had always been on top of Jane’s piano. It was too late for distance. Melancholy filled her heart with longing for a life no longer possible. A life she could barely remember herself. If she was truthful, she'd admit the night of Marty's murder was only one of many she could not fully recall. Whether the cause of her memory lapses was trauma or alcohol induced, didn't matter anymore to Colby. Jessie was right; she was running out of time and excuses would not save her.

"What I can't remember can actually kill me, kill us," Colby muttered as her fingers traced their way across the smooth white piano keys to the sound of a half forgotten tune.

Ting.

"D#."

Ting.

"F."

Ting.

"C#."

"Colby?" Jessie called out from the living room.

Ting.

"F#."

"What are you doing in this room? You playing with Jane’s piano?" Jessie's voice held no accusation.

Tunk.

"Shit," Colby frowned when the key refused to play. "You broke the spell."

Colby glanced up at Jessie to explain, but her voice froze in her throat at the vision before her. A blonde stranger, dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt, stood waiting for an answer. The stranger standing looking back at her with the easy smile had not suffered and lost all Jessie endured.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jessie was befuddled by the comment.

"The music stopped when you came into the room. Jane's piano won't play again. She's gone, Jessie. Like Marty's gone and Christine’s gone and they’re not coming back. We can't ever get them back again." 

Colby was close to tears. Jessie crossed the room. All reservations dismissed. She wrapped her arms around Colby's neck and pulled her into a bittersweet kiss.

"What's wrong? They've been gone for so long. Why are you so sad all of a sudden?"

"I miss them. I miss us. I missed you so much, Jessie. I’m so sorry," Colby whispered.

She took both of Jessie's hands in her own and tenderly kissed them. The touch of Jessie’s warm skin against her lips comforted the ache deep inside of her.

"Why do you care so much?" Jessie's question was innocent holding no criticism.

"Because you were all the family I never had," Colby defended her fragile emotions. "Marty, Jane, you, Edwin, even Christine. You all became my family. For once in my life, I had someplace to go where I was wanted, welcomed. A nice place where on Sundays the game would be on the TV and there would be food cooking in the kitchen and you and I would sit out on the back porch and talk. It was more than my mother ever did for me. All I ever got from her was being smacked around and a never ending string of boyfriends from hell. She'd let them crash at the projects with us. Each one was more of a bastard than the guy before. She didn't care what they did to me. Marty and Jane cared more about me than my own mother ever did." 

Jessie caressed Colby's tearstained face leaving Colby weak in the knees. After leaning in to kiss Jessie slowly on the lips Colby finally found the strength to meet Jessie's intent gaze.

"Jessie, why don't you care at all?"

"Marty did more for you than he ever did for me my entire life and Jane allowed that. It was you with her those afternoons at the piano, not me. She taught you how to play her precious baby grand I wasn’t even allowed to touch. I never belonged, Colby. He never really wanted me, but Jane was a good Catholic girl and he was playing the part of a good Catholic boy. An abortion was out of the question. I was the accident that ruined his fun. He resented having to settle down and he took it out on Jane and me. Jane could have walked out on him. She could have taken me with her and saved us both. She didn’t. She just made excuses for him. Do you remember the bruises, Colby? The ones Jane said was me being clumsy and walking into the door again."

"I'm sorry," Colby stammered. "I never thought. I didn’t think. Oh, God, how did I miss that?"

"You fell in love with the idea of family, with the image of a big, strong Dad and a stay at home Mom and all the trimmings," Jessie explained with a bitter smile. "But, a real family never lived under our roof, Colby. It was all an illusion. Monsters dwelled here. They’re all gone now but one. We should leave soon. Get out of this house and leave all the goddamned lies behind. We still have much to do." 

Colby nodded and turned away, but she was not ready to abandon the house and its memories. Even with the revelation of abuse, for her the memories were still real and true. Marty and Jane meant something for all their faults. They were two of the good things from her past. Their ghosts tugged at her as if demanding she remember what she could not face just yet.

“You have any money left on you?” Jessie prodded.

“A five and some change. Why?”

“Here, help yourself, its Marty’s slush fund. He hid it in the floorboards of my bathroom. He figured I wouldn't find it or I’ll be too scared to touch it. Stupid bastard, may he rot in hell.”

Colby blinked twice as Jessie tossed her a tight wad of balled up bills. She peeled off a couple of Andrew Jacksons and the drunken civil war general hiding beneath. Colby handed the cash back to Jessie without a word. She knew where the money came from. She saw no need to ask stupid questions anymore.

Colby realized the past would eventually catch up with Jessie and her. The clock was ticking. Colby wasn't entirely sure what would happen to the both of them when it did. She was certain of only one thing. She didn't want her last memory of Jane's music room to be just another lie.  

"I think we have a little time to waste. Half an hour or so won't make any difference." Colby leaned forward to kiss Jessie again. This time more insistent, more demanding, than the last. "I want to make a better memory in this room than a missing note. I want to make you come screaming in my mouth."

Jessie snorted in reply as Colby reach downwards. Her hands busy unsnapping the button fly of Jessie's jeans. If Jessie was going to make any objection, the moment was lost when Colby slipped her cold fingers between Jessie’s soft folds. Hungrily capturing Jessie’s moan with her lips, their kiss took on a new intensity.

Colby eased the jeans down Jessie's ass with a gentle tug. Once they cleared her hips, Colby released the kiss and withdrew her fingers from Jessie's warmth. Jessie whimpered softly in protest but Colby would not be deterred. Lifting the smaller woman up on the piano, she pulled the jeans off completely. They were discarded in a careless heap on the floor.

Pushing Jessie’s legs upwards Colby's lips found their way to the sweetness between the other woman’s thighs. Her tongue rapidly stroked Jessie's fire, flooding her mouth with her lover's desire. Jessie's fingers wrapped themselves in Colby's thick dark hair pulling her closer and deeper to their common thrill.

