CRIES IN THE NIGHT

CRIES IN THE NIGHT(MC BECHUM) CRIES IN THE NIGHT
The rash of child abductions that plagued the neighborhoods of Brickhearst, Florida created a panic that threatened the security of every resident. At least twelve households had lost toddlers or infants to the methodical designs of vicious intruders who seemed to know where and when to strike the targeted domains. Local authorities were certain it was a coordinated endeavor.
Despite precautions and other measures taken by police, the culprits continued to invade the homes of wary parents and abscond with the most valuable treasures they’d ever possess.
Throughout the winter months, these soulless perpetrators had victimized the wealthiest segments of the city, but on an unseasonably chilly night in late March, three masked assailants in a restored 1957 Buick Road Master Rivera parked about a block away from the single-story green house at the corner of Clemmons and Rockford. The driver remained in the vehicle while the other two descended upon the recently constructed rental property.
Beneath the tempered glimmer of nearby streetlights, the savvy encroachers were able to maintain a reasonable view of their surroundings. Dobson was the name on the mailbox. There was a pick-up truck in the driveway. Everything looked right for the taking. So with uncompromising precision, the shadowy figures broke into the residence and proceeded to accomplish their despicable mission.
It looked like another innocent family was about to mourn the loss of their child, but there was something the prowlers didn’t know. Someone in the vicinity had dialed 911. Fortunately, a patrol unit was less than a half-mile away.
By the time Lieutenant Katherine Gregory and Senior Patrol Officer Katrina Samson arrived on the scene, the duped despoilers had been alerted by the wail of the approaching siren and were running toward their awaiting car.
The officers opened their respective doors and took cover with their weapons drawn. “Police officers!” Gregory shouted. “Stop and show me your hands.”
Armed with .380 semiautomatic pistols, one of the perps responded with a sudden blast that shattered the passenger side window and sent the Lieutenant somersaulting over the asphalt!
“You alright, Lieutenant?” Samson asked.
“They just winged me. Get those creeps!”
Samson returned fire, striking the shooter in the shoulder. Helping his fallen comrade up, the second gunman got off three rounds, as the two of them proceeded down the street.
The Senior Patrol Officer gave chase and pursued the fleeing bandits to the corner where they shuffled into their awaiting Buick.
Suddenly, Samson was startled by the blinding glare of the vehicle’s headlights! With a thunderous rev of the engine and the screeching of its tires, the vintage hard top rocketed toward her like a guided missile. She fired several rounds into the windshield, but the driver was unrelenting. The daring patrolwoman leaped off the pavement and went tumbling across the grass as the raging hot rod sped past her!
Lieutenant Gregory had retrieved a pump-action shotgun from the unit and was positioned beside a utility pole. When she fired, the charging killing machine nearly careened out of control, sideswiping the patrol car, as it swerved to the edge of the adjacent street. Gregory destroyed the rear windshield with a final shot. Unfortunately, her offensive was too little too late. The pernicious interlopers made it to the highway and vanished into the night.
“Samson,” Gregory called out. “Where are you?”
“Here, Lieutenant,” she responded, returning to the unit. “We may still be able to catch them.”
“Don’t worry about them.”
“But their getting away.”
“The other units can head them off. A classic ride like that shouldn’t be hard to spot. Besides, there may be victims in the house. Did you get a make on the license plate?”
“I got a partial.”
“Then call it in. CSI should be able to tell us whether or not the thug you shot is in the system. Ballistics will need to have a look at all these shell casings scattered about the yard. Check out that pick-up and let’s get inside.”
As the officers approached the house, Samson retrieved her radio and made the dispatch.
“The door is wide open,” the Lieutenant observed, aiming her flashlight ahead. “Be careful. We don’t know what might be waiting for us in there.”
The women went in low and ready for action. Gregory scanned the room until she found a wall switch. Even after such a frantic departure, the would-be abductors had left the living room practically undisturbed. There was a noticeable slit in the black sectional, but the matching recliner had suffered no damage. In fact, the presumption that this was another child-snatching attempt seemed academic until Gregory noticed the photograph on the mission style coffee table. It portrayed the image of a young couple posing with a little girl.
“We’d better check the bedrooms,” the Lieutenant said.
As they maneuvered from one room to the next, the wail of additional units approaching the scene filled the air.
“I hear something,” Samson said.
“More units are on their way.”
“Not that. Someone else is in the house.”
They traipsed to the kitchen and cautiously opened the door. When Samson switched on the light, they discovered a brutally beaten elderly man lying face-down with a Colt .45 revolver in his hand.
Gregory knelt down to check for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she said. “We’d better dispatch Fire/Rescue.”
“This is the first time our child-snatchers have been violent,” Samson said, retrieving her radio. “These guys are too much.”
The Lieutenant wondered what this change in the intruders’ MO could mean. Would the violence continue to escalate? Everything she’d seen so far suggested the young couple in the photograph occupied the home, but they weren’t there. If the elderly victim was a relative, why was he there alone? These questions and others would have to be answered if the police stood a chance of bringing an end to the baby-snatching ring. In the meantime, Samson and Gregory had a mountain of paperwork to complete before shift-change.







CHAPTER 2
Lieutenant Gregory submitted her reports to the Night-Watch captain about two hours before daybreak. The veteran peace officer had spent the past four hours behind a desk and she was exhausted. Like everyone who worked the graveyard shift, she was looking forward to getting home and counting sheep until noon, but her slumber would have to wait. That confrontation at the little green house left her yearning to look upon the innocent faces of her grandchildren.
Gregory’s son, Payton, lived on the outskirts of town in a Country Style home with an open gable roof and naturally toned woodwork. The marble front steps were a tribute to his eccentric wife, Terah, who passed away in childbirth. The Queen Elizabeth Grandiflora roses along the wall reminded him of her captivating beauty. The Summer Snow Gardenia-Hardy that adorned the borders of the picturesque lawn represented the security and orderliness she brought into his life. She was the light that helped Payton see what was truly important and for that, his mother was eternally grateful.
Payton was a lanky twenty-six year old recovering drug addict who’d been clean and sober for the past nine years. Although he’d done everything possible to avoid the pitfalls that could catapult him back to skid row, he struggled with the shame and heartache his mother endured when his life was out of control. He’d lost a few teeth and the scars on his forehead were a testament to the physical dangers he’d overcome. Everyone who loved him feared he was on the verge of self-destruction, until Terah painted a portrait of a world without substance abuse. Despite the hole her death left in his heart, this appreciative young father awakened every morning with a firm conviction to be thankful for the people he cherished and make certain his children knew he’d always be there for them. Raising two infants alone wasn’t going to be easy, but he was fully committed and that was just one of the reasons why Gregory was so proud of him.
Every young man with a family can’t afford to remain at home to raise his children. However, thanks to a substantial life insurance settlement and a few wise investments, Payton’s father left him the financial resources he needed to take charge of his future. The interior of his home was impeccable. A three-piece gray luxury upholstered Chesterfield sofa added the perfect touch of class. The framed photograph of the spirited redhead who changed his life caught the eyes of visitors the moment they spied the four-drawer accent table in the corner. The two-piece metal framed wall décor was the last purchase Terah made for the house. Although the grieving father realized his wife was gone, her influence would live on forever.
Payton had fallen asleep in a chair when his mother knocked. “Just a minute,” he said, tying his robe as he approached the door.
The exhausted Lieutenant tried to put on a game face, but her intuitive son could see that something was wrong.
“Good morning, honey,” she said. “How are you and the twins?”
“Mother,” he said, embracing her. “Come in and sit down. I had a tough time getting the babies to sleep, but they’re fine and resting comfortably now. I’ve got some coffee in the kitchen. Has something happened? You don’t seem like yourself.”
“If you ever decide to become a detective, the rest of us cops can stop working so hard,” she said, as they sat down. “I had a long night, kid. The child-snatchers struck again.”
“Is that why you have that bruise on your hand?”
“Oh, this is nothing. They just winged me.”
“You could’ve been killed, Mother. You haven’t even changed out of your uniform.”
“I just wanted to leave the station and get some sleep.”
“Is it that simple? Or is something other than the baby-snatchers on your mind?”
Gregory ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “I suppose you’ve heard about Katrina Samson,” she said.
“Are you kidding?” he responded. “She’s the cop the police commissioner talked about on the news last week. How could such a topnotch crime fighter cause you all this anxiety?”
“Because she’s gorgeous.”
“Say what?”
“Listen, son. Samson is an exceptional cop, but it has been suggested that she wouldn’t have made senior patrol officer so quickly if she wasn’t pretty. And I don’t have to tell you that opinions like these eventually lead to other accusations. “
“But a professional of her caliber must be used to malicious talk from jealous idiots.”
“You’d think so, but she doesn’t handle it very well.”
“But the commissioner made her sound like the greatest cop to come along in years.”
“He had to. She’s one of the finest officers on the force. Her work ethic is inspiring. Even the mayor has taken notice of her.”
“Excuse me, Mother,” Payton said, as he stood up and headed toward the kitchen.
While her son was out of the room, Gregory wanted to address another matter. “Can you hear me, son?” she asked.
“Yes I can, Mother.”
“I understand your wanting to save the things that were dear to Terah, but I think those marble steps could become a hazard when the children get older.”
“I’ve thought about that, too,” Payton said, returning from the kitchen with the coffee and drinking mugs on a tray. “I’m also going to take steps to have the front porch screened in.”
“You really are on the ball,” Gregory said, as she watched her son set the tray down in front of her and begin pouring.
“I’m going to take care of my son and daughter.”
“I know you are, baby. And I know your father would be so proud.”
“Now tell me about Samson.”
“Something scary is going on inside that kid’s head. Even with all she’s accomplished, she seems to feel like she has to keep proving herself. A rookie made a comment about her eyes last week. Samson didn’t consider the statement to be a compliment. She almost decked him.”
“That can’t be good for morale.”
“Tell me about it. Every time she hears the slightest rumor about her getting ahead because of her looks, she flies off the handle. A few of her recent arrests are being looked into by Internal Affairs. She’s been accused of using excessive force. And considering the events of the past few years, the department doesn’t need more bad publicity.”
“So how do they intend to rein her in?” Payton asked, taking a sip of coffee.
“By making a high-ranking veteran her partner.”
“I get the feeling you’re that veteran.”
“Bingo.”
“Doesn’t she realize the dangers of allowing ignorant people to push her buttons?”
“I don’t know. But I will admit she has taken steps to make herself less conspicuous. Samson barely puts any makeup on and she keeps her silky black hair in a ponytail. But she’s still a knockout. It’s hard to imagine a young woman believing her beauty is really a curse, but according to supervisors she’s worked under, that’s exactly how she behaves. Somehow, I’ve got to convince her to stop worrying about the negative opinions of people who don’t even know what they’re talking about. Maybe once I get to know her, I’ll be in a position to provide more positive insight. Now if you don’t mind, I won’t be having any coffee, but I would like to have a look at my grandchildren before I go.”
“Of course,” the concerned son told her. “But I’d prefer you stay here and get some shuteye. You’re too tired to be on the road. The guest room is yours for as long as you like.”
“Thank you, baby.”
Lieutenant Gregory had an enormous task ahead. Every department head from the Night-Watch captain to the deputy chief would be keeping a sharp eye on her progress. This wasn’t a detail she could afford to fail.
Attempting to understand this complicated young officer would take a calculated approach. Gregory would have to listen carefully to what Samson said. She would also have to listen to what wasn’t said.
A stone-cold fox in her own right, the Lieutenant abhorred the thought of a young professional making it up the ranks on slightly more than a schoolgirl smile and legs that could stall rush hour traffic. It had taken the fifty-four-year old former vice-detective along time to earn her bars and she wasn’t about to make excuses for someone who wasn’t willing to pull her own weight. There was too much at stake for future generations of female cops who wanted to be judged on the merits of their knowledge and skills.
On the other hand, years of observing human behavior had taught the insightful Deputy Night-Watch Coordinator not to presume anything. Although Samson wasn’t the most transparent individual she’d ever run across, the officer’s remarkable record had to be taken into consideration.
Finding common ground was essential. Unlike the raging storm she’d been ordered to contain, Gregory approached police work from a more conservative perspective. Her midnight blue uniform was spotless. She kept her wavy auburn hair cropped and parted on one side. Although a half-inch shorter than her young counterpart, her robust frame was stout and toned. No one was more committed to the cause of justice. The street-wise flatfoot took her job seriously and she cared about the people who served under her command. The accusations that had been leveled at Samson weren’t flattering, but the Lieutenant was determined to weigh all the facts before drawing any conclusions.
It wasn’t difficult to see why superficial backstabbers were jealous of Samson. Her enchanting brown eyes and high cheek bones belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Despite her efforts to diminish her beauty, her curvaceous frame couldn’t be ignored. The svelte brunet seemed to be dangling above a pit of ignorant assumptions and vindictive innuendo. She began her career believing her confidence and abilities would help her make a name with the Brickhearst Police Department, but the malicious assertion that she’d been given a free pass because she was more than friendly with certain men in high places had begun to take a toll. Consequently, it was the way the twenty-eight year old survivor had chosen to prove her detractors wrong that made her a threat to herself and anyone else that got in her way.
