This is an older piece of mine I found on a floppy (remember those?). It needed a MAJOR edit (explains why I never sold it and forgot abut it), but I feel good about it now. It was written while I was working at Graduate Hospital and I was good friends with several Police officers whom I pumped relentlessly before writing this Murder-Mystery/Romance. I even had it read by one of my friends in blue, who said he wished he would have had such a night. So here is a night in Philadelphia I hope you find interesting…

Night-Voices

By

F. Alexander Brejcha

Blues guitar notes wailed their tortured cry, joined by a lonely trumpet sob, while the marijuana and cigarette smoke burning my eyes grew almost strong enough to bite off and chew. My badge was burning a hole in my pocket, but I was after bigger game. He was here somewhere. I looked around but all I could see were drawn faces closed in on themselves, absorbing the oblivion of their choice. Black, White, Hispanic and Oriental. The bar housed an eclectic mix of patrons whose common misery was more important than petty racial barriers. There was no Samuel Adams, Heiniken or Rolling Rock served here. This bar carried only Budweiser, Miller, Schaeffer, Schlitz and Schmidt's, as well as straight shots of whiskey and other harder spirits. This was a working man's Blues bar, not a yuppie watering hole.

The hard-edged and raw music was new, tthough. A live band of local kids who could make B.B. King and Bobby Blue Bland stand up and take notice. Or rather, the late Stevie Ray Vaughn and others, as the lead guitarist and most of the rest of the band was white. But the blues transcend color and they played together. Smoked together. They were kicking, live...

I pulled myself away from the biting reality of the enveloping music. Something had struck a different note in my peripheral vision and I scanned the drinkers again until I realized what it was. A full glass and an empty ash tray -- not that many were bothering with ash trays. But something there rang false. My eyes moved up. He was in his late thirties and had the right expression, but he was cleanly shaven despite the hour, and even though it was summer, he wore a faded blue knit ski-cap pulled down low. And the eyes were wrong. They were too alert and skipped away as they caught mine.

He was on to me!

He laid a five dollar bill on the bar and turned to duck out the side door. As he did, I caught a glimpse of a metallic sheen under his ski cap. But he moved too fast and caught me off guard. I dug for money to pay for my own untouched beer and moved to follow only to see that he had managed to slip out the back door.

Outside in the alley, night had fallen long ago. Even in the eternal days of summer, darkness comes eventually and I squinted, staring in both directions and wondering where he had gone to -- no street lights here. But nothing. A dumpster full of rotting garbage partially blocked my view to the right and I moved towards it, my hand going to my gun automatically. Three women had wound up lying in alleys like these, their throats slit, dresses torn and their bodies repeatedly stabbed with near hysterical strength. They had also had ligature marks on their ankles and wrists, as well as extensive bruises around the wounds indicating they had been bound and still alive when stabbed. I wasn't about to take any chances.

The rattle of a can from the other side of the dumpster startled me and I hunched down to draw my gun as I ducked to the side. An emaciated Siamese cat crept out and looked up at me with a plaintive wail. Even she was singing the blues. She got up on her hind legs to rub the side of her nose against the sight as I dropped the gun and reached out automatically to scratch her head.

"Hey, baby. What's doin'?" A loud satisfied rumble greeted me but I was already moving past her, trying to see around the battered and rusted dumpster.

Nothing.

I stood up and started to put my gun away as I realized I had lost him. My first real look at him, too. Our one eyewitness description had been too vague to do any good, but it matched my disappearing suspect.

A sudden hiss from the cat galvanized me and I spun to catch sight of a gleaming blade arcing towards me, propelled by a whiff of rotting food. He had hidden in the dumpster! I threw myself back and grabbed for my gun but he was too quick and the blade jammed into my forearm as I moved to block his blow with my left hand. The searing pain made me gasp and for a moment I looked away. Mistake. Too late I heard a faint metallic whistle and then felt a numbing impact on the back of my head as I tried to yell out, "Police".

I must have only been unconscious for a moment because when I forced my eyes open it was to see a blurred figure climbing down out of the dumpster. The ski-cap was partly dislodged and I stared. His skull gleamed softly like polished metal and for a moment, I had a brief moment of deja vu, thinking back to a pair of hit movies involving a cyborg from the future. Then I realized that what I was seeing was a tight mesh cap of some sort. I also thought I saw a wire attached to it, leading down inside his shirt-collar.

I groped for my gun as he turned -- fighting an urge to vomit -- but my fingers only found an empty holster. I must have just pulled the gun when I got clobbered, and dropped it. I tried to turn to look for it on the ground but another wave of nausea overwhelmed me and this time I lost the battle and threw up everything in my stomach.

I was only vaguely aware of a blood-stained length of metal pipe hanging down from above as a pair of new, but trash-stained, Reebok sneakers approached from my right. Over them I saw neatly pressed, but filthy corduroy pants and I heard a deep voice that muttered, "No, you're not one of them, you're a cop." The pipe clattered to the ground as it was dropped and the sneakers disappeared.

The world shivered a little as four little feet made their way up my side accompanied by a raucous meow. I reached for the cat and passed out again.

&

This time, when I woke up, it was to a rough prodding from a pair of shiny dress shoes.

"Come on man, get out of here. Find someplace else to sleep it off!" It was the owner of the bar. I didn't really know him, but I had seen him around.

I grabbed his foot groggily, ignoring the protest. "Police, damn it! Detective Baker." He only knew me as a customer. "I was on a stake-out and I was assaulted." It was embarrassing to accept the reluctant hand that helped me up and led me inside only to hand me off to another, older, Hispanic man.

"Here Carlo, take care of him." The owner disappeared.

"You're bleeding!" Carlo exclaimed as I staggered into the light inside, still dizzy and nauseous. "What happened?"