*****

Chapter 14

The Charger took the left onto St. Botolph Street an eye blink after the light on Mass Avenue turned green. A chorus of furious horns and screamed obscenities from irate drivers followed. Neither Colby nor Jessie noticed. Jessie was deep in thought and Colby was too busy trying to navigate the narrow street with on street parking on both sides while avoiding the college students darting out like lemmings between the cars.

"Okay, you got me stumped," Jessie smirked. "I got no idea where you are going but I have a feeling it isn’t Mexico."

Colby hit the horn hard at a tuba carrying Conservatory student trying to hurry across the street, "We are going to the scene of Jacob Eagan's murder."

"He wasn't next," Jessie shook her head. Colby’s statement perplexed her. "You’re supposed to go in the order of the kills, right? They teach you that in police school. It’s procedure, or did you miss class that day? Too busy trying to make the grade by sucking off the instructor? I never pictured you as a cock sucker."

"We normally do follow the chain of events on a linear timeline when we don't know what we are looking for. But, thanks to you, I have a connection between the JFK victim and Eagan. So, I want to look at Eagan's site next." Colby explained patiently as she pulled the car up to the gate of the parking garage, “And you know what? You have a foul mouth. Don’t make me wash it out for you.”

Jessie snorted in derision before eyeing Colby suspiciously as the taller woman took a ticket.

"What are you doing? Just 'cuz I hand you a fistful of dollars doesn't mean I want you squandering it. Schroeder Plaza is only a couple of blocks over. You must have a free parking spot over there by now, right? What? You afraid Marty’s dumb ass buddies might strike it lucky and figure out who I am? Not a chance. Those dimwits won’t know how to ID the broad side of a house that hit them."

"Let's just say, I don't want to take any chances when I'm so close," Colby replied before driving inside. "Besides, free parking ain't worth risking your skin."

Killing the engine, once she eased the Charger into a spot between the faded yellow lines, Colby finally looked Jessie in the eye, "I just want to say, what I really mean to say is I …" She swallowed hard. "I love you, and I don’t want to take any chances with you. I want to be with you. Do you love me, Jessie? Do you want to be with me?"

"Really too bad, Colby. A long time ago I was in love with you, but that was another Jessie, another time, another place," Jessie shook her head in defeat. "Now sometimes I hate you and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I even think I care. Why? I don’t know.”

"I understand."

“So you still love me?”

“I’ve always loved you and I always will. I’m sorry it took me such a long time to come out and tell you.”

“Me too, Colby.”

“So what’s next, Jessie?”

Jessie frowned. “To or not to be is such a great question, isn't it? I’ll give you a hint, just to speed things along. I don't think it will push you into another seizure. Do you trust me?"

“Yes.”

"We need to see Cy."

Colby raised an eyebrow before the name struck a chord. "At Northeastern? The murder at the statue off Forsyth? We need to start there?"

Jessie answered, "No, we already started, Colby. Follow the yellow brick road, this is all about finishing. We need to go to the murder scene at Cy Young's statue outside the Cabot Physical Education Centre at the former Huntington Grounds site. You know Home of the first World Series. Do you remember the murder details? It was the first killing committed after Marty's death. Do you have the file or do we need to hit the library and access it from the system?

"No, my files are in the trunk. I took them. All the files are in my trunk," Colby stated flatly and opened her door. It only took her a minute of rummaging to find the tattered, coffee stained manila folder detailing the grim murder of a young coed. 

After exiting the parking garage, they walked in silence toward Northeastern University on the dead end behind the Y. The air was crisp and still, without even a whisper of a breeze. Still, Colby felt cold inside. She reached out and took Jessie's hand in her own. Jessie did not resist, instead she curled her fingers tight around Colby’s palm. Their steps fell into a steady pace with each other’s.

Located on a balding patch of grass surrounded by stubby shrubs across from Churchill Hall, the bronze statue depicting Denton True "Cy" Young stands hunched over on what was once the pitcher's mound of the former Huntington Avenue American League Baseball Grounds. The statue leans forward, eternally poised ready to pitch another perfect game. It was erected by Northeastern University to acknowledge the past while bulldozing its expansion into the future.

It was at the base of this rather unassuming statue, where the broken body was found leaning back against the pitcher's legs. The victim was left for dead without visible external injuries, but with multiple breaks and fractures in the legs and arms. The homicide investigators reporting to the murder scene did not connect the body to the Ripper's Daughter series until the autopsy revealed a mouth stuffed with debris and superglued shut.

"She looked a little like you with mousy brown hair, about the same age. I think she was pre-med too." Colby stated as they stood staring down at the spot where the body was dumped. Brown stained grass matted down from a rough winter stared back.

Jessie shrugged, "Close enough. I was already in the first year of med school when the shit hit the fan. It was a clue. He meant it for you, but you didn't notice. You were too busy with other things."

"I was not very healthy that week."

"You were at McLean, weren't you? I was still under guard at Shattuck.”

Colby stepped back away from Jessie. She racked her brains trying to remember those terrible days following Marty's murder. Her memories of the weeks after Marty's murder were patchy in spots and missing key pieces.

"The brass sent me for rapid detox at MGH. I had my own personal set of watch dogs for the week leading up to the funeral. They wanted me on my best behavior so the press could see a united line of blue. Once Marty was safe in the ground, I was put back on desk duty. They took me out of mothballs once they realized this killing was the Ripper's work which meant you were not the killer.”

“I wasn't the NU coed's killer, is that all that matters to you, Officer Willis? You went on with your life. You had a life. I had … well. I wasn’t getting much in the way of current events back in those days at Shattuck. I had no lawyer, no guardian. Just my CO watch dogs snoozing in a chair and me strapped to a bed 23 hours a day with fluids and drugs pumped in and piss drained out." 

“Jessie, I …”

“Shut up, Colby" Jessie couldn't hold her bitterness back. "Look at your fact folder and start reading out loud. I’m getting sick of your face.”