Samson had begun to take needless risks that placed her partners as well as the general public in potential jeopardy. For a cop on a mission to vindicate her very existence, going above and beyond the call of duty involved death-defying antics that made the local media take notice. Regrettably, the extra attention did little to quell the bitter feelings and vial gossip that threatened the morale of her entire division.
Ironically, even though Samson’s superiors had gotten wind of the controversy surrounding their rising star, the brass was reluctant to take action. After all, she’d made quite an impression on the City Council and law enforcement officials didn’t want to rock the boat. Still, something had to be done. A maverick with a badge was a catastrophe waiting to happen. That’s what made the load on Lieutenant Gregory’s shoulders so cumbersome. A tragedy spawned from the actions of a loose cannon would reflect badly on the entire department. The veteran peace officer was well-aware that more than the future of one cop was in her hands.








Chapter 3
The breezy conditions the child-snatchers encountered when they broke into the little green house at the corner of Clemmons and Rockford were just as prevalent the next evening. After spending four hours patrolling their beat, Samson and Gregory drove to a local park for a coffee break. It was the perfect opportunity for the Lieutenant to get acquainted with her complex new partner.
Gregory reached down and picked up her thermos. “Would you like some coffee, Samson?” she asked. “I’ve got some Dixie cups in the glove box.”
“No thank you, Lieutenant,” the intrepid young hot shot replied.
“I’m going to miss this weather in a couple of months. It’s hard to believe the sweltering heat of summer will soon be here.”
“What’s it like, Lieutenant?” Samson asked.
“What do you mean?” Gregory responded, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a sip.
“Being a woman in charge of a whole division.”
“It’s not easy. I face challenges I never imagined when I was working undercover in Vice. I’m responsible for the welfare of a lot of cops. The fact that I don’t have to spend as much time on the streets makes the burden a little lighter. Of course, a patrol sergeant doesn’t have that advantage.”
Samson gripped the wheel with both hands and peered intently through the windshield. “Doesn’t anyone want me to make sergeant?” she asked.
“It’s common knowledge that you want to add a third stripe to the chevrons on your sleeves,” Gregory responded. “In fact, your success is on the minds of everyone downtown. The captain and the chief are just concerned about some of the stunts you’ve pulled in the past few months. You’ve come close to crossing the line. A couple of your arrests may get thrown out of court.”
“A strong cop has to get rough every now and then. And I am a strong cop.”
“Who are you trying to convince, Officer?”
Samson sighed and leaned backward. “All my life I’ve wanted to be a cop,” she said. “When I was in high school I told my guidance counselor that I would be attending the police academy. I’ll never forget the look on her face. She said a pretty girl like me should do more with her life than chase criminals. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She thought the only thing I cared about was looking good and making money. The stupid broad didn’t have a clue.”
“Have you always been so affected by what other people thought?”
“I grew up on the east side of town in the projects. It was the kind of place you suburbanites call a ghetto. Even in all that poverty, there were people who had nothing to do but run their mouths. Adults and kids branded me as the pretty little girl who thought she was better than everybody else. They didn’t even take the time to find out what I was all about. Getting by on my looks was the only option they figured I had.”
“What did you want?” the Lieutenant asked.
“I wanted to put an end to the suffering I saw every day,” Samson responded. “It made me sick to see ten-year-old kids gunned down on sidewalks. Teenage girls, who should’ve been planning their futures in a classroom, spent their evenings waiting on the corner to make a fast buck. And worst of all, the slimy creeps who practically gave the drugs away to get people hooked, walked the streets like celebrities. Running an obstacle course was easier than getting back and forth to school. It was a nightmare. I don’t know how I survived it, but I did.”
“You have a lot to be proud of, Katrina. You’ve come a long way. My childhood wasn’t as treacherous as yours, but I do know how it feels to want to change things. I was sixteen when my father was murdered.”
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well it’s not something I talk about very often. I’ll never forget the morning I got the news. I was at a training camp in Virginia."
“A training camp?”
“Yes, I was preparing for the Olympics. Boxing was my game. When I saw Cat Davis and Margie Dunson fight in 1977, the sweet science became my passion. I didn’t think anything could take its place before the night my father stopped off at that liquor store on his way home from work. He was in the back when five armed punks stormed the place. According to the clerk, Dad stayed out of sight and waited for an opening.”
“He was taking a real chance.”
“That was just his style. When a suspect came face-to-face with my old man, it was either give it up or take your best shot.”
“Your father was a cop?”
“That’s right. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of Inspector Joseph Simpson.”
A look of utter amazement swept over the young officer’s face. “Brahma Bull Simpson was your father?” she asked.
“Yes,” Gregory proudly confirmed.
“They talked about him at the academy. He was a real tiger…Oh, Lieutenant, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. I’m used to people thinking he was bigger than life.”
“What happened at that liquor store?”
“Dad killed two of the perps. The one who shot him got away. And the other two were eventually captured. They died in prison.”
“It had to be a terrible ordeal for a teenage girl.”
“It was. But it changed my life. From that day forward, I made up my mind to help those who couldn’t help themselves.” She reached down and pulled out her sidearm. “My mother gave me this the day I graduated from the academy.”
“Is that his service revolver?”
“This is the one. Dad carried this .357 Magnum when he was a patrolman in the eighties. It’s a constant reminder of why I became a police officer. Our job involves more than just putting criminals away, Katrina. We protect and serve the innocent. I take that responsibility very seriously. I expect you to do the same.”
“I understand,” Samson whispered.
“Now I think it’s time to get back to patrolling our beat,” Gregory told her. “We’ve still got a band of savages out there who think kidnapping is a victimless crime.”
The remaining hours of the shift were practically uneventful. Aside from a few trespassing warnings and a domestic disturbance that was resolved without violence, the officers ended the night on a positive note. However, before they returned to the station, the Lieutenant wanted to make an unscheduled stop.
Since the ride would take a little while, Gregory decided to renew her attempt to find out what made her mercurial partner tick. “Are you married, Katrina?” she asked.
“No ma’am,” she responded. “I’m not sure I could maintain a home while working at a job like this.”
“I understand that. My husband, Frank, endured more than his share of double-shifts and postponed vacations. Police work can put a real strain on a marriage.”
“How does he handle it now?”
“He died fourteen years ago.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
“Frank was a good man. I wish he could’ve lived long enough to see the birth of his grandchildren.”
“How many do you have?”
“A boy and a girl. They’re eight-month-old twins. Their mother died in childbirth, but my son, Payton, is raising them on his own. He is definitely his father’s son.”
“It sounds like the two of you have a close relationship.”
“We do,” Gregory replied. “Your parents must be just as proud of you.”
A look of sadness came over the Senior Patrol Officer’s countenance as she took a deep breath. “I guess so,” she muttered.
“I didn’t mean to presume too much.”
“It’s not your fault. My parents didn’t exactly step out of a sixties sitcom. The old man drank himself to death and my mother was very distant. I haven’t spoken to her in four years. What can you do?”
“I’m so sorry, Katrina.”
“Thanks, but it’s just the way it goes. Everyone doesn’t get to have a mother like you.”
The two of them didn’t say anything else, until they arrived at Hudson Potter’s newsstand on Kessler Street.
Chapter 4
Lieutenant Gregory had known Hudson since she was a teenager. Her father had often recalled the dangerous shenanigans this fearless newshound had employed while chasing a story. In those days, he was healthy and tireless. The unyielding proponent of the First Amendment had risked comfort, security and personal freedom to reveal the truth. Now, the years had slowed him down.
The portly gentleman with the receding hairline and large Roman nose vaguely resembled the self-assured journalist who never wavered in his commitment to the public’s right to know. To some who knew his background, displaying rows of newspapers and periodicals beneath a huge gray awning that protruded from a little white building was a disheartening fall from the respectable position Hudson once held in the community. Days spent sorting self-help publications seemed to pass slower without the deadlines and commitments of a rat race he would never run again. Yet, despite all he had lost, the misery of a mundane existence hadn’t diminished the sparkle in his benevolent brown eyes.
Gregory and her partner stepped out of their unit and approached the seventy-four year old grandpa in the burgundy suspenders. “Hudson!” the Lieutenant cried out.
“Katherine!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find the time.”
“Don’t be silly,” his old friend’s daughter scoffed, as they embraced. “For Dad’s best buddy, I made the time.” She turned to Samson. “Katrina, this is Hudson Potter. He saved my father’s life some forty years ago.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter,” the Officer said, shaking his hand.
“Likewise,” Hudson replied. “But don’t believe that stuff about saving anyone’s life. I was a crime beat reporter who just happened to be in a certain alley on a certain night. Bull had single-handedly beaten up four thugs. One of them pulled out a gun and shot him. I got him into my car and drove him to the nearest hospital.”
“Dad said he wouldn’t have made it out of there without your help,” Gregory told him.
“It was a long time ago,” Hudson recalled, shaking his head.
The look on her friend’s face made the Lieutenant uneasy. “What’s going on, Hudson?” she inquired.
The old newshawk smiled and nodded. “You really are your father’s daughter,” he said. “My granddaughter, Kennedy, moved down from North Carolina. She’s twenty-two. The child finally decided she wanted to break into show business. A few of the local night spots have featured her onstage. For a while she was making decent money. Then he came along.”
“Who?” Gregory asked.
“A slimy piece of scum named Cash Roman,” the distraught grandfather continued. “Since he’s been in the picture, I seldom see Kennedy. He bought her a new car and set her up in a fancy apartment. The punk is loaded, but I doubt he made his fortune honestly. The man is bad news.”
“Have you talked to Kennedy about this?” the Lieutenant asked.
“No, she’s ashamed to face me,” he replied.
“Ashamed of what?” Samson asked.
“The last time I saw the kid, she had a black eye,” Hudson told them. “I spent a long time on these streets. I’ve been shot, stabbed and beaten half to death. I’m no amateur when it comes to recognizing the signs of abuse. That animal is beating her.”
“Would Kennedy be willing to press charges,” Gregory asked.
“I doubt it,” Hudson responded. “Prince Charming can do no wrong. Before you know it, she’ll be blaming herself for the beatings.” His eyes were dark with worry, as he reached into the pocket of his baby blue shirt for a handkerchief. “I’m scared, Katherine. If something isn’t done, he’s going to kill my baby.”
Hudson turned around and went inside. The old man’s reaction seemed to puzzle Samson.
“Why are you so perplexed, Officer?” the Lieutenant asked.
“I don’t want to speak out of turn,” she said.
“It’s alright. I’d like to know what’s on your mind.”
“It’s just that Mr. Potter is a strong man who has survived so much.”
“What’s your point?”
“I wouldn’t have expected a man like him to break down that way.”
“Gregory put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with expressing compassion and empathy, Katrina,” she said. “Hudson would do anything to keep his granddaughter safe. That kind of tenderness doesn’t make him weak; it makes him strong.”
“What do you think he’s going to do?”
“Until the child makes up her mind to walk away from the jerk that’s abusing her, there’s not a lot anyone can do. Kennedy has to take the first step.”
“I’ve answered more than a few domestic violence calls. Convincing the victim to take action can be a difficult and frustrating undertaking.”
“True, but I think there’s something we can do about that.”
“What?” Samson wondered aloud.
“We can start by having a talk with Kennedy,” Gregory said. “Now I’ve got to prepare for court and conduct two inspections. So I want you to take the night off and come in an hour earlier tomorrow night. That will give us time to pay Kennedy a visit. I’m going inside to get the address from Hudson. Then we’ll head out.”
“Alright…And Lieutenant.”
“Yeah.”
“I meant no disrespect.”
“I understand,” Gregory replied, as she stepped inside to speak with Hudson.
Samson marveled at the Lieutenant’s insight and emotional clarity. Though the words of her sagacious partner made perfect sense, the young beat cop was unable to embrace the vulnerable realities that brought a fearless survivor like Hudson to tears. Concealing an earnest desire to break the shackles that enslaved her afflicted consciousness, she secretly wished for the courage to admit her own insecurities.
Samson’s night off seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes. By the time she’d run a few errands and caught a little extra sleep, it was time to head for the station. As instructed, the industrious officer reported for duty an hour before the beginning of her scheduled shift.
The Lieutenant had already signed out a unit and was waiting in the parking garage. “Right on time,” Gregory said, as she watched the Senior Patrol Officer open the passenger side door and take her seat. “I trust you were able to get a little needed rest.”
“I guess so,” Samson responded, buckling her seatbelt.
“Sergeant Pittman in Homicide gave me the 411 on the elderly assault victim we encountered the other night.”
“Is he alright?”
“He has a few broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, but he’s stable.”
“What was he doing there?”