I had forgotten about my arm because of the pain in my head, but as he reminded me I felt the burning and looked down to see the dark stained sleeve of my jacket and the brown coagulated blood on my hand being washed out by fresh trickles of bright red.

I explained what had happened as I was led to a seat and a middle-aged woman helped me take off my coat and roll up my sleeve, clucking sympathetically as she brought hot water and clean rags to wash off the wound. She spat out something in Spanish ending in "Vaminos!" that I didn't understand and Carlo laughed.

"Si, Rosa." He looked over at me. "She is telling me to call the police and a doctor. I am Carlo Ramirez and this is my wife. We do the books and run the kitchen. Mr. Ortiz, the man who try to chase you away, he is already calling the police."

I looked up at Rosa who had finished washing my arm with a gentle touch. She was just getting out some disinfectant and I hissed as she poured on the alcohol and then dabbed it off with sterile gauze before wrapping the deep stab wound tightly. A trace of red showed almost immediately, but it didn't spread, so I relaxed as she turned her attentions to my scalp. Apparently, I had been bleeding from the crack on the head, too, but not too badly. I stopped her momentarily and said "Gracias, Rosa," which pretty much exhausted my Spanish.

She smiled briefly and patted my hand as she said: "De nada," and then went back to her delicate ministrations.

Not too much later, I heard a siren outside and looked up expectantly; Rosa forced me to stay sitting. A familiar voice was soon echoing in the hall.

"...and he knows better than to go in without backup." Theresa was herded through the door by Ortiz to face me, her flame-red pony-tail dancing as she shook her head angrily. "Are you nuts?" Then the anger evaporated into concern. "How are you feeling, Mitch?"

"Hi Terri. Nice of you to drop by. I could use a ride home to clean up. I feel like shit."

"Well you look like it." She wrinkled her nose, sending her freckles dancing. "And smell like it, too."

I shrugged. "Comes from lying all night in an alley full of garbage." I looked up at Carlo. "Can you do me a favor?"

"I will try."

"There's a Siamese cat scrounging around out there, could you see about getting her a nice plate of scraps or something? She saved my life. This," I held up my bandaged arm, "might have been my neck except for her warning."

"Es verdad?... this is true?"

I nodded. "Yup." I saw Terri's eyebrow inch up and I repeated my story of what had happened, finishing with, "And I want a sketch artist so I can work up a description on this guy."

Then I said my thanks to the Ramirez's and to the gruff Ortiz, who seemed more than happy to see me go. I followed Terri out to her car and settled into the front seat gratefully, ignoring my own car down the street. I'd come back for it later.

I had no sooner closed the car door than I suddenly felt Terri's hands grab my ears as she planted warm lips on mine for a brief but passionate kiss. Then she pulled back, turning my head roughly to face her flashing green eyes.

"Don't you ever do something stupid like that without back-up again!" She was pissed, no two ways about it, but I knew it was out of concern.

I leaned forward to kiss her back softly, her rigid face relaxing a bit. "Typical red-head." I grinned as I pulled back. "Sorry hon, but going in with another officer would have made me noticeable. It's not the type of bar you go to with company for a good time. I told dispatch about it and told them to send back-up if I didn't report by midnight."

"Well, dispatch screwed up, then." She let go and turned the ignition key with a savage twist.

I ran a finger down her arm lightly. "Thanks for caring."

She stared silently straight ahead a minute and then turned back to me. "Well... just let me know before you go solo on me again, okay?" I crossed my heart and she nodded after a moment. "Okay. Now let's get back to the station..." She wrinkled her nose again. "On second thought, before that, you need a shower and fresh clothes -- I'm glad there are vinyl seats in here! We'll swing by my place on the way back to the station; you have some stuff there to change into."

I was finally starting to notice the ripe aroma filling the car and I rolled down the window. "You're on!"

&

"That's him." I looked at the last revision on the tablet in front of me. "Perfect." I had had a pretty good look at the suspect at the bar and Jim Danzell's black and white sketch looked just like him. "And add a notation that he's about six foot even." I pictured him standing up in the bar – and over me.

"What's that he's wearing?" Terri asked, leaning over my shoulder to look. She had been arguing with Captain Talbot about something while Jim had been making the sketch.

I explained about the metal-mesh skull-cap and shrugged. "I don't know why he's wearing it--"

"To block out the voices, of course," Jim offered. He finished putting away his pens and shrugged. "I've seen things like that before in a psych ward, though not that sophisticated. Usually, they just wrap some foil around their head. They do it to block out the voices that tell them what to do."

I looked up at Terri who nodded.

"Makes sense."

"By the way, what was the fight about?" I jabbed my thumb in the direction of Talbot's office as Jim waved goodbye and headed back downstairs.

Terri shrugged. "Oh, he's telling me there's no room for me in homicide, and that I should pay more attention to my own work. But, to tell you the truth, I'm getting a little tired of it. I want a change--"

"We talked about that." I stopped her. If we're both in the same division there's too much risk of it compromising our jobs."

"I know, but I'm bored! I'm working on a bunch of petty electronics thefts that are driving me crazy. Three electronics stores got robbed within a few days. They're inside jobs -- I'm sure of it. Everything points to it. But there are three different stores involved and I can't tie them together. And they use different delivery services and different night security companies and even different cleaning companies."

"Any of the people with any of the service companies work at all three stores?"

"That's what I'm checking now. Getting the personnel records has been a bitch, though, since they're outside contractors."

I grabbed Danzell's picture and headed for the copy machine to make copies to distribute to the street patrols. "What kind of stuff's missing?"

"That's the weird part." She grabbed a cup and poured herself some coffee from the machine next to the copier. She ripped a blue packet of Equal open and sprinkled it slowly over the steaming liquid as she stirred, staring thoughtfully