Jessie knelt by the statue while Colby fiddled with the pages in the file. A soft breeze carried the scent of grilled sausages. Voices in the distance were ordering lunch.

"Twenty two year old female, blue and brown, fully dressed, dead at scene with rigor, no obvious sign of trauma." 

Looking up from the photo of the body on the fourth page of the report, Colby felt a chill travel down her spine. Jessie was seated at the foot of the statue, mirroring the pose. Quickly shaking off the ominous feeling, Colby turned back to the case details.

"Lena Dodd. Pre-med. No police record. MA resident. Parents, local with strong ties to the community. No financial or political targeting issues. Three siblings all pretty run of the mill suburban life." 

Colby sighed in frustration. She had read and reread the report hundreds of times. There was nothing new. She could find nothing that stood out, presenting itself with a hint of insight. Flipping ahead to the autopsy, she read the final paragraph out loud.

"Victim dead between six and ten hours. Arms broken at the shoulders, elbows, wrists. Legs fractured at the knees and ankles. Mouth stuffed with charcoal. Lips sealed with crazy glue. Nose crazy glued as well. Cause of death suffocation."

It defied humanity for somebody to smother a young woman by gluing her mouth and nose shut. The stomach turning sadism of the killing always left Colby on the verge of nausea.

"Nothing?" Jessie asked watching the lighter shade of pale pass over Colby's features.

Colby shook her head. "No. Nothing. Not a clue. "

"Too bad, Colby." Jessie got to her feet, "Come on, times a wasting. We'll have to hit the Fens."

Forsyth Street was bustling with college kids and stray cars trapped in the cull de sac to nowhere. A food truck was parked at the curb. Although, the lunch time rush was far from gearing up yet, Colby could see the barrel chested man inside was working up a sweat.

"Ah, the falafel guy. Have you ever wondered how long he's worked here?" Jessie asked with a grin. "Think anybody ever had the brains to interview him about Lena Dobb?"

Colby stopped walking. There were no reported witnesses in the file. She knew the investigators on the scene hadn’t interview the man. Boston PD only interviewed the campus police. Their offices were located fifteen steps from the murder scene. The campus patrols didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. The boys in blue had a field day about the ineptitude of the rent-a-cops until the autopsy came back. Another Ripper victim found in the middle of a busy city campus was just what Boston's finest needed to look just as incompetent themselves. To cover their butts, they literally buried Lena Dobb's investigation with the body.

Colby pushed through the crowd of hungry students gathered at the truck. She all but dared any to complain with a feral gleam and wicked snarl. None did.

"You," she shouted at the cook. "How long you been working here?"

He made an abrupt turn to face her. Colby noticed his white shirt was deeply stained under the armpits. The overpowering aroma of garlic and onion hit her in the face like a wave.

"Fifteen years, give a little. What’s it to you?"

Fighting her nausea, Colby pulled Lena Dobb’s high school graduation photo out from her folder. "Ever see this girl before?" 

The cook squinted and shook his head with a frown, "I see lots of pretty girl before. Every day. She in the photo pretty, but nothing special. How I remember her out of million and a half?"

Colby pulled the second photo out from the folder, "She special enough now? She's the only one in a million and a half to look like this at the end of the day."

His face went ashen.

"I remember. I called the 911. She sat there too long after her Daddy walked away. Three hours I was here. I tried to wake her up but she cold. Called ambulance. They get fat ass cops to come. Too late. She OD? Drugs? Her Daddy, he was angry. He mad cause of drugs, you think?"

"What did her Daddy look like?" Colby felt like puking.

"Colby," Jessie warned there was a sharpness in her tone, a knife edge, which Colby didn’t catch.

"Tell me," she nearly begged the man.

"White guy. Older man. Good looking. Black leather shoes, nice coat. Expensive. Black cashmere little heavy for warm afternoon." The man thought for a moment as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Funny, I remember his shoes all muddy but the grass was dry. They must have been walking on the Fens. Trying talking sense into her, maybe. Who know? Hey, you a reporter? You write story for paper? I don’t want no trouble, you hear."

Colby stumbled away without replying. Her head was swimming with images. She could almost see in her mind’s eye the shadowy phantom that haunted her memory. The tall, dark shape stepping into Marty's living room, pausing to look down at the dying man lying on the floor next to the shattered lamp, before starting to turn his head toward her. He was almost facing her. Just a few more inches and she'd see his face reflected in the street light shining in from the open window.

Colby snapped back from her memory into the reality of daylight. She hit the pavement hard. The skin on her knees and palms splitting as flesh connected with concrete. Searing pain brought her back from the brink of oblivion, allowing her to savor the bitter taste at the back of her throat as her gut violently protested her rebirth by throwing up the half-digested contents of her belly.

"I got you," Jessie whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arms around Colby's shuddering frame, careful to keep the other woman’s head up to stop her from choking on her own vomit.

Colby allowed herself to sink into the comfort of Jessie’s embrace, her mouth open and gasping for air between the chunks of regurgitated pizza and bile streaming out of her nose. Her head throbbed, but it was a victory of sorts. She did not cross over to the other world where Marty was sure to greet her with a curse.

"Okay, I'm okay," Colby croaked.

"Right, I believe you. You have orange colored snot coming out of your nose. You’re choking to death in public. You're a friggin' idiot. You gotta take it slow. You're pushing too hard. Give yourself the chance to get to the end of this in one piece. The game’s no fun with me playing by myself. I would miss you too much.”

Jessie gently nuzzled the back of Colby's neck as she spoke. Colby cleared her throat with a cough and spat the mess into the grass. She was going to go for broke, whether she got an answer was irrelevant.

"Who's your financial guardian, Jessie?" 

Jessie rocked Colby like a baby and cooed, "Who else could it be?"

It was the closest admission that Colby ever got out of Jessie. Colby let her eyes drift close for a minute, as the buzzing of the street around them began to filter back into her brain.