“His name is Roy Gunderson. The house belongs to him. Charles and Chloe Dobson are his tenants. They have a two-year-old daughter named Dorinda. Chloe’s father suffered a stroke last week. The Dobsons have been in Lakeland since they received the news. Evidently, the perps expected the child to be in her room when they broke in.”
“These thugs are outrageous.”
“You’re right about that,” the Lieutenant agreed, as she started the engine and drove toward the street. “But they did make one mistake.”
“What was that?” Samson asked.
“They got into a gun battle with you. The DNA of the dope you shot is in the system. His name is Victor Ford. They’ve got an APB out on him. If he’s still alive, he’ll be found.”
“I sure hope so.”
Gregory changed lanes and pulled into the parking lot of the Grayson Bartlett Apartment Building. If the officers had the slightest concern that Hudson was exaggerating when he disclosed the financial prominence of his granddaughter’s new boyfriend, the fleet of expensive automobiles should have brought the matter into focus. This place was no flophouse.
The ten-story shrine to modern excess represented more comfort than the average citizens of Brickhearst could afford. For a part of the country that appreciated the dangers of catastrophic weather, the extruded aluminum frames and impact-resistant glass gave residents a feeling of security that was well worth the money. Customized windows and doors were protected by professional grade finishes that made corrosion and fading brought on by continuous exposure to direct sunlight the least of anyone’s troubles. It wasn’t difficult to see how a young woman away from home for the first time could fall prey to the charms of a man capable of introducing her to that kind of opulence.
During the day, smiling beauties with tennis rackets and expensive cell phones traipsed the grounds without a care in the world. Breathtaking azalea blossoms, daffodils and wisteria rustled in the breeze of a brisk spring evening. Even at that late hour, the officers could hear the splashes of energetic show-offs descending from the high-dive around back.
Along with a few strategically placed streetlights, the enormous hotel sign at the corner of the parking lot provided enough illumination to help visitors find their way. A group of teenagers who were likely up to no-good congregated near the entrance. Even though they hadn’t committed a crime, the appearance of two uniformed officers approaching them made calling it a night sound more prudent than any other plan they might’ve been contemplating.
Samson and Gregory stepped out of the unit and slipped on their windbreakers.
The Lieutenant took a deep breath and exhaled. “Get a whiff of that jasmine, Katrina,” she said. “Doesn’t it give you visions of paradise?”
“It’s nice,” the Officer responded.
“You really need to stop and smell the roses, kid.”
“I guess I’m a little uneasy about Kennedy. There’s no telling how she’ll react. Besides, cases like this can be a real pain. Sometimes I forget myself.”
“Well I’ll just have to keep an eye on you while we’re in there. But you are right. Nothing is predictable when you’re dealing with an abuse case. I’ve seen girls who were willing to overlook the violence because their boyfriends showered them with gifts. I remember a middle-aged businesswoman who believed she deserved the beatings. This situation could be even more bizarre.”
“How so?”
“Well according to Kennedy’s grandfather, Cash Roman knows how to work her from every angle. He insults her appearance and screams obscenities at her. The old man heard the shouting when he was on the phone with her. Hudson described it as something similar to PTSD. If Kennedy doesn’t cut this joker loose, the child her family knows may be lost forever.”
Kennedy’s fifth-floor apartment with its cream colored walls against the rich dark flooring was astounding. That taupe brown sofa set with its loveseat and armchair was top of the line. The cushioned design was built on a sturdy kiln-dried hardwood frame. Shiny stainless steel legs completed the unique representation of style and comfort this elaborate suit of furniture was intended to portray.
Someone observing the young woman’s surroundings could’ve easily concluded her life was perfect, but Bohemian chandeliers and ripple-fold drapes can’t fill an empty heart. The romance novels on her Mahogany double-wide bookcase professed the feelings of loving men who shared meaningful lives with the women they cherished. Sadly, the reality Kennedy was living had little to do with valiant knights or smitten princes. A tempered blaze in the floating mantel wall mount fireplace was a poor substitute for the warmth a man who claimed to love her was either unable or unwilling to express. Empty nights spent viewing old movies on her 64-inch television set allowed her to temporarily dispel the loneliness that threatened to consume her very being. Aside from those unexpected moments when her lover’s rage would boil to the surface, the most humiliating time for this dejected victim of circumstance occurred during the early morning hours when she sat at her Shaw Walker steel antique desk to compose letters to her mother, fabricating stories of a fairytale existence that would never come true.
It was hard to imagine how a woman Kennedy’s size could withstand the beatings Cash Roman had inflicted upon her tiny frame. The disillusioned dreamer was barely five feet tall. The long sandy bangs of her Gamine hairstyle were long enough to conceal the scrapes and scratches on her forehead. Her gentle voice was pleasant and melodious. Beneath that farm girl innocence, she possessed an understated elegance that made her disposition irresistible.
Kennedy came to town with the potential to become a major recording artist, but Roman convinced her to put her ambitions on hold. For a starry-eyed youngster from rural North Carolina, a man who bought her fine jewelry, designer jeans and expensive running sneakers appeared to have her best interest at heart. Regrettably, she’d yet to realize that black eyes and broken ribs didn’t enhance the ensemble.
Sitting in the dark with a half-empty glass and her favorite bottle of wine on the Liera 55-inch coffee table, Kennedy pondered the turn her life had taken. The isolated quarry of her twisted boyfriend’s arrogance had become mired in a bog of self-loathing and denial. It didn’t feel like anything was ever going to change, but as so many prisoners of despair had come to experience, help was on the way.
When the doorbell rang, Kennedy switched on the lights and concealed her black eye behind a pair of huge sunglasses. She was surprised to discover two uniformed policewomen standing before her.
“Are you Kennedy Potter?” the Lieutenant asked.
“Yes,” the battered woman replied.
“I’m Lieutenant Katherine Gregory,” the Deputy Night Watch Coordinator continued. “This is my partner, Senior Patrol Officer Katrina Samson. My father and your grandfather were friends.”
“Please come in,” Kennedy told them. “Has something happened to Pop?”
“Oh no,” Gregory assured her. “He’s fine. He happened to mention you when I visited him yesterday.”
“I’ve heard him talk about an old friend whose daughter was a cop,” Kennedy recalled. “Was Brahma Bull Simpson your father?”
“Yes he was,” the Lieutenant confirmed.
“He used to talk about your father for hours when I was a little girl,” Kennedy said. “Won’t you both sit down?”
“Thank you,” Gregory responded. “But we can’t stay long.”
“How about a drink?” Kennedy offered, as she sat down and took a sip of wine.
“No thanks,” Gregory said. “We’re on duty. It looks like you took quite a tumble.”
Realizing the Officer was talking about her wrapped wrist, the young woman shook her head. “This is nothing,” she scoffed. “I fell down the stairs.”
“While carrying a piano?” Samson asked.
A thought suddenly occurred to Kennedy. “Did Pop send the two of you here?” she asked.
“Well Hudson is very worried about you,” the Lieutenant admitted. “And after getting a look at you, I can see why.”
Kennedy took another sip of wine and sighed. “It’s just that Cash has a stressful job,” she said. “He doesn’t mean to hurt me. I’ve just got to learn how to stay out of his way when things get crazy.”
“Are you kidding me?” Samson chided. “You’re sitting there making excuses for a man who thinks your head is a piñata! What is it going to take to wise you up, sister?”
“How dare you come into my home and judge me!” Kennedy asserted, springing to her feet! “You don’t know anything about me or my life.”
The Lieutenant could see her partner’s passion was on the verge of derailing the rapport she was trying to establish. So she tactfully dismissed her. “Samson, I left my cell phone in the unit,” she said. “I’d like for you to go back down there and wait for a call I’ve been expecting. If it comes in, take a message.”
“Understood,” the seething officer responded on her way out.
Kennedy sat back down and reached for the bottle, as Gregory took a seat beside her.
“Does the alcohol help?” the Lieutenant asked.
“Not really,” Kennedy told her. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
“Kennedy, there will always be stress on Roman’s job. He’s going to have one crazy day after another. But none of that gives him the right to hurt you.”
“I try to be a good girlfriend. I want Cash to know how much I appreciate what he’s done for me. He pays the rent on this place and takes me to fine restaurants.”
“Yes, but the price you’re paying is far too expensive…Kennedy, why did you come to Brickhearst?”
“I wanted to see if I have what it takes to make it in some of the night clubs around town. A couple of them are known all over the country.”
“Hudson told me you were doing quite well.”
“My name was getting around.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“Cash believes I can get to the top much faster under the tutelage of people he knows in Nashville.”
“And when is this supposed to happen?”
“Soon…He just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”
Gregory put her hand over her mouth and looked away. “Can’t you see what he’s doing?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” Kennedy responded.
“He’s not going to introduce you to anyone. The man has you hidden behind a wall of lies and intimidation so he can control you. And if you don’t get away from him, eventually, he’s going to kill you.”
Kennedy stood up and walked toward the fireplace. “You don’t know Cash, Katherine,” she said. “He’s a good man with a generous heart. I know he can change. It’s just going to take some time.”
The Lieutenant stood up and placed her business card on the coffee table. “Time may be the one luxury you don’t have,” she said, as she approached her old friend’s misguided granddaughter. “No matter what he’s told you, you’re a beautiful young woman who deserves to be happy.”
Although Gregory had made a sincere effort to let Kennedy know help was available if she ever decided to break the chains that bound her to a man who treated her like an animal, there was nothing more she could do until the victim was prepared to face reality. In the meantime, there was a raging mare with a badge that needed to be corralled.

Chapter 5
When the Lieutenant exited the building and walked across the parking lot, Samson was sitting in the driver’s seat of the unit with both hands on the wheel. The Senior Patrol Officer wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.
Gregory opened the passenger side door and entered the vehicle. “You want to tell me what that was all about?” she inquired, fastening her seatbelt.
“I don’t know what happened, Lieutenant,” Samson admitted. “It just irks me to hear a girl make excuses for her abuser.”
“Didn’t you learn anything about domestic violence victims at the academy?”
“I did, but some of it was a little off the tracks.”
“What do you mean?”
“They made it sound like these helpless damsels need someone to swoop in and save them. I can’t see why they can’t just stand up for themselves and get rid of the jerks that are hurting them.”
“Well for one thing, every victim isn’t the same. When it comes to helping a battered woman, one size does not fit all. The purpose of men like Roman is to keep the woman under his thumb. He isolates her and controls her every move. The chump wants her to believe she can’t make it without him. That kind of stress wreaks havoc on a girl’s self-esteem. Let’s not forget who the criminal is in all of this.”
“I know Cash Roman is a monster, but I’ve seen girls like Kennedy all my life,” Samson said, as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “They always need someone to hold their hands.”
The Lieutenant clutched her forehead and sighed. “I’ve never heard a police officer talk that way,” she said. “Our job is to protect victims, Katrina. Women like Kennedy are stumbling over a mine-field of fear and self-doubt. They need compassion and direction. Now you have a right to your opinion, but some of your personal philosophies have me worried.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Lieutenant. I have every intention of protecting Kennedy from that idiot, but I’m not going to coddle her. I had to fight for everything I wanted to accomplish. I could only count on myself to win my battles.”
“There’s no such thing as a self-made woman. Someone somewhere helped you along the way. And you’d better start realizing that if you want to stick around. This department is a team that protects and serves the public. We don’t have room for a lone wolf. Now let’s get to our beat. I doubt those child-snatchers will be taking a vacation anytime soon.”
The ride through town was a bit awkward, but the officers managed to patrol the area and communicate in a civil manner until the end of the shift. Lieutenant Gregory didn’t know how to decipher the child-snatcher’s actions. For the past few months, they’d been on a tear, but lately, they seemed confident enough to bide their time and target victims with a more discerning pair of eyes. She wondered what prompted this sudden change of M.O. Although the veteran flatfoot’s instincts told her the thugs had something calamitous in mind, she had to keep her composure and maintain a vigilant approach. With a judgmental maverick like Samson by her side, a sound mind was more essential than ever.
When the officers returned to the police station, Gregory took a moment to speak with Samson in her office.
“How do you feel about a little overtime?” The Lieutenant asked.
“I don’t mind,” Samson responded. “What’s the plan?”
“I want to drop by the Red Beret.”
“That place is expensive, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not going there to eat. Cash Roman owns the place. He likes to get the drop on the competition by beginning his day very early. Now he hasn’t been charged with anything and I don’t feel I have the right to compel you to come with me. Despite his less than stellar reputation, there are people in high places who won’t hesitate to back him up. If you want no part of this, I understand. Nothing will be said.”
“I think I’d like to get better acquainted with Mr. Roman.”
“Then let’s get to work,” the Lieutenant said, as she retrieved Roman’s file from a desk drawer and showed it to her partner. “Say hello to our rope-a-dope Casanova.”
With his heptagonal face and curly brown hair, the green-eyed racketeer didn’t appear to be the tempestuous brute that kept his girlfriend walking on eggshells. Yet, the rangy entrepreneur had earned the majority of his fortune by mercilessly demonstrating the dangers local merchants would encounter if they refused to pay for his protection. He was an angry intimidator who reacted viciously when he didn’t get his own way.