It was so easy for the pedestrian traffic to step around them. People were used to ignoring what went around them. So used to seeing nothing, hearing nothing. It had become second nature. It was this indifference the killer relied on. An everyday man to be dismissed without a second thought like the honking horns and the young couple pawing each other in the grass on an early spring afternoon. Slowly Colby pulled herself together and eased out of Jessie's hold, getting to her feet with a little support from the other woman.

"Let's get moving. The Fens. I'm beginning to remember. I didn't seize and I'm remembering. Let's go."

Jessie nodded cautiously and took Colby's hand as they headed for Huntington Avenue. Opting not to cross at the intersection where the Green Line trolley clanked nosily along the tracks. They stayed on the Northeastern side for another block until they spied an opening in the traffic.

Grabbing the opportunity, they darted against the lights toward the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The iconic building stood silently waiting to be noticed, her beautiful light grey bricks inviting attention within a sea of drab brownstones.

Neither woman paid heed to the building before them. Their attention focused on the tree lined field and stream stretching away from the stony aura of Guy Lowell’s neoclassical design. Designed by Frederick Olmsted as part of the Emerald Necklace park system, the Fens' wide open expanse of green nestled in between the college crowd racing up and down Huntington and the baseball pilgrims crowding Kenmoore Square often invited runners, lovers, and the occasional, homicidal maniac.

"Eagan was found in a snow heap facing the MFA Fens' entrance," Colby pointed to the tree across the street still sporting the yellow remnants of police tape. "He was banged up pretty bad, even for a Ripper case. Body was mangled and mutilated. The ME couldn't really tell what actually killed him, exposure or blood loss."

"He died three hours after when a snow plow cut him in half. I thought that would have been obvious even to the ME."

Jessie remarked nonchalantly with a smile before leaving a stunned Colby alone on the curb. She was already well across the street when Colby gathered her wits together enough to sprint her way back to Jessie's side. The blare of car horns and the squeal of brakes be damned, Colby would not let Jessie just walk away without an explanation.

"Jessie, you were at the Castle when he was killed. You were not permitted outside contact, so how the shit do you know what happened to him?" 

"Colby you’re not listening again. I told you, Swartz was more than happy to share when she came round to visit. She told me all about it during her last visit like it was some big thing, which it wasn’t. Stupid bitch, didn't even know she was going to die next. She thought she was special to him, like I am special. She was so smug, telling me about Eagan threatening to go to the tabloids. It shouldn't have surprised her. Eagan stayed quiet longer than could be expected considering the publicity. Fuckin’ bitch sitting there gossiping instead of working her ass off to get me out of that hellhole."

"Swartz told you Eagan was blackmailing the Ripper?" Colby was still a question behind. "Swartz was involved with the killer?"

Jessie chuckled, "She thought she was, but she read too much into their ‘relationship’. She was jealous of me. She wanted all his attention. He knew. He took real good care of her, didn't he? He told her they were going away, just the two of them. Told her to take a long leave of absence from work. She did as she was told, what a moron. She never suspected. He fucked her in the afternoon and pushed her down the stairs after dinner." Jessie giggled, "I think she may have worked out her flawed logic while she was dying of exposure at the bottom of her own cellar stairs. He sat there and watched her for hours, you know. She is one of the only victims he talked to while she died. I guess he did like her a little. Probably the reason why he handled all the arrangements for the …"

"Funeral?"  Colby mumbled absently before the pain slammed like a hammer to the back of her head.

Bent over doubled in shock, she was vaguely aware of someone catching her. They fell together. Colby could taste the metallic blood flooding her mouth as she bit hard on her own tongue. She fought to hold on to the pain. Trying to force herself to stay conscious. She had to stay connected to Jessie.

Marty squatted down next to her. His features aged and grim. The wet blood staining his crisp white shirt a livid crimson.

"He was always a really sharp dresser. It was what Christine first noticed about him."

"You knew? Jesus Christ! How long? How long did you know, you fuckin’ son of a bitch?" She spat the question like an accusation.

Jessie's voice filtered in, "I knew, Marty knew. We both knew long enough, but he was family. Marty didn’t want Christine’s name dragged through the mud. Marty told him to stop, told him to get help. Marty had a big mouth. He should have just gutted him. Neat and tidy. The murders would have been forgotten if the killings stopped."

Colby shook her head and tried to focus back on Marty even as she gagged on her own blood. "Tell me!"

"Listen you skinny, greasy dyke, you're putting my baby girl in danger just sitting there pitching a fit. Get on your goddamned feet and move! You know everything you need to know. You just gotta connect the freakin’ dots!" Marty snarled, "And, if you don't know then fuckin’ look over your shoulder! NOW!"

"Shit," Jessie spat. "He’s coming. We gotta go! Come on, Colby!"

Colby turned and looked. She let her eyes follow the sound of Jessie’s quivering voice. Despite her blurring vision she could make out the expression on the other woman’s face. Jessie was terrified.

Fear fueled her adrenaline push. Jessie roughly hauled Colby's limp useless body to her feet. As her chin swung skyward, a familiar figure in a black Armani suit came into view.

"Cashmere," Colby said before her focus fix on the wearer. "Edwin? It was him all along wasn’t it?" 

"Fuck it, it’s too late." Jessie hissed between clenched teeth.

It was futile trying to get Colby moving. Jessie let the taller woman crumble down onto the pavement without a second look. She sprinted toward the approaching man in black as if her struggle was to free herself all along.

"Uncle Eddie, it took you friggin' long enough to show. She's been dragging me around Boston chained like an animal for almost two days. I've had it with the fuckin’ sightseeing. Let's just get out of here, okay? Come on, please take me someplace warm!"

"NO!" Colby mouthed silently as she tried to roll onto her knees to get to her feet and failed. "Jessie, don’t! He’ll kill you too."

Edwin Dobb grinned and put his arms out to receive Jessie into his embrace. In return, Jessie threw herself at him and planted a big kiss on his cheek. His smile didn't fade but his face hardened. Even at a distance, Colby could see his grip on Jessie tighten as the two of them walked back toward Colby.

"Come on, Uncle Eddie, let's just go. You promised me Mexico or Brazil, remember? We were going to visit Teotihuacan. Let’s go somewhere far away, just you and me. You promised.”

Edwin tightened his hold on Jessie to the point of making her gasp. "Jessie, don't make me hurt you. I hate it when you lie to me. I’m going to have to punish you later. But right now, I have unfinished business with Colby here. So Jessie, keep quiet and don’t whine. You’re not a child, don’t behave like one. I taught you better manners than that.” Jessie opened her mouth to argue but he silenced her with a quiet command, "Please be quiet. Don't make me say it twice."

Colby managed to get herself upright on her knees using a tree as support. She glanced at Edwin and Jessie. They were walking slowly, heads bent together deep in conversation. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. They shared the same pale eyes and skin differentiated only by his dark blond head against her fair. His features an older, masculine reflection of hers. Any casual observer would think they were tourists, a father and daughter visiting Boston for the day to take in the sights. But, Colby could see the white knuckle grip Edwin had on Jessie's arm.

"Well, light finally dawns over Marblehead," Edwin deadpanned with a smile.

His eyes narrowed and focused on Colby. Eyes so much like Jessie’s it sent chills down Colby’s spine. Colby wondered if she was the only one not to notice, the only one who never saw. Did Marty see the resemblance? Did he hate Jessie because he was never sure who her father really was?

"How many clues did you and Marty need? That's rhetorical, by the way. It's apparent you needed more than all of them. Marty was much better at it than you. He only needed the crucial few. You, however, would never have figured it out if Jessie wasn't helping you. You played a cheater’s game, Colby.”

“I wasn't helping," Jessie interrupted. "I was trying to keep her occupied until you came for me. I was …"

Edwin pulled her close and grabbed her throat to hiss, "Don't you even try to fuckin’ lie to me, Jessie! You think I'm a dumb cunt like your mother? Huh? Married all those years to a man she never loved. You think I don't know you were elbow deep in this slobbering idiot's pussy no more than two hours ago? What? Speak up, Jessie. I can't hear you!"

Jessie's mouth flapped to form the words but no sound could get out through the strangle hold.

"I could snap your neck right now, Jessie. The EMT's would think you simply choked on a piece of candy. Right here in the middle of a million people, I could kill you and nobody would even notice or care.”

Colby cleared her throat to speak, her voice weak and slurred. "I can fuckin' see you're trying to kill her. You not gonna have enough time to kill us both without anybody noticing because I’m going to shout my head off right about ..."

"You keep a lid on it, if you know what’s best." Edwin glared at the woman he had momentarily forgotten. "Unless you want her dead in your arms in ninety seconds."

"Don't kill her," was all Colby could muster before collapsing back against the tree.

Jessie instinctively gasped for air when Edwin released his hold on her throat but Edwin was not finished. Kissing her on her forehead, he kept a firm grip on Jessie’s arm keeping her in place beside him.

"Colby, you claim to love Jessie, am I correct? Love her so much you left her to rot in a hellhole of an asylum. Although, I must admit I too am guilty of such neglect. I was deceived into thinking she would be kept safe and away from harm until such time we could be reunited. I was a fool to believe that witch. Do you know what atrocities they committed against Jessie there? Did she not tell you? It makes my blood boil to say both her doctor and lawyer were more than eager to take part in the foul abuse." 

Edwin thought for a moment. A peaceful smile graced his lips. He clarified his previous statement with a blush of embarrassment.

"Initially, the psychiatrist's interest was purely financial. She was paid by the lawyer to make Jessie’s life unbearable. Swartz believed Jessie needed a firm hand to discipline her for her failures during Marty's death. But, once the doctor saw the beauty of suffering she craved it more than me. Late at night, she'd call to tell of some new wonderful idea she wanted to try out on Jessie. The woman has a real gift, I'll tell you, but unfortunately all good things come to an end. I will have to kill her eventually for Jessie. Always for Jessie. It’s probably my parental instinct. Did Marty ever tell you, I was the one who took Jane to the hospital? He left Jane alone at home, disappeared off on one of his drunken binges. She was heavily pregnant and she fell. It was a miracle she managed to get to a phone. I was in the delivery room to welcome our Jessie into the world. They cut poor Jane wide open for the caesarean. Her gut sliced to save the baby. She was premature and oh so small. They said she would never survive but I knew better. My Jessie was a fighter from the very start.” 

He smirked, "Unlike Swartz. She just lay there like a sack of potatoes after I broke her legs and pushed her down the basement stairs. She was a stupid, crude woman. She thought she was cleverer than me. Christine at least had a sense of style. She merely wanted to possess me. She said she was in love with me, but it was never that. She just wanted to control me, to destroy the beauty in my life. The refuge of the uninspired is control over true artists."

"And, you're some kind of artist?" Colby questioned with a sneer.

The pale eyes squinted and he bared his perfect teeth, "I am an artistic genius. You would not understand, Colby. Imagine the irony of a human form transfigured into exquisite horror by unbearable pain suffered in plain sight of the victim's fellow man. Yet help never arrives. My art isn't about man's inhumanity to man. It’s about our collective indifference as a society. Indifference from whatever cause, not from a lack of knowledge, but from carelessness, from absorption in other pursuits, from a contempt bred of self-satisfaction.”

Colby shook her head to disagree. "You're no artist. You're just a fuckin' sicko who couldn't cut it as a butcher so you drive a hearse."

"You're trying to bait me, Colby. That’s not very nice of you." Edwin chuckled with a smile. "Since you were so good as to amuse Jessie for me, I'll play along. Let's test your humanity versus your indifference. I'm taking Jessie back to Marty’s house and I will spend the next twelve hours teaching her a lesson she will have to die to forget. You have two choices."