The son of an alcoholic mother and an absent father, Roman grew up on the north side of town with little supervision. The verbal and emotional abuse his mother inflicted upon him when she was drinking helped shape his view of women. He witnessed the benefits of money and power very early in life. Confronting this thirty year old gangster was risky at best. It might have provided another excuse for him to pummel his frail young doxy. Nevertheless, Gregory was determined to let him know his malicious endeavors were no longer in the dark. One way or another, she was going to persuade him to keep his hands to himself.
“He doesn’t look so frightening,” Samson observed.
“Don’t let that choirboy face fool you,” Gregory advised. “This cat has caused some serious damage. His rap sheet reads like a criminal encyclopedia. He’s been involved in gun smuggling, human trafficking, extortion and prostitution. And I don’t have to tell you how he kept his girls in line.”
“He won’t enjoy being told to stop hurting Kennedy by two female cops.”
“That’s a given. However, there is one woman he seems to get along with.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
Gregory placed the file of Buzz Saw Belinda Robeson on the desk. “This chick is on Roman’s payroll,” she continued. “She’s three times as terrifying in person as she is on paper. She has spent a considerable portion of her forty-one years in prison. Before getting involved with Roman’s organization, she was a bouncer at the Southern Rock Road House. Do not take this woman for granted. She doesn’t mind hurting anyone who gets in her way. You’ve got to keep an eye on her at all times. Are we clear?”
“Understood,” Samson replied.
Gregory wasn’t exaggerating about Buzz Saw Belinda. At six-feet three inches tall, the 230lb sadist derived great pleasure from crushing and humiliating her enemies. With the disposition of a crocodile, this cantankerous titan of brutality was well paid for her services and she wasn’t inclined to stifle her belligerence for the benefit of two policewomen.
The Lieutenant checked the chamber of her revolver and looked at Samson. “You still have time to bail out,” she told her.
“I’m in,” the truculent officer replied. “But how do you plan to handle this moron?"
“We’ll discuss that on the drive over. Now let’s get to the Red Beret and read Mr. Roman the riot act.”





Chapter 6
During business hours, the Red Beret was a high-priced eatery that catered to the city’s richest movers and shakers. The sand lime brick structure was celebrated throughout the Panhandle for the best southern cooking in the Tri-States area. On any given night, politicians, athletes and entertainers could be seen entering the trendiest place in the city. A private gambling casino and a spacious dance floor made an evening on the town an unforgettable experience.
Despite the criminal enterprise Cash Roman oversaw, he was held in high-esteem for his charitable donations to the community. Many civic leaders would seek his support at election time. While Samson and Gregory were justified in their crusade to protect Kennedy, at some point, they would come to realize just how much clout this manic crime boss truly possessed.
When the officers arrived at the Red Beret and parked the unit in the rear of the building, Buzz Saw Belinda was standing near Roman’s new silver Cadillac.
There was no way to develop an accurate portrait of the towering harridan who’d spent most of her life deflecting the condescending prattle of conceited hectors. The apathy in those vindictive ebony eyes revealed the rage of a helpless child who’d grown up in a loveless environment of ignorant condemners with no concept of human decency. Expertly applied makeup hid the physical scars that marred her countenance, but the wounds she bore inside couldn’t be masked.
With her groomed afro, leather jacket and biker boots, Belinda personified the fearless rebellion of another generation. The woman had survived knife fights, gun battles and prison violence. She was hardly going to let the unexpected appearance of two cops throw her off her game.
“What do you flatfoots want?” Belinda asked.
“We’d like to speak with Cash Roman,” Lieutenant Gregory told her.
“Mr. Roman is busy,” the hostile henchwoman responded. “And he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Our business won’t take more than five minutes,” Gregory assured her. “And it would be a lot more convenient than hauling him down to the station.”
“Maybe you pigs didn’t hear me!” the crude bodyguard insisted with her finger in the young patrolwoman’s face. “You’re not going in there. Now take a hike.”
“Giving us a hard time wouldn’t be in your best interest,” Samson admonished.
“And just what are you going to do about it, Barbie?” Belinda asked.
“What did you say to me?” Samson snapped, taking a step toward the huge bruiser.
Gregory raised her hands. “Just keep cool, kid,” she said.
The momentary distraction left the Lieutenant vulnerable. Without warning, Belinda clocked the veteran patrol officer with a blow that sent her tumbling across the asphalt!
Promptly assuming a martial arts stance, Samson planted a reverse punch into the buxom brawler’s sternum before taking her down with a spinning kick!
Believing her opponent was out cold, Samson turned the massive tormentor over. That move set the stage for a searing backhand that catapulted the pertly third-degree black belt’s body onto the hood of the Cadillac.
“You’re playing in the big leagues now, girlie!” Belinda roared, as she wrapped her hands around the young woman’s throat.
The ecstasy in the crusher’s eyes was polarizing. She barely reacted to Samson’s chopping and pounding. It looked like Belinda was going to squeeze the life out of the raging survivor, until Gregory returned to her feet and cracked the psycho’s ribs with a swipe of her night stick.
The colossal bully released the patrolwoman and fell to one knee. Even in excruciating pain she remained defiant. “I’m going to kill you, cop!” she declared.
“Not today,” the former boxer responded before putting her angry adversary away with a quaking right cross.
Samson regained her composure and leaped off the vehicle. “Very impressive,” she said, stumbling toward her partner.
“You still in one piece?” Gregory asked.
“I think I’ll live.”
The Lieutenant reached under Belinda’s jacket and took possession of the .44 Magnum strapped to her armpit. She was about to cuff the subdued enforcer when someone in the eatery opened the rear exit. It was Cash Roman.
Despite the battle royal he’d just interrupted, the temperamental gangster seemed rather placid. Standing there in his olive green Desmond Merrion suit and his Induct Derby lace up dress shoes, Belinda’s fearless employer adjusted his Gucci neck tie and approached the fallen henchwoman. “How bad is it, sister?” he asked.
“I think I’ve got a broken rib,” she replied.
“I’ll radio for an ambulance,” Samson said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Roman insisted, motioning for two of his goons to come out and take Belinda inside, as he dialed a number on his cell phone. “Kelly,” he said. “Drive over to Warner Street and get the Doc. Bring him to the Red Beret as quick as you can.” He ended the call. “We’ll have her fixed up before your medics get on the road.”
“You really know how to take care of your people,” Gregory observed.
“It’s the best way to do business,” Roman responded, checking his T.W. Diamond Two-Toned PVD wrist watch. “Now if you ladies would state your business, I can get back to work.”
“We know you’re busy, Mr. Roman,” the Lieutenant said, emptying the revolver and placing it on the roof of the vehicle. “So I’ll cut to the chase. I want you to stop hurting Kennedy Potter.”
“Kennedy!” Roman exclaimed. “What’s she got to do with you cops?”
“People we know have expressed concerns about the scratches and bruises she seems to incur on a regular basis,” Gregory told him. “Some say that you are the source of the problem.”
So far, Roman had managed to contain his anger, but the expression on his face suggested a time bomb was about to explode. “My relationship with Kennedy is our business,” he snarled. “Who do you broads think you are? You must be out of your minds. You’d better be sure the commissioner is going to hear about this.”
“You talk real tough, big man,” Samson said.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Gregory concluded. “So I’ll just put it this way. Mr. Roman, I know you have a lot of friends in this town. In fact, they are the reason why you’re going to cooperate.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean your world is about to change,” Gregory explained. “If you hit Kennedy again, I’m going to become your worst nightmare. Looking into your day to day affairs will become my purpose for living. I can’t imagine what those upstanding contemporaries of yours will think about the skeletons I find in your closet.”
Roman knew his back was against the wall, but he didn’t want the cops to see him blink. So the resilient crime boss sighed and took a step forward. “Unless you have a warrant for my arrest, I suggest you hit the bricks,” he told them.
When the officers returned to the unit, Samson wondered why they didn’t run Belinda in for carrying a concealed weapon. “Is this where we’re going to leave it?” the Senior Patrol Officer asked.
“For now,” the Lieutenant replied. “I’m quite sure a sly fox like Roman has made sure all his Neanderthals have valid permits for their weapons.”
“What about Queen Kong’s attempt to take me out?”
“She’ll get hers. In fact, I have every confidence this won’t be the last time we’ll be dealing with the likes of Buzz Saw Belinda.”
Rattling the cage of a rabid weasel was nothing new to a war-horse like Lieutenant Gregory. Though her exchange with Roman didn’t appear to strike a chord, the initial goal had been accomplished. The polished fraud couldn’t afford to let his wealthy and respected acquaintances learn the truth. A period of tranquility was certain to follow the revelation Kennedy’s brutal beau had experienced. Gregory just hoped it would last until the girl’s grandfather could convince her to leave him for good.




Chapter 7
Explaining the facts of life to one of the sleaziest thugs in town should have been a standard endeavor with minimal complications. While Lieutenant Gregory was convinced she’d done the right thing, the veteran crime fighter was thoroughly prepared to deal with the angry calls and formal complaints that would soon flood through her division. It was all part of the job. However, there was one message she received from the Lead-Force Captain that was completely unexpected. Captain Jake Parson instructed her and Samson to be in his office a half-hour before noon.
Throughout the decades that Gregory had known Parson, the barrel-chested shift-supervisor was known to be loud, brash and overbearing. Still, there was something about this silver-haired grouch that garnered the loyalty of every officer who knew him. Despite his gruff exterior, his tired gray eyes revealed a fair and honest heart that grieved for those who had no voice. During the past twenty-eight years he’d never been accused of impropriety. He was a big man with an understanding nature. That was just one of the reasons why Gregory thought so much of him. The two of them could always find common ground. Of course, that was before Lieutenant Gregory made a move that could have ended both their careers.
Samson and Gregory weren’t at their usual best when they arrived at the police station. They’d only slept for a few hours since the end of the last shift. The exhausted patrolwomen seemed practically oblivious to the unyielding chaos of ringing telephones, fax machines and loud printers that filled the squad room as they trudged toward the Captain’s office. There wasn’t enough coffee in the building to soothe the nerves of the embattled officers who took statements and endeavored to control uncooperative suspects. Once they’d maneuvered through the obstacle course of vice-ridden drunks and petulant ladies of the evening, the Lieutenant knocked on Parson’s door.
Captain Parson was sitting silently at his desk when Gregory and Samson arrived. He looked tired and dejected. “Come in,” he said.
“You wanted to see us, Captain?” Lieutenant Gregory asked.
“Have a seat, Officers,” he told them.
“What’s going on, Captain?” Gregory asked, as she and her partner sat down.
Parson sighed and wiped his cleanly-shaven square chin with his hand. “Katherine, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” he asked.
“No sir,” Gregory responded. “Captain, what’s happened?”
“I’ve just spent three hours in the chief’s office with a couple of Justice Department agents,” he told her. “They wanted to know why two Night-Watch patrolwomen are trying to sabotage their case.”
The women were perplexed. “What case, Captain?” Samson asked.
“Are you telling me you have no idea why you’re here?” he asked.
“No sir,” the Senior Patrol Officer assured him.
“Then let me refresh your memories,” Parson said. “Earlier this morning the two of you met with a man named Cash Roman.”
“That’s correct,” Gregory confirmed. “Roman is a so-called businessman who likes to smack his girlfriend around. So we dropped by to have a talk with him.”
“How did you wind up in the middle of all this?” the Captain asked.
“We saw the bruises on her face,” Samson responded.
“Did she file a complaint?” he asked.
“No sir,” Gregory said.
“Then how did you find out about the abuse?” Parson continued to probe.
Lieutenant Gregory leaned forward and clutched her temples. “The girl’s grandfather is a friend of mine,” she admitted. “When he told us what Roman was doing, I decided to get involved. I spearheaded the confrontation. It’s all on me.”
“Not all of it, Lieutenant,” her partner insisted. “I was a willing participant. But I fail to see why the FEDs would be interested in a domestic squabble.”
The Captain shook his head. “I’ve worn this uniform for nearly thirty years,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a cop stand up for a commanding officer like this. It says something about both of you. Unfortunately, your enthusiasm might have cost us the best lead we’ve had in months.”
“What lead, Captain?” Gregory wondered aloud.
“The child-abduction ring,” Parson told her. “The Justice Department believes Cash Roman is the mastermind behind the kidnappings.”
“Cash Roman!” Samson exclaimed. “Why would he be snatching children?”
Before the Captain could answer, the telephone rang. “Parson,” he spoke into the receiver. “Send him right up…Thanks.” He hung up. “Roman snatches children so they can be shipped overseas and illegally put up for adoption. The wealthy European families who raise the children have no idea that they’ve been stolen from their real parents. Everything looks neat and clean.”
“This man’s an animal,” Gregory said. “Why haven’t the FEDs taken him down?”
Parson retrieved a file from a drawer and placed it on the desk. “Because of her,” he told them, revealing a photograph of a beautiful Asian woman with long black hair and the tattoo of a purple star around her left eye.