"Fuck you," Colby muttered as she struggled to get to her feet with little success.

"You have an hour to catch up and try to save the day. I must insist this be an independent rescue, not that anyone will ever believe you. But I'll know if you contact your few friends on the force. If you do that the game is off and Jessie dies.” Edwin nodded pleased with his train of thought. "No, this is between you and me. So, come and save your lover and die trying or stay here until we leave, then go to the hospital and get yourself admitted. You really do need some medical attention, what with the blackouts and all. Stay a few days. Relax. When you're discharged, quit the force. Take a medical retirement. After all, you earned it."

Colby glanced at him. Edwin seemed so sane so calm standing there speaking with her. Jessie, on the other hand, looked positively lost.

"Are you listening? Is everything all right, Colby?" Edwin was speaking slowly to her sounding concerned.

Colby shook her head, "Sorry, what?"

"Let me make this clear to you. If you forget about Jessie and me and take yourself to the hospital, I'll see to it that you get well rewarded. Marty's will states you’ll get the house if Jessie precedes him in death. I'm the executor so I think probate will accept my recommendation the house be liquidated with the proceeds going to you after Jessie mysteriously disappears from custody. It'll take a few years but your disability pension will fund your lifestyle until then. Even in this horrible real-estate market Marty's house will do well. I advised him to buy it—prime location."

"What will happen to Jessie?" 

"Do you really want to know, Colby? Jessie and I will take a long trip out of the country, maybe to South America. We talked about it a lot in the past, but there was the business and my other obligations and I admit I wasn’t very attentive to her needs. Strange, how it takes a separation to make you realize the important things in your life.”

“So you won’t hurt her?”

“I never said that, Colby. I was brought up to believe that if you spared the rod, you spoil the child. It all depends on how well she learns her lessons. Classical operant conditioning worked so well with her in the past. I hope for her sake you haven't ruined her. I hate having to start again from scratch."

"So, my choices are, try a rescue and die or let you do what you want with Jessie and live pretty comfortably with a big payout."

"Right," Edwin smiled broadly. "Sounds like a no brainer, even for a halfwit moron like you."

"Fuck you!" Colby lunged at Edwin but fell short of the mark.

"That's the spirit, Colby. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I do hope you come for the rescue. I'm going to love watching the windlass disembowel Jessie right in front of you while I slowly garrote you with piano wire. Yes, that would be a nice touch. It'll be a wonderful end to a magical adventure."

Edwin laughed as he pulled Jessie away with him.

After several failed attempts, Colby managed finally to stand up on her own, but Edwin and Jessie were already far across the street. They would be on Huntington and gone before she even managed to walk to the curb.

"Should have shot the bastard when you had the chance," Marty was behind her.

"You're not much help, you know that," Colby whispered as she leaned heavily against the tree panting.

"Really?" Marty chuckled. “I’m not the one who’s too weak to pull out her gun. I guess you wouldn't be interested in how to get into the cellar without that friggin' lunatic figuring out you're there."

Colby stared at him and noticed his pale eyes seemed to twinkle. “Am I really going to hell when this is over?"

"Sorry, can't help you with that. Every exit is an entry somewhere else. Maybe saving Jessie from Edwin will get you good time credit with the Big Guy."

Colby tried to take a few wobbling steps forward. "Tell me how to get into the house without Edwin knowing I'm there."

"Coal chute around back."

"Figures, you still have one of those." 

"You never know when the oil embargo will return, better safe than sorry. For all you know coal might become all the rage again."

Colby rolled her eyes and stumbled for the crosswalk, "Right and men's long sleeved white shirts will be the surprise hit during fashion week in Paris this year."

"You know, I never figured you for a hater," Marty said as he looked both ways before motioning her to cross.

Once Colby staggered across to the other side, she glanced back to make sure her broken body wasn't strewn in the middle of the road. It belittled her better judgment to rely on the eyes of a dead man.

"You good to drive? Go easy on the car will you."

"I must be having some bizarre dream. I would never imagine you'd let me drive your goddamned baby," Colby shot back. She was feeling a little steadier with each step. "I'm gonna fuckin' blow Edwin Dobb’s brains out on his good shoes, you know."

"Let's see if we can get you to the car before you go all Rambo on me."

"Fuck you," Colby muttered. "You friggin' useless …”

Colby looked up to where Marty was standing moments ago only to be answered by silence.

*****

Chapter 15

After parking near Gate of Heaven, Colby stopped to check to make sure some hapless pedestrian wasn't embedded in the front grill of the Charger. Colby remembered very little of the ride from the South End. She recalled the loud squeal of tires and the blare of horns and abuse following a couple of red lights she inadvertently ran. But, other than that, the entire ride was a comforting blur.

She was plotting the best path to approach the house when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Don't you want to know where the coal chute is?"

Glancing to her left, she saw Marty was back. She gave a little nod.

"Where do you go when you're not haunting me?" Colby asked as she took a right to take her down the street behind the house.

"You don't want to know the answer to that, Colby. God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh. You'd give up the booze, the women, join a covenant, and devote the rest of your life to prayer and good deeds. And I wouldn't get your little black soul credited to me when you finally meet your maker,” Marty replied grimly before tossing his head back in a fit of mad laughter.

Colby groaned and went toward the house directly behind Marty's.

"Don't go straight in. Didn’t you learn anything doing stakeouts with me? You want to head in from the blind spot. There's no window on the first or second floor over the coal chute on Ferguson's side."

Colby stopped, "Okay, which one is Ferguson's?"

"Left side. You remember Old man Ferguson, Colby. Always farting after eating all the Boston baked beans and brown bread at the 4th of July cookouts. Amazingly, he's not in hell with me. There's no justice in living or dying, Colby. No justice you don't make for yourself. 'Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person'. Tennessee Williams. You remember that, Girl."