“She’s just a kid,” Gregory commented.
“The tendency to underestimate this monster is what makes her the most dangerous killer on three continents,” the Captain admonished. “Don’t get taken in by that fragile demeanor. They call her The Serpent. Her real name is Stella Lee. She’s thirty-five-years old and thirsty for blood. She also knows how to get to and destroy evidence. Getting rid of crucial witnesses is another one of her talents. This chick is a workaholic in the worst way.”
“Staying ahead of a freak of nature like her won’t be easy,” Samson deduced. “We’ll need all the inside information we can get.”
There was a knock at the door. “It just arrived,” Captain Parson declared, referring to the officer on the other side of the door. “Come in, Ken.”
Lead-Force Patrol Sergeant Ken Carlson had been a police officer for more than twenty years. The salt-and-pepper haired former state trooper was the only officer on the force who’d encountered the Serpent face-to-face. He’d aided other law enforcement agencies in their pursuit of the slippery sadist. As the most qualified liaison between the FEDs and local authorities, the brawny profiler was sufficiently knowledgeable about the strengths and weaknesses of Stella Lee. As far as the inconsolable parents who’d lost their children were concerned, he may have been their last hope.
Before the Justice Department informed the chief of detectives about Stella’s involvement with the child-snatchers, Carlson had planned to take an early retirement, but he couldn’t bring himself to surrender his badge and gun until he’d done everything possible to apprehend the Serpent. Although the fifty-year-old first responder hadn’t forgotten the knee injury he suffered while attempting to arrest the international slayer, his motives for bringing her down had nothing to do with vengeance. His only concern was making sure humanity no longer had to fear the machinations of the most despicable savage he’d ever encountered.
“Ken Carlson,” Gregory said. “How’s life on the Lead-Force?”
“It would be perfect if I didn’t have to wake up at 4.00am,” Carlson replied, as they shook hands. “Of course, some days are harder than others.”
“Does the knee give you a lot of trouble?” the Lieutenant asked.
“I only limp when it rains,” the Sergeant explained. “But I’m going to hold on until Stella Lee is locked up.”
“Ken, this is Senior Patrol Officer Katrina Samson,” the Captain said.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Samson,” the Sergeant told her.
“My pleasure, Sarge,” she said, rising to shake his hand.
“Now that we all know each other, let’s get down to business,” Parson instructed.
“Well according to INTERPOL, Stella Lee is a mercenary who’ll work for any organization that can afford her,” Carlson said. “She’s a vicious killer who’d slaughter a litter of puppies for sport. Don’t take that tiny frame for granted. This woman can take a lot of punishment. I was one of the Highway Patrolmen who cornered her in a Miami warehouse five years ago. She’d been hired to assassinate a visiting diplomat from Brazil. Despite the best security team that could be assembled, the Serpent hit her target and made it out of Florida in one piece.”
“She sounds like some kind of super woman,” Samson commented.
“Oh she’s dangerous,” the Sergeant agreed. “But she’s not invincible. I saw a Secret Service agent take her off her feet. For about a minute after her back hit the floor, the Serpent seemed disoriented. If my gun hadn’t jammed, we’d probably have her in custody right now.”
“What is her role in the child-snatching ring?” Gregory asked.
“After making sure Roman has lived up to his end of the deal, Stella will have a look at the kids and render payment,” Carlson explained. “If she suspects he’s not on the level, he’s a dead man. When the Justice Department gets a fix on where and when that meeting is supposed to take place, they’ll move in.”
“Who was the highest bidder this time?” the Lieutenant asked.
“We’re not sure who’s footing the bill for this adventure,” Carlson told her. “Scotland Yard believes she’s working for a crime syndicate based in England. When we’re finished with her, she’ll get an invitation to their party.”
“In the meantime, we’re concentrating on finding Victor Ford,” Captain Parson said.
“Victor Ford is the perp I shot,” Samson recalled.
That’s right,” Parson concurred. “He and Cash Roman have been friends for a long time. Locating him could be the key to discovering where the kids are being held. Youngsters that age need care and constant supervision. He won’t be able to hide them in plain sight. Word on the street is that some female gumshoe has been asking questions about Ford. There’s a possibility his hideout is somewhere on your beat, Katherine. That’s why I’m getting you and Samson up to speed. I want the two of you to be ready to provide backup when he’s found. But as for Cash Roman, he’s off limits. You and your partner are to stay away from him and let the FEDs do their thing. Is that clear?”
“Clear, Captain,” Samson responded.
“We won’t go near the bum, Captain,” Gregory assured him.
“Ken, I’d like for you to go downstairs and introduce Samson to some of the federal agents,” Parson ordered. “I need to have a word with Lieutenant Gregory.”
“Will do, Captain,” the Sergeant responded, as he and the Senior Patrol Officer exited the room.
The Captain rested his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes. “You did a pretty good job with the makeup, but I can still see traces of a shiner, Katherine,” he said.
“I didn’t even see it coming, Jake,” Gregory said. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“That’s a decision every cop has to make for himself.”
“By the way, has anyone heard how Roy Gunderson is getting along?”
“Oh, the elderly gentleman who was attacked.
“That’s right.”
“I was told he’s at home recovering nicely.”
“Have you spoken to any of the families recently?”
“It’s been a couple of weeks. The commissioner has a team that meets regularly with the parents. The other night I saw one of the fathers on television appealing to the kidnappers’ sense of humanity.”
“Rats like Roman have no humanity. He doesn’t feel for anyone.”
“I know. Looking into the eyes of those parents and telling them we’re doing everything we can was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Even if we get the goods on Roman, I can’t promise them their children will still be alive. There are times when I hate this job.”
“All we can do is our best,” the Lieutenant told him.
“The burden we bear can really get heavy,” Parson said. “Right now, yours is more cumbersome than mine.”
“You mean Samson.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s one of the most capable officers in the department. Her work ethic is second-to-none and she knows the job. She’ll probably be sitting in your chair before the age of forty.”
“A report like that will have the chief dancing in the streets.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid the ball ends at midnight.”
Parson leaned back in his chair and prepared for the worst. “Let’s have it,” he said.
“The kid has a huge chip on her shoulder,” Gregory said. “There are serious issues involved here. When the wrong button gets pushed, you’d better hit the deck. I’m definitely recommending counseling.”
“I don’t have to tell you that the brass is very interested in this matter. The senior patrol officer’s career may very well be in your hands.”
“I understand that, Jake. Personally, I like her. But I fear this lone wolf mentality is going to get someone killed. Even though she’s an exceptional cop, Samson hasn’t let go of her sense of street justice. She believes in pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. There’s nothing wrong with that, but a cop can’t survive out there without the support of his or her fellow officers. We’ve got to depend on each other.”
“I can appreciate the tightrope you’re walking, Katherine. I’ve been there a few times. You take the security of this community seriously and I respect you for that.”
“But?”
“But Samson is the department’s rising star. The press and the public think she walks on water. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll back you 100%. However, if you decide to pull the plug on her, you’d better be ready to face the music.”
Gregory stood up and walked to the door. “Well nobody said it was going to be easy,” she muttered, as she prepared to leave. “Thanks Captain.”
After her conversation with Captain Parson, the Lieutenant was even more convinced that serious measures were required to keep her volatile young partner from self-destructing. She wasn’t the kind of supervisor that reveled in the misery of her subordinates. Gregory was willing to work with Samson until a solution could be found. The greatest barrier to that end would only be overcome when the hot-headed senior patrol officer began to realize the consequences of her actions.















CHAPTER 8
Gregory and Samson left the police station and headed for the local park. On the way, they dropped by a burger joint for takeout. They couldn’t have chosen a more dismal afternoon for a luncheon. There was an overcast sky and the wind was picking up. A group of children were piling into a van from the daycare up the road. Distant rumbles of thunder were getting harder to ignore. The ominous conditions made Samson uneasy, but the curious cop wanted to know what was on the Lieutenant’s mind.
“I guess this isn’t the ideal setting for a meal,” Gregory said, as the two of them sat down on a bench.
“The weatherman predicts rain all this week,” Samson said, taking some French-fries from her bag. “I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep before our shift begins.”
“Don’t worry about that. You’ve got the night off.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because it’s my night off and I’m sure you’re as tired as I am.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Do you think I’m a fool, Samson?” Gregory asked.
The question caught the officer by surprise. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Then let me enlighten you. You didn’t bat an eyelash when the captain mentioned the private investigator and I know why.”
“You do?”
“Oh yes. You see, I have street sources all over town. When they run across something that might be worth a few bucks, they give me a call. I knew about the gumshoe before we arrived at the station. No one gave me a name, but they all agreed on one thing. She was gorgeous.”
Samson placed her hand to her head and sighed. “I just wanted to move things along,” she said. “Those kids have been out there too long.”
“I can appreciate that, but you’re not a one-woman police force.”
“I didn’t cross the line, Lieutenant.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Several vice-detectives are involved in a sting on that side of town. You could’ve compromised them with the slightest word or look.”
“I didn’t know.
“That’s why you need to check with me before running off half-cocked. Are we clear?”
“Yes ma’am.”
The Lieutenant took a sip from her fountain drink and tasted her hamburger. “I’ve also been meaning to talk to you about that altercation with Roman’s bodyguard,” she said. “You handled yourself well.”
“Thanks.”
“However, there was something that troubles me.”
“What’s that, Lieutenant?”
“Belinda didn’t even know you. Yet, she managed to get under your skin. That wasn’t the first time. I’ve read reports from other officers who’ve worked with you. They all have a familiar ring.”
Samson wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and looked toward the street. “Every time I think I’ve risen above the ignorance, some jerk sets me off,” she said. “It’s not the kind of cop I want to be, but these idiots make me crazy.”
“You are too talented to fall into that trap, Katrina,” Gregory told her. “You’ve worked hard to become one of the finest officers on the force. There’s nothing to prove.”
“I try to believe that, but something comes over me when I look into the eyes of some grinning idiot who thinks he has the right to judge me for things he couldn’t begin to understand.”
“That seems to be a big part of this entire situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“You allow the fact that you came from circumstances most of your contemporaries can’t imagine to set you apart. You feel alone. You act alone. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you give yourself permission to defy authority. I wish I could say I know how you feel, but I don’t. I’ve never fought in your war. The only thing I do know is that you use the pain of your past as a crutch. But I’m here to tell you that the rules still apply to you, Officer. There’s no room in this department for a renegade with a badge. I won’t let your bad temper and bruised ego put other cops in danger.”
“What are you going to do?”
“For now, I’m sending you to counseling. You will report to the department psychiatrist once a week.”
“For how long?”
“Until he tells me your demons are under control.”
Samson ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “Are you taking me off the streets?” she asked.
“Not yet,” the Lieutenant replied. “But if you don’t learn to obey orders and put an end to this maverick routine, I’ll have you pushing papers until the mayor’s grandchildren are running the city. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear, Lieutenant.”
Gregory placed her hand on Samson’s arm. “Cops like you don’t come along every day, Katrina,” she told her. “I’d hate to see you lose your job over problems that can be solved.”
“I understand,” the Senior Patrol Officer responded, noticing the sky. “The weather is getting worse.”
“I guess we’d better take off. If Stella Lee is everything Carlson says, we’ll be battling more than one storm before the end of the week.”
The events leading up to a confrontation with the Serpent began to take shape a little sooner than the Lieutenant expected. Less than an hour into their shift the next night, a patrol unit radioed for backup. Acting on a tip he’d received from an anonymous source, Sergeant Ken Carlson and his partner had Victor Ford pinned down at a residence on the south side of town.

















CHAPTER 9
Nestled amid some of the most picturesque scenery in Northwest Florida, the three-story summer house with its cedar wrapping exterior stood on fifty acres of beautifully manicured Bahia grass. A cypress staircase along the side of the home led up to the third-floor terrace. Two of the front windows had been shattered by gunfire. Several expensive cars were parked about the yard. Aside from the street lamps which illuminated most of the property, an assortment of strategically placed security lights made it possible for the police to get a fairly decent look at their targets. Unfortunately, a gunman had gotten a perfect look at Carlson’s rookie partner, Trilla Hanson.
The rain struck the asphalt with a vengeance when Gregory parked beside Sergeant Carlson’s patrol unit. Through the precipitation, the Lieutenant could see the petite blond officer lying on the ground beneath the open passenger side door. The Sergeant was on the driver’s side holding his own with an M-16 rifle.
A fury of slugs suddenly cracked Samson and Gregory’s windshield! The Lieutenant caught hold of her partner’s jacket and pulled her down, as they took cover below the dashboard. “These guys are playing for keeps!” she exclaimed. “Can you see that Town Car a few yards away?”
“Yes,” Samson replied.
“If you can get to it, you may be able to spot one of those bozos. Are you in the mood for a sprint?”
Samson’s blood was boiling. “You better believe I’m in the mood,” she responded.
“Listen to me, girl!” Gregory asserted. “This isn’t some Hollywood western. Hanson won’t be getting up to try the scene again. Take cover behind that Town Car and stay there until more backup arrives. That’s an order!”
“I understand, Lieutenant. I’m on my way.”
Samson opened the door and darted across the pavement. The agile officer was able to dive behind the Town Car the moment a haze of gunfire obliterated the vehicle’s windows! Taking care to avoid the scattered chunks of broken glass, she reached up and opened the back door.
When she heard her partner open fire, Gregory leaped out of her unit and ran to Hanson. As guns blazed around her, the Lieutenant dragged the injured rookie around to the rear of Carlson’s vehicle.
“I counted five when the shooting started,” the Sergeant reported. “Hanson hit the first two, but I’m concerned about that closed garage. If an army comes storming out of there, we’re toast!”
Lieutenant Gregory looked over and spotted a man with an AA12 automatic shotgun crouching near the foot of the cypress staircase. She took aim and pulled the trigger, striking the would-be assassin in the shoulder.
Furious at the sniper who came so close to ending her life, Samson charged across the pavement like a raging bull!
The Lieutenant couldn’t believe the audacity of her renegade subordinate. “Samson!” she cried out. “Get back to that car!”
As Samson approached, the wounded perp attempted to retrieve his firearm, but before he could resume his assault, the officer reached his position and rendered him unconscious with a side blade kick!
The Lieutenant made a second effort to contain her incorrigible Senior Patrol Officer. “I said get back here!” she repeated.
Regrettably, Gregory’s warnings only drew more fire, as she and Carlson helplessly watched Samson scurry up the stairs.
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens filled the air! Two of the gunmen came running out the front door with semiautomatic rifles. They were prepared to make a run for it, but the Sergeant shot one of them in the leg. When the last man standing saw his buddy hit the ground, he dropped his weapon.
“Get down on your knees!” Carlson ordered, as he and the Lieutenant cautiously advanced through the subsiding rainfall. “Lie down on the ground. Is anyone else in the house?”
The suspect shook his head.
Gregory searched the injured shooter and gathered the rifles. “You’d better be telling the truth,” she admonished. “I’m going in, Ken.”
“Backup is on the way, Lieutenant,” Carlson said, cuffing his prisoner.
The strobe lights of responding units adorned the property in translucent shades of red and blue, as vehicles came to a screeching halt on both sides of the driveway. Officers descended upon the scene with their weapons drawn.
Sergeant Carlson ran to the ambulance and led the paramedics to his fallen partner while the Lieutenant prepared to enter the dwelling.
“Read these clowns their rights and make sure someone looks at that guy’s leg,” Gregory instructed, pointing to the shooter who’d taken a bullet. “Conduct a complete search of the property. Some of them could still be lurking around in the dark. There’s also a sniper lying unconscious near the foot of that staircase on the far side of the house. Let’s get him cuffed and into a patrol car. I want the rest of you to come with me and keep your eyes open.”
Although the place looked reasonably maintained, it didn’t give the impression that anyone lived there on a regular basis. A couple of teddy bears on the second hand couch appeared to have been passed around a few too many times. There was a plastic baseball bat and a doll in that raggedy play pen by the door. The plush green carpet didn’t appear to have been vacuumed in weeks. An empty pizza box was on the coffee table and a ball game was playing on the television. Several empty beer cans were scattered about the floor. If the abducted children had spent any time in that house, it was evident they weren’t treated like anything of value.
“I want three of you to stay down here and look around,” Gregory instructed. “The rest of you can follow me up to the second-floor. Remember to leave everything intact. CSI might be able to give us an idea where the children are being held.” She and the other officers advanced up the stairs. “The rest of you search this floor and be careful. Samson is somewhere in this house and I don’t want her getting shot by mistake. Now let’s go.”
The Lieutenant continued up the second flight of stairs to the third-floor. From the landing she could see an open bedroom door. She crept to it and looked inside. The bed was undisturbed. A large boom box appeared to have been smashed to pieces. Across the room, the folding doors leading to the sheltered outdoor terrace was also open. As Gregory waded through the scattered debris of shattered vases and overturned chairs, she could hear the groans of someone struggling. That’s when she located her missing patrolwoman.
“Samson!” Gregory exclaimed, reaching over the railing to pull her partner onto the terrace. “What happened?”
“One of the perps surprised me,” she said, contemplating the three-story drop, as she endeavored to catch her breath. “We ended up out here. When I popped him in the chest, he lost his balance and went over the side. He tried to take me with him.”
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
“I couldn’t.
“Why not?”
“I wasn’t going to have a bunch of uniformed frat boys sitting around the locker room laughing about the little princess they had to rescue.”
The Lieutenant couldn’t contain her outrage. “I can’t believe you!” she shouted. “You’d rather dangle from this terrace all night than admit you’re human. Just what are you trying to prove?”
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” the Senior Patrol Officer asserted. “It’s not my fault that some knuckleheads in the department think they have the right to trash my name!”
“I’ve got a newsflash for you, lady. No one has done more to hurt your reputation than Katrina Samson.”
“Oh, so you’re an expert on me, too. Miss High-and-Mighty thinks riding around with me gives her insight into my world. Well you can just buy yourself a ticket back to reality, sister, because you don’t have a clue!”
“Don’t even try to go there with me. I was breaking down walls when you were shaking your pom-poms on the sidelines. You’re not the first woman who’s had to withstand the ignorance of society. Until you understand that, you don’t need to be on the streets. It’s time for you to get real and I’m going to do everything in my power to make it happen.”
While the women were engaged in verbal combat, Sergeant Carlson walked through the bedroom and onto the terrace. He was tired and practically in tears. The bickering irritated him. He tried to get their attention, but they weren’t even aware of his presence. So he employed a less subtle approach.
“Hey!” Carlson shouted.
“What!” Samson and Gregory responded simultaneously.
The Sergeant held his hands up and lowered his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Gregory realized she’d let her emotions get the best of her. She walked over to the Sergeant and took his arm. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Ken,” she said. “How is Hanson?”
“It’s bad, Katherine,” he told her. “She took two bullets. One of them is very close to her heart.”
“Are you on your way to the hospital?” the Lieutenant asked.
“Yes, but I wanted you to know Detective Johnson is downstairs,” the Sergeant replied. “He informed me that a female assault victim was admitted to the hospital this afternoon. She just regained consciousness and she’s asking for you.”
“It must be Kennedy,” Gregory whispered. “Let’s go, Samson.”
“She can’t go,” Carlson said.
“Why not?” the offended young flatfoot inquired.
“Because I received a call from Inspector Morris,” he explained. “He’s on his way here to speak with the press and he wants you standing by his side when the cameras roll. You should also know we found three of the abducted children.”
“What about Victor Ford?” Gregory asked.
“Victor Ford is dead,” Carlson continued. “He was one of the suspects Hanson shot. But the FEDs believe it’s likely that the two nurses we found tied up and gagged can help us find the other youngsters.”
“We can only hope, Sergeant,” Gregory said, as they headed out.
The Lieutenant was ashamed of the manner in which she’d conducted herself with Samson. She especially regretted that another supervisor had witnessed the incident. Nevertheless, the most important thing to her at that moment was the condition of her old friend’s granddaughter. So, after stopping by the station to change into some dry uniforms, she and Sergeant Carlson headed for the hospital.













CHAPTER 10
Officer Hanson was being prepped for surgery when Lieutenant Gregory and Sergeant Carlson arrived at Eternal Hope Memorial Hospital. Carlson stayed in the waiting room while Gregory took the elevator to Kennedy’s room on the seventh-floor.
Seeing this pummeled young woman lying in a hospital bed with two black eyes and a broken nose sent chills up Gregory’s spine. She was afraid to imagine what she would’ve done if someone had inflicted such punishment upon her son. Still, she had to remember her commitment to justice. The veteran law enforcement officer couldn’t afford to lose perspective.
“Kennedy,” the Lieutenant whispered.
The patient turned her head and peered at the uniformed patrolwoman. “Katherine,” she said. “Pop said you’d come when you could.”
“Of course. Our families have always been there for each other…What happened, girl?”
“Cash and I had been out to dinner. He got started with the yelling and name-calling. I told him I wasn’t going to take it anymore. When he stopped the car, I got out and ran into the alley where I fell on the pavement. He hit me with his fists, but this time, I fought back. That’s when he mentioned your name. He said you were planting stupid ideas in my head. He punched me again and told me to get back in the car. I refused. I don’t remember much else.”
“Kennedy, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t confronted Cash, you wouldn’t be here.”
A wave of rage swept over the domestic assault victim’s face. “Oh no,” she insisted. “This isn’t your fault. Cash did this to me and I’m going to make him pay.”
“That’s my job, honey.”
“Then you’d better get him before I do.”
Gregory wanted Kennedy to understand why she needed to stay away from Cash Roman, but the sedative she was given earlier was taking effect. She just rolled over and drifted off to sleep.
Kennedy’s grandfather, Hudson, had just returned from the street corner where the assault occurred. He’d gone there to retrieve a locket that was torn off the girl’s neck during the scuffle. Gregory was sitting solemnly at Kennedy’s bedside when he appeared in the doorway.
“Katherine,” Hudson whispered.
The Lieutenant stood up and joined him in the corridor. “Hudson,” she said, embracing her old friend. “What did the doctor say about her condition?”
“Well thankfully, there’s no permanent damage. Barring any unforeseen occurrences, they plan to send her home in a day or two. The only threat to her well-being appears to be this thirst for vengeance that’s been welling up inside her.”
“I feel terrible, Hudson. I never should’ve gone to the Red Beret.”
The insightful grandfather took her hand. “You are not to blame for any of this,” he told her. “Punks like Roman aren’t rational. They prey on the weak. Even if you’d stayed out of it, he would’ve come up with another excuse to slap Kennedy around. Intellectually, I think you know that.”
“This has been some night,” Gregory said.
Hudson opened Kennedy’s locket and showed it to his old friend’s daughter. There was a picture of a beautiful elderly lady inside. “This is my late wife, Dori,” he said. “She died ten years ago. I promised her I’d make sure Kennedy received this locket. The child rarely takes it off. Roman has already taken so much from her. I couldn’t let him rob her of this treasured possession. You know, even though I would never condone Kennedy taking the law into her own hands, I can understand how she feels. After all this, it takes everything I have not to find that slimy jerk and beat him to a pulp.”
“Hudson, I can’t go into detail, but you and Kennedy need to steer clear of Roman for the next few days.”
“Something’s up. You’re closing in on him.”
“I’m not at liberty to say, but you need to stay close to your granddaughter and keep her calm. Let us do our job.”
“Sure Katherine,” he agreed, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m just grateful my baby’s safe.”
Gregory touched the face of the man who once saved her father’s life and walked away.
The warmth of her cherished friend was deeply comforting to a woman who bore the burden of protecting the community in a time of crisis. Though three of the abducted children had been found, the Lieutenant knew the battle was far from over. While a valiant rookie clung to life on an operating table, a battered young woman confronted the vengeful spirit that seemed to be invading her heart. Cash Roman was still free and one of the most sadistic killers in the world would soon be walking the streets of Brickhearst. Yet, there was one challenge that created more anxiety than all the others. It involved returning to the police station and completing the report that would get Senior Patrol Officer Katrina Samson reassigned.












CHAPTER 11
As promised, Captain Parson supported Lieutenant Gregory’s recommendation to place Samson on temporary desk duty. It appeared that the senior patrol officer would spend the next few months shuffling papers and contemplating the motives behind her reckless behavior. That was until an interesting turn of events compelled the mayor to overrule the judgment of the police commissioner.
Less than a week after the shootout that critically injured Officer Hanson, Justice Department agents had discovered where the abducted children were being held. They’d also worked out a plea agreement with one of the shooters arrested at the house where Victor Ford was killed. In exchange for a lighter sentence, he revealed the location where Cash Roman and Stella Lee were to meet. With an election year on the horizon and repeated footage on the evening news, the mayor wanted the public to see their favorite cop waging war against the savage thugs who’d put the lives of innocent children in danger.
Unwilling to let petty animosity get in the way of rescuing the youngsters, Lieutenant Gregory swallowed her pride and accompanied Samson to a vacant lot about a block away from the Dreamtown Theatre on Lesnar Street.
The women sat silently for several minutes, peering out at the deserted city street. Neither of them knew what to say, but someone had to break the tension. Gregory decided to make the first move.
“There’s something really intriguing about streetlights in the early morning hours,” the Lieutenant observed. “Beneath that tempered glimmer, you can see the world from an entirely different perspective.”
“I don’t suppose I’ve ever given it much thought,” the young officer responded, as she pondered a blueprint of the theatre they were preparing to storm.
“It was unprofessional of me to lay into you like that, Katrina. And I’m sorry.”
“I could’ve handled things better, myself. I apologize.”
“You have an incredible future ahead of you. Regardless of what you may think, I’m not trying to trip you up. But you’ve got a short fuse and a huge ego. If you don’t find a way to rein them in, you’re going to get someone killed. Can you live with that?”
Samson rolled the blueprints up and placed them on the dashboard. “I just want to be a good cop,” she sighed.
“You are a good cop,” Gregory insisted. “You’ve already accomplished more than a lot of officers twice your age. Don’t let the negative opinions of people who can’t manage their own lives make you crazy.”
“What do you want from me, Lieutenant?”
“I want you to think before you act and take my orders seriously. Can you work on that for me?”
“Yes I can.”
“Now are you familiar with the layout of the theatre?”
“I could make my way through that place in the dark.”
“That’s exactly where you could find yourself when the shooting starts. As soon as we get the word, it’s on. Be prepared for anything.”
“I’ll get the job done, Lieutenant.”
The expression on Samson’s face seemed to soften her supervisor’s demeanor. Gregory was about to shake the young woman’s hand when she was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. It was Hudson Potter.
“What’s up, old man?” the Lieutenant asked.
“It’s Kennedy!” the frantic grandfather exclaimed. “She’s gone.”
“Tell me what happened, Hudson.”
“All week long she’s been talking about making Cash Roman pay for what he did to her. A few minutes ago, I was awakened by the sound of her driving off. Katherine, I think she’s got a gun.”
“Don’t worry, Hudson. I happen to know where Roman is going to be for the next few hours. I doubt she’ll find him before we do.”
“Last night she sounded like she knew where he’d be this morning.”
“Alright, just to play it safe, I want you to call the police station and ask for Sergeant Redmond. He can send a car to Roman’s home and to the Red Beret. I’m going to be tied up all day, but I’ll check in with you as soon as I can. Everything is going to be fine, old friend.”
“Thanks Katherine,” he said.
“I’ll be in touch,” she assured him, as she pressed the end-call button and secured the phone in the glove box.
“Trouble?” Samson inquired.
“Kennedy is on the hunt for Roman. Her grandfather says she may have a gun.”
“Do you think she knows about his meeting with Stella Lee?”
“I can’t see a rodent like Roman sharing the particulars of his business with a girlfriend. Besides, we should have him snagged and bagged before Kennedy can locate him.”
“I wonder when the FEDs are going to give us the word.”
An incoming dispatch abruptly answered the Senior Patrol Officer’s question. “Ten-Durango-Twelve and Six-Sabastian-Twenty, report to the rendezvous location. Silent approach. I repeat; silent approach.”
“This is it, kid,” Gregory said, turning the ignition switch and putting the vehicle in gear. “Let’s go serpent hunting.”
“I’m ready!” Samson declared, as they headed out.
Within a matter of minutes, Lieutenant Gregory maneuvered down the streets of a gusty predawn city and came to a screeching halt behind a TK-4 SWAT vehicle.
When Samson stepped out of the unit and fixed her gaze on the theatre across the street, she was suddenly besieged by a firestorm of apprehension. From her extensive research the officer had learned more about the five-story river rock monstrosity than most of her contemporaries. For more than a century, it reflected the cultural expression and social redemption of a community that wasn’t inclined to repeat the mistakes of an unforgiving past. Hoards of concerned citizens and activists from all walks of life had defended their positions beneath the cedar-shingled roof of this esteemed landmark. At one time or another, some of the country’s most acclaimed actors, musicians, politicians and writers graced the stage of the Dreamtown Theatre. However, it wasn’t the playhouse’s history that troubled Samson.













CHAPTER 12
Amid the lambency of the red and blue flashing lights that illuminated the area like a UFO, Lieutenant Gregory observed the countenance of her distracted young partner. “What’s going on, Officer?” she asked.
“I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction,” Samson confessed. “Behind closed doors, the brass warns me to get my act together, but they want the press to believe I’m more than human. If I enter that building and get killed, I’ll be remembered as the fallen heroine. On the other hand, one mistake could cost me my career. It’s just not fair.”
“You’re right, Katrina. It’s not fair. You’ve been thrown into an impossible situation. But there’s something even more shameful.”
“What?”
“Watching you charge in there with all this baggage in your head and get taken out by a bullet you should’ve seen coming. Check your assumptions and expectations at the door, sister. Right now your first priority is to stay alive. You can’t accomplish that goal unless your head is in the game. Now you make the decision. Are you in or out?”
“I’m in,” the Senior Patrol Officer asserted, as she turned around and observed Sergeant Ken Carlson’s approaching patrol unit.
The Sergeant stepped out of the vehicle with his revolver in hand. “It’s all about to go down,” he said with a cloud of frost seeping from his mouth. “The call just came in. The abducted children were found on a secluded farm near the state line.”
“Alive?” Gregory inquired.
“They’re all alive,” Carlson confirmed. “But two of them were severely beaten and a third had pneumonia. They’ll be receiving immediate medical attention. It looks like we found them in time.”
“What’s the deal with those guys?” Samson asked, pointing to the Justice Department agents who’d taken their positions near the front entrance.
“They’re waiting for the tactical officer to give the signal to enter the building,” Carlson explained. “Once they are in, we and the SWAT Team will follow. Cash Roman arrived about ten minutes ago. He has at least twenty gorillas stationed all over the theatre. No one can say exactly when Stella Lee showed up, but she has been spotted. Don’t take that woman lightly. She’s a slippery one.”
Suddenly, an army of SWAT Team officers exploded from the TK-4 vehicle with AR-15 assault rifles and proceeded toward the building!
“That’s our cue,” Carlson said.
Gregory turned to her partner. “You ready for this, hot shot?” she asked.
“Let’s get it done,” Samson responded, as the three of them darted across the street.
As expected, Roman’s goons had no intention of going down without a fight. As soon as Gregory, Samson and Carlson entered the building, the shooting started. Staying low with their weapons drawn, the officers maneuvered down empty first-floor corridors on the perilous hunt for a sadistic viper and a child-snatching weasel.
With the thunder of automatic gunfire roaring above her head, Lieutenant Gregory cautiously approached an open prop room. The lights were out, but she could hear the whisper of a desperate voice in the dark. Understanding the dangers of putting anything past a mastermind like Stella Lee, the sagacious patrolwoman used her flashlight to scan every inch of her surroundings. The deflated raft to her immediate right didn’t appear to pose a threat. A wooden bench a few steps ahead of her could have used a coat of paint, but it gave no indication of being booby trapped. The area behind that suit of armor in the corner adjacent to the far exit looked like a possible hiding place for a vicious killer with a flair for the dramatic. Yet, it was the open closet door that piqued Gregory’s attention. So after locating a wall switch, she turned on the lights and eased forward with her revolver trained on the spacious enclosure.
“This is the police!” she declared. “Come out with your hands up. There’s nowhere to run.”
“You’d better think twice about that, cop,” the cornered suspect responded, as he slowly emerged from the darkness holding a .45 automatic to the head of a wounded female agent.
Despite his black fedora and custom-tailored trench coat, there was no mistaking the odious presence of Cash Roman. With beads of sweat streaming from his brow, he bore little resemblance to the arrogant crime boss who left his girlfriend lying helpless in some alley. Nevertheless, the work of his hands spoke for itself.
The petite Justice Department operative had been shot in the arm and she was bleeding from the mouth. Those battered eyes were reminiscent of the way Kennedy looked at the hospital. The agent had already lost a lot of blood. Gregory had to act fast.
“What are you doing, Roman?” the Lieutenant asked.
“I’m getting out of here,” he told her. “This chick is my insurance. Now drop that piece!”
Lieutenant Gregory considered taking the shot, but she didn’t want to risk hitting the hostage. Prolonging this standoff only meant more suffering for a woman in need of immediate medical attention. The pragmatic street cop had no choice.
“Alright, Roman,” Gregory complied, placing her weapon on the floor.
“Kick it to the side,” the nervous abductor instructed, moving backward with a tight grip on his captive.
Gregory complied. “Now let her go,” she said. “I’ve done what you want.”
“Not yet. I’m keeping her close until I make it out of here.”
“Your days are numbered, Roman! Sooner or later, I will get you.”
“I’m the least of your worries, sweet cheeks,” he replied, practically dragging his hostage out into the corridor.
When Gregory stepped across the room to retrieve her sidearm, she discovered what Roman meant. Stella Lee was standing on the deflated raft, emptying the officer’s revolver.
The Lieutenant fixed her gaze upon the illusive murderess. It didn’t seem possible that a woman barely five and a half feet tall could be responsible for so much carnage. Those waist-length sable tresses adorned her tiny frame like a herald’s tabard. A leather jacket and biker boots completed the deadly ensemble. Her demeanor was placid. Though she fully understood that getting past Gregory meant taking the life of a fellow human being, Stella was charged with enthusiasm. To her, killing was merely one of the perks that enhanced a satisfying career.
“I didn’t know the local cops recruited from the nursing home,” the Serpent commented, as she dropped the gun and strutted toward Gregory.
“The nursing home will sound like a country club when I’m through with you,” the Lieutenant replied.
“Watch yourself, grandma. I don’t want to have to break those dentures of yours.”
“There’s nothing between us but air, freak show.”
The maniacal grin on Stella’s face grew broader when her older opponent assumed her boxing stance. Convinced the veteran flatfoot was no match for her skills, the fourth-degree black belt lunged forth with a reverse punch to the abdomen!
Falling to one knee, Gregory maintained the presence of mind to plant a left hook into the psycho’s rib cage. As Stella lumbered forward, the Lieutenant lifted her off the floor and hurled her diminutive carcass into the wall.
The Serpent promptly regained her composure and stood up. She seemed rather impressed with the former Olympic boxer. “Not bad for an old lady,” she said, circling her opponent. “But I’m just getting started.”
A boot to the breadbasket was intended to take Gregory down, but the savvy beat cop withstood the trauma and countered with a right cross that put Stella on the canvass a second time.
“You’re better than I thought,” the astounded mercenary admitted. “It looks like you’re going to have to learn the hard way. Get ready, granny.”
With a sudden burst of energy, the frustrated felon took two steps forward and somersaulted over the Lieutenant’s head! She landed behind the startled peace officer and stifled her momentum with a backhand across the face. Gregory hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Now you’re going to see what happens to pigs who fool with me,” Stella declared, descending upon her fallen foe like a rabid dog.
As the women rolled back and forth, grappling for dominance, neither of them noticed the elated observer standing in the doorway.
Buzz Saw Belinda Robeson had been itching for an opportunity to settle the score with Lieutenant Gregory. She couldn’t have orchestrated a better scenario. Consequently, someone had been waiting for the chance to get even with her as well.
Before Belinda could take a step toward Gregory, Senior Patrol Officer Samson emerged from the shadows and straddled the bruiser’s back with the precision of a Kentucky Derby jockey! With her arm locked tightly around the Buzz Saw’s neck, the focused patrolwoman endeavored to render her unconscious.
Belinda forced her way down the corridor, repeatedly ramming her attacker’s body into the nearest wall, as she flailed her massive arms. Frantically slapping at Samson’s head, the turbulent crusher inflicted scratches and abrasions that would have compelled a lesser woman to retreat in horror, but the stubborn officer refused to let go.
Finally, Belinda’s arms became limp as she stumbled to the floor with her unyielding nemesis on her back.
When Samson heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the exhausted flatfoot unhanded the assailant and drew her semiautomatic handgun. Thankfully, the three men who came around the corner were federal agents. “This is Roman’s number-one goon,” she told them. “My Lieutenant is in the prop room with Stella Lee. I’m going in, but we’ll need all available bodies you can get down here to bust that broad.”
The Senior Patrol Officer’s assertion was correct. The tide of battle had taken a drastic turn and Gregory was in trouble. With two black eyes and a split lip, the Lieutenant staggered toward the closet door as her sadistic opponent prepared to deliver the finishing blow.
Even with the threat of capture looming around her, the Serpent couldn’t deny the urge to humiliate her defeated prey. “Alright, grandma,” she said, placing her hands around Gregory’s throat. “You put up a good fight. I’m sure your friends will remember you fondly.” Reveling in the anticipation of another merciless slaughter, Stella was caught completely off guard when Samson came charging into the room!
“Lieutenant!” the Senior Patrol Officer cried.
That fateful moment in time provided the opening Gregory needed. An upward sweep of the Lieutenant’s arms freed her from the Serpent’s clutch and left the startled executioner vulnerable to a devastating roundhouse right.
Just as Sergeant Carlson had earlier described, Stella hit the floor in a state of confusion. Kicking and striking at an unseen enemy, she began snarling like an animal.
Leary of what she might have been up to, Gregory and Samson wasted no time subduing the deadly enchantress.
“You alright, Lieutenant?” Samson asked, cuffing Stella’s hands behind her back.
“I’ll make it,” she said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and placing it to her mouth. “I’m not bleeding too badly. How about you?”
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I don’t think it’s critical.”
A troop of federal agents came charging in.
“We’ve got your Serpent, guys,” Samson told them. “You’d better wrap her up tight.”
Lieutenant Gregory stepped over to the other side of the room to retrieve her revolver. “Cash Roman has taken an agent hostage,” she said, as she gathered her bullets and reloaded. “So proceed with caution. That monster doesn’t care who he hurts. He’s wearing a black hat and trench coat.”
“Which way, Lieutenant?” Samson inquired.
“I want you to go outside with the FEDs,” Gregory instructed. “Keep your eyes peeled and don’t do anything to endanger the hostage.”
“But Lieutenant.”
“Listen to me, Samson. You’ve just bagged the biggest bird of your career. Don’t spoil it now by disobeying an order.”
“Understood.”
While Justice Department agents prepared Stella Lee for transport, Lieutenant Gregory proceeded out the far exit and followed the trail of blood down the corridor. The crimson path came to an end when she reached the main stage.
The astounding grandeur of a classic auditorium packed with ardent spectators seemed worlds away from the dusty hardwood platform that had remained undisturbed for the past several months. Some of the overhead lights were no longer functioning, so Gregory couldn’t get a sufficient look at every seat. The arm of the weathered couch used in the Dreamtown’s final production was saturated with human blood. The injured agent had evidently stopped there to rest. Yet, the used gauze and cotton balls suggested some effort was made to treat her wound. The Lieutenant couldn’t imagine Roman displaying that kind of compassion. Remnants of a demolished end table were scattered about the base of a huge trunk. Though she didn’t hear anyone sneaking around, Gregory was convinced her man had to be hiding somewhere in the building.
Ever cognizant that a dangerous crime boss might be poised to blow her head off, the vigilant flatfoot scurried across the stage and took cover behind the couch. That’s when she was unnerved by the sound of someone pounding and groaning. With her attention directed toward the rows of empty seats in front of her, Gregory didn’t realize the struggling individual was only a few steps away. Eventually, she deduced the noise was coming from the trunk.
As she moved closer, the veteran officer could see the hinge was secured with a patrolman’s nightstick. Gregory had no way of determining who was inside. A cop could have apprehended Roman and taken the wounded agent to the hospital. On the other hand, if Roman stuffed his bleeding hostage in there while he made his getaway, the young woman would probably be dead before she made it to the parking lot. The Lieutenant couldn’t take the chance. Intriguingly, the man she liberated wasn’t Cash Roman. It was Sergeant Ken Carlson.
“Ken!” Gregory exclaimed, helping him out of the trunk. “What happened?”
“I came in and discovered a couple of government agents tending to their colleague,” he explained. “I helped them get her outside. When I came back to look around, somebody popped me from behind.”
The Lieutenant noticed Carlson favoring his left wrist. “Is it sprained?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. I must’ve landed on something that was at the bottom of the trunk. I can’t believe some jerk caught me by surprise.”
“Cash Roman is capable of anything.”
“How do you know it was Roman?”
“I found him in the prop room. He’d taken a young female agent hostage. Her blood left a trail that led me here.”
“That’s wild. But why would he give such a valuable hostage up?”
Gregory reached down into the trunk and picked up what looked like a necklace. Upon further inspection, she realized it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this particular piece of jewelry. In fact, it was identical to the locket Hudson Potter showed her at the hospital. “Because he found a better hostage,” she responded to Carlson’s question.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She did know where to find him.”
“Who knew where to find him? What are you talking about, Katherine?”
“This locket belongs to Roman’s girlfriend, Kennedy,” she explained. “She was the patient at the hospital who wanted to see me the night Hanson was shot. Roman had beaten her to a pulp and left her lying in an alley. Her grandfather called me just before we raided this place. He said Kennedy was armed and out for blood.”
“It looks like she found her man.”
“Or he found her.”
“Do you think Roman is still lurking around here?” Carlson asked.
“He knows this place better than anyone,” Gregory said. “He’s certain to have a way out.”
“But first he’s got to get past an army of federal agents and your phenomenal partner.”
An expression of sheer terror swept over the Lieutenant’s face. “Samson!” she exclaimed, clutching her forehead. “We’ve got to get out to the parking lot.”
The two of them headed for the rear exit, but before they reached the door, a series of shots rang out. “That came from outside!” Carlson exclaimed.
Gregory could hear the footsteps of someone approaching the building. “Is that door locked?” she asked.
“It wasn’t secured when I came in.”
Suddenly, the door was snatched open!
“Mayday!” the Lieutenant shouted, as they took cover behind the closest row of seats.
The presumed perp was actually a wounded agent with two slugs in his chest.
Carlson immediately recognized the fellow law enforcement officer. “It’s Pimbleton,” he said.
Taking the barely conscious FED by the arms, Gregory and the Sergeant helped him inside and laid him on the floor.
“It’s Roman,” Pimbleton said. “He’s on the run.”
“Ken, get Fire/Rescue down here,” the Lieutenant instructed. “I’m going after Roman.”
Carlson radioed for assistance. “Six-Sabastian-Twenty,” he said. “Officer down at the Dreamtown Theatre.”















CHAPTER 13
Through the misty haze of a breaking dawn, Gregory proceeded down the concrete walkway searching for the slipperiest character she’d run across in a very long time. Although the thunder of random gunfire still echoed from higher floors, most of the federal agents had vacated the theatre with their suspects and headed downtown.
The Lieutenant saw no sign of Roman. However, she suspected he’d make an effort to secure a set of wheels. As usual, her instincts were right on the money. Unfortunately, she’d outfoxed the fox about a minute too late. Caught in the blinding glare of charging headlights, Gregory dove into the bed of a nearby pick-up a split-second before impact! The speeding Lexus sideswiped the truck and made a beeline for the rear gate.
Slightly shaken, Lieutenant Gregory forced her way up and pursued the fleeing vehicle on foot.
Though Roman didn’t have to worry about being overtaken by the perturbed beat cop, there was another obstacle that wouldn’t be so easy to get past. Senior Patrol Officer Samson seemed to appear from nowhere when she stood at the gate with her handgun aimed at the luxury sedan.
As the Lieutenant sprinted down the asphalt trail, the image of her volatile partner came into focus. Taking the shot at Roman’s getaway car was risky. If Kennedy was with him, she could’ve also been killed.
“Samson!” Gregory shouted. “Hold your fire!”
The focused patrolwoman gave no indication she heard the voice of her commanding officer. She could see the driver was wearing the black hat and trench coat Roman was wearing earlier. So without reservation, Samson discharged three rounds into the windshield!
The Lexus careened out of control and barreled over a bed of freshly laid gravel before crashing headlong into a parked SUV about thirty yards from Samson!
Most assailants who’d come out on the wrong end of a shootout would have been more than willing to relinquish their weapons and step out of the car with their hands up. Yet, as several members of the Brickhearst P.D. had learned from experience, Cash Roman wasn’t like most assailants.
Seemingly oblivious to the abrasions that sullied his face and the 9mm slug in his rib cage, the obstinate crime boss emerged from the back seat with his weapon pointed toward the ground. In the misty distance, he could see the object of his contempt. The rage in his eyes was petrifying. Though it was evident that Roman’s reign of terror had come to an end, the defeated gangster stumbled forward, determined to kill the cop who’d worked so hard to bring him down.
Samson kept her handgun trained on the battered suspect and waited for him to make his move.
Roman stopped several feet from the car and looked intently at the officer. It looked as though he was about to engage her when he dropped his weapon and collapsed.
Samson cautiously approached the fallen child-snatcher. By the time she holstered her sidearm and checked him for a pulse, Lieutenant Gregory came running toward her.
“Is he alive?” the Lieutenant asked, breathing heavily.
“Barely,” Samson responded. “Can you believe this character?”
Taking a closer look at the car, Gregory noticed the door Roman left open. “He was in the back seat,” she muttered.
Before Samson could respond, she was startled by the sound of someone opening the driver’s side door. “Somebody else is in there,” she said, reaching for her sidearm.
“No!” the Lieutenant shouted, taking hold of the Officer’s arm. “Don’t forget about the hostage.”
Gregory was right. The person who stepped out of the car was the hostage she’d come to protect.
Clad in her wretched boyfriend’s coat and hat, the disenfranchised young woman stumbled forward and leaned against the vehicle.
Gregory approached and wrapped her arms around the girl’s mortally wounded frame. “Call Fire/Rescue!” she cried, removing the hat from Kennedy’s head.
“Katherine,” Kennedy whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” Gregory said, lowering the girl to the ground and cradling her head.
“I wasn’t trying to run over you. Cash grabbed the wheel and made the car swerve.”
“Don’t worry about that now. You need to save your strength.”
That hollow gaze in Kennedy’s eyes was a familiar sight to a veteran beat cop who’d seen more young people die than she cared to remember. Still, there was something in Gregory’s heart that wouldn’t let her give up hope.
“I couldn’t even kill him. I had the gun pointed at him, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger. What does that say about me?”
“It says you’re a decent person who believes in the sanctity of human life.”
“I didn’t expect to die this soon.”
“Don’t talk like that. Help is on the way.”
“I just don’t understand,” Kennedy lamented with tears rolling down her cheeks. “What did I do to make him treat me that way?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Gregory told her. “Cash Roman is a sick man.”
“I kept thinking he’d stop hurting me if I could live up to what he expected. I just wanted him to love me. I guess it sounds pretty stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. You’re a beautiful woman with a giving heart. You deserve to be loved by a man who knows the difference between cherishing you and owning you. No matter what Roman thought, he didn’t have the right to slap you around.”
Kennedy squeezed he Lieutenant’s hand and looked into her eyes. “You’re a good friend, Katherine,” she said. “I wish I could’ve gotten to know you better. Tell Pop I love him and thank him for all he’s done for me.”
With a tender smile, the endearing creature looked away and closed her eyes for the last time.
“No,” Gregory whispered. “Kennedy…Kennedy!”
Lovingly brushing the hair from the decedent’s eyes, the empathic mother gave way to tears.
Beneath the premonitory gloom of a cloudy morning sky, Samson watched incredulously as the strongest woman she’d ever known sobbed like a baby. Under usual circumstances such a display of unrestrained emotion would have made the Senior Patrol Officer uncomfortable. However, in this case she was compelled to put her inhibitions on hold.
The dumbfounded patrolwoman barely flinched when Sergeant Carlson escorted the ambulance to the scene and parked his unit a few feet away from her.
Carlson exited his vehicle and approached the officer. “What happened?” he asked. Prompting no response, he grabbed Samson by the shoulders and shook her. “Samson!”
“I shot the girl,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“She was wearing a hat and coat. I thought she was Roman.”
“Didn’t you hear Gregory order you to stand-down?”
“I was concentrating on the car. It was headed straight for me. I didn’t hear anything but that approaching vehicle.”
Carlson rubbed the back of his neck and observed the paramedics that were attending to Roman. Then, with a foreboding sigh, he turned his attention back to Samson. “I’ll need your weapon,” he told her.
“What’s going to happen to me, Ken?” she asked, surrendering the sidearm.
“They’ll be an inquiry. You’ll have to convince the chief and Internal Affairs that you didn’t intentionally disobey a direct order. Either way, you’re off the Night Watch. You and Gregory can never be effective together again.”
Lieutenant Gregory kissed Kennedy on the forehead and made room for the Fire/Rescue personnel to perform their duties. On her way to Carlson’s patrol unit, she stopped and looked at Samson. Neither of the women spoke a word. The Senior Patrol Officer wanted to address her disillusioned supervisor, but she knew it would have taken more than an apology to heal the pain in Gregory’s heart. So she just lowered her head as the Lieutenant and Carlson boarded the patrol unit and headed out.
Samson had always endeavored to suppress emotions that made her appear vulnerable. Fear and contrition were unwelcome strangers that didn’t belong in her front yard.
As the Brickhearst Police Department’s flustered token looked pensively at Kennedy’s lifeless body, she reflected on the intriguing roller coaster ride her career had taken. Despite the bullet-riddled crime scenes and totaled automobiles, she was assigned to one of the most important cases in the city’s history. She’d also helped collar a dangerous assassin and played a part in lowering the boom on the most infamous crime boss in the Panhandle. It was hard to believe a single mistake could spell the end of everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. At any rate, heads were going to roll and the daring policewoman was prepared to bite the bullet.
There was no way to gauge the severity of Samson’s lapse in judgment. A lot would depend on Lieutenant Gregory’s report. Although a favorable write-up was bound to make a good impression on the brass, the ultimate verdict rested in the hearts and minds of a capricious public.
A morning that began with the promise of reuniting heartbroken parents with their abducted children had deteriorated into the darkest day of Gregory’s life. The media frenzy that Stella Lee’s arrest would soon spark seemed meaningless. Even the festive spirit about to permeate the Brickhearst P.D. wouldn’t lighten the burden she was carrying. Though the selfless supervisor didn’t begrudge her colleagues the recognition and appreciation they deserved, her thoughts were with the terrified grandfather who’d been anxiously awaiting her call. Facing him was going to be her greatest challenge. Somehow, Gregory had to muster the courage to look her father’s best friend in the eye and explain why the child he cherished wouldn’t be coming home.

M.C. BECHUM