Marty’s words hit home with Colby. Pulling out her service revolver, she headed for Old Man Ferguson's back yard from the house behind. There was a low chain link fence separating the properties. Colby checked to make sure Edwin wasn't watching from one of the windows. All the curtains were drawn. It was the most reassurance she'd get.

There was no fence to worry about between the two adjacent yards, just nice green grass. Colby stayed low as she looked for the coal chute.

"I can't believe you never noticed this before," Marty huffed as he headed over to four loose red bricks in the foundation. "Pull these out. Go feet first. It'll take you right into the basement. An asshole like Edwin would most likely be hurting my little girl in the cellar."

Colby nodded before trying to pry one of the bricks free. She had to use both hands. The first brick slid out with a little bit of maneuvering, after which the rest came loose much more easily. Colby looked inside. It was dark but she was able to gather the chute was missing and she'd need to lower herself to the floor. She tucked her gun back into the holster. Looking back up for encouragement was a disappointment. Marty was gone.

Colby went in both feet first. She managed to touch the floor before needing to let go of the brick ledge. The coal room was set off from the basement by two walls with a door in the center of one. Colby thought back but could not remember where in the cellar the coal room door opened into. She put her ear to the wood. Nothing.

Having no other plan but to shoot Edwin on sight, Colby pulled her gun and went for the door. The knob squeaked making Colby pause.

She turned it slower hoping to still the noise long enough to open the door a crack. The rest of the basement was dark. A soft sobbing sound was coming from the direction of the pool table on the far side of the brick wall.

Colby crept out of the coal room. The light in the cellar was dim and her vision was still blurry from the seizure. Sweat spilled into her eyes making each step a blinding experience. She heard the snap before she felt the metal teeth of the steel trap dig deep into her leg. Colby dropped like a ton of bricks as much from the pain as to conceal her weapon.

"Colby!" Edwin's voice filled the room from the stairwell. "I must admit, I didn't think you'd be here so soon. Actually, I didn't think you'd come at all and through the coal room. Bravo, I didn’t even think you noticed it before. Jessie must have told you. She never knew when to keep that cock sucking mouth of hers shut."

Colby counted the footsteps. The cellar was about thirty feet total. When he stopped, she guessed he was still about ten feet away. He was still too far for her to get a clean shot with her unreliable vision. The pain wasn’t helping. Her hands were shaking so hard they were almost useless. She was slowly going into shock. She waited with her back to him.

"I never considered you good enough as an opponent. That was my mistake. I thought you'd drink yourself to death long before you could interfere with my plans. And, you did interfere. You ruined Jessie. Things are never going to be the same between Jessie and me. You came between us. I knew you were bad news the first time I laid eyes on you. You kept coming around, sniffing after Jessie like some dog on heat. And what was worse, she liked you. I told Jane to keep you away from her, she was sixteen, seventeen tops. Much too young to be hanging out with trash the likes of you. So Jane decided that music would tame the beast. You should have continued with those piano lessons, you were good at it, but Marty just kept on … well, you were always Marty’s brat. I take comfort in the fact that he finally cottoned on that you were only coming over to drink his beer and fuck his daughter.”

Colby stayed silent, biting her tongue.

"No crude comeback? That's so unlike you," Edwin murmured. "Usually, you’ll suggest some perverted sexual act I could commit against myself."

Edwin walked around her and disappeared into the space beyond the coal room wall.

A muffled cry rang out before it was abruptly cut short.

Colby remained motionless.

Edwin's footsteps returned. Three quick steps closer and Colby rolled on her back. Her gun came up with the motion. Edwin was poised to kick but Colby never gave him the chance.

Bang! He stumbled backward, hitting the floor with a thud.

Colby put the safety back on her gun. She sat up slowly. The world was spinning. She used the gun to wedge open the steel trap to pull her foot free. It worked with a little effort but she was unable to retrieve the gun without losing her hand.

Walking was out of the question. Her leg was gone. Colby balanced on her remaining good knee and hands and dragged the wounded leg along as she moved toward the pool table. Edwin was still shuddering when she passed. She paused momentarily to spit on him.

"Rot in friggin' hell you fuckin' fucker!" She cursed before crawling onward. She needed to get to Jessie fast.

Once at the pool table, Colby managed to pull herself up. She kept her weight off her broken leg but the pain nearly doubled her over. The sight on the pool table was even worse.

The body on the table was starkly white; blood soaked the green felt beneath. Young, Hispanic, female, her shirt torn off revealing a grinning slice across her belly down into her pubic hair. Her face slit from ear to ear in a mockery of a grin.

“Hi Sweetie, did you miss me?”

Colby turned around just in time to see Jessie swing the baseball bat dead center at her head.

"Like father, like daughter," Edwin laughed as Colby collapsed to the floor like a deck of cards. “Is the bitch still alive?” Edwin asked as he hauled himself up. “She blew a hole in my second best suit. All I can say is thank God for Kevlar.”

Jessie bent down to touch Colby’s neck.

“She’s still breathing. Hand me her gun will you, Uncle Eddie.”

Edwin nodded and tried to pull Colby’s pistol free from the steel trap.

“Fuck it, its stuck fast in the teeth. I can’t get it out.”

“You have to reset the pressure plate, here let me do it.”

“No, no. I can do this by myself. I’m old not stupid. You know Jessie, I didn’t think she had it in her, the stupid bitch, coming all this way by herself to try to get you back. For once, she didn’t take the easy way out. She must have known it was useless. She was sick as a dog. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t hold her gun straight.”

“She knew she was sick, but she came for me anyway,” Jessie replied. “Why didn’t you take me away from the Castle like you promised after you killed Marty?”

“Huh? Oh, I guess I wanted to see what would happen. Curious mostly, if the Boston PD and our friend here would be able to connect the dots leading from Marty to you and from you back to me.”

“I was a game to you?”

Edwin sighed dramatically, “Don’t start, Jessie. You know I hate it when you whine, and yes, I put you on the table as a prize for my game." Edwin chuckled, "It would have been a fine one too, if only our hero here wasn’t too in love with you to save her own ass. What was that stupid quote? ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’"

“Love makes people do strange things, Uncle Eddie.”

Jessie thought it was a pity that Edwin Dobb’s reply was lost in a gaggle of blood as her second time at bat knocked him home. Face straight forward into the jaws of the steel trap.

She would have loved to hear him scream.

*****

Chapter 16

Wednesday, 18th March

The Captain looked like he was just one syllable short of a stroke as a man could get. Every word he shouted down his cellphone got Faust to press the gas a little bit harder. She wasn't positive being on site of the latest Ripper murder would be the best thing for his blood pressure, but she knew she didn't want to deal with a medical emergency on the narrow road climbing up the Wellesley Hills.

"Yeah, Willis, I'm tracking Officer Colby Willis. You're like the twelfth guy I've been transferred to. This is a police investigation so I'd appreciate it if you fuckers at AT&T would do your fuckin’ civic duty! A life, maybe two, hangs in the balance."

The veins on his forehead were raised and throbbing. Faust was fairly certain she'd be putting him in an ambulance before the afternoon was out.

"Right, that's right, I want to know where her phone is pinging to. Give me a location. It hasn't," he seemed to deflate right next to her. "She hasn't used the phone in two days," he hushed to Faust. "Yeah, I'll take the last location."

Faust pulled the Crown Vic into the Castle's parking lot. She parked in a handicapped spot near the front entrance. Police cruisers and unmarked vehicles filled the area. No other cars were allowed up. All the staff on site would be staying for at least the next shift. The other shifts were on hold pending the investigation of the scene and interviews.

"Shit!"

The Captain dropped the phone in his lap and buried his face in his hands. Faust was certain he was crying. She felt very awkward but she needed to find out what he was so devastated about.

"Captain ..." She ventured.

He lifted his face wiping tears away. "Last ping was Berkeley Street, out of headquarters. Her phone is probably in a parking lot. I've lost her Faust. She's probably gutted someplace and we'll find her body in six months."

Faust didn't try to comfort him. There was no point. A dead cop, even Willis, was a stain on his record. Willis would be the second Detective he lost to the Ripper. His career would always be coupled with tragedy and failure.

A rap on the passenger window startled them both. The Captain scrubbed his face once more before lowering the window.

"What have you got for me?"

The State Trooper standing next to the car snorted, "Nice hello. What am I, your gopher? Running errands? Did you even bring me a friggin' coffee?"

"Next time and I'll bring you a donut too." The Captain sighed sounding worn out, "What details can you share?"

"We got a croaked shrink. Gutted like your Ripper girl likes 'em. She was found in one of the unused cells in their secure wing. She’s been there for some time, seems they don’t check all their cells at the end of each day. Wanna take a walk with me and check it out?"

"No, but I will," the Captain looked very old as he answered.

Faust's phone rang before she could get out of the car. She waved the Captain on so she could take the call.

"Faust, here," she greeted.

"Hola usted hottie es usted hambriento para el sexo."

"Who the shit is this?”

“Hey baby, you forgot me already. I’m so disappointed. I thought I made a better impression than that.”

“Jessie?" Faust felt a rush of cold grip her heart. "Where's Colby?"

"What? Colby? You serious? I call and all you know to know is ‘where’s fuckin’ Colby’? Baby, I thought you'd be happy to hear from me. What a letdown."

"Jessie," Faust said, "I need to know where both of you are. Tell me where you are."

"Safe. Colby and I are safe. And, we're going to stay safe. Everybody else is safe too. No more killings."

"But there’s just been another killing," Faust worried about revealing too much of the ongoing investigation but she needed to draw Jessie out.

"Right, I should correct myself. You guys haven't found all the bodies yet but there won't be any more killings in your jurisdiction. There are several bodies you still need to find. One of the bodies is the killer—the Commonwealth Killer. That's what the others call him. He was quite famous in the circles he traveled in. None of the others will take over his killing ground. It’s mine now and they respect my right. After all, I’ve earned it. So, after you find all the bodies, the killing is over."

Faust was struggling to keep up with Jessie's revelation. "You mean there's a network of serial murderers out there? Sounds a little grandiose, Jessie. Almost delusional." 

"If it makes you happy to believe I'm just crazy then believe it. I'm not wasting my time trying to prove something as transient as my sanity. Colby and I have other better things to do. Adios, Chica."

The line went dead. Faust sat looking at the phone. The passenger door swung open.

"We gotta get back to Southie! Marty's house is a four alarm fire."

The Captain landed in the seat like a ton of bricks. He looked at her with her phone in her hand. "What was that about?"

Faust thought for a moment before answering, "Nothing. Just someone calling to say good bye.”

END

*****

AUTHORS’ PROFILES

Phair is a part time writer and full time dreamer. She lives on the east coast of the US. The town is a peninsula hanging into the icy Atlantic at the mouth of Boston Harbor. In the heat of summer, the ocean provides cool breezes. But in the heart of winter, batters the coast with gales. It makes for a hearty New England life which she share with three furry companions, Dakota and the brothers Cat; Calvin and Hobbes.

Visit her website at http://www.phair1.com/

Anders writes when the muse bites (that bitch) and believes that a double cheeseburger is a food group, along with dark chocolate bounty bars. Her interest in horror started with Poe and escalated out of control over the next few decades from Sturgeon to Wagner to Barker to King to Rendell to Campbell. She has read every story Lovecraft wrote at least twice.  Other interests include Sci-Fi and gay erotica (sparked off by the Penguin Book of Gay Short Stories she picked up one day at the UNSW on-campus bookshop as a bored post-grad.)

Visit her website at http://betting-on-the-muse.com/

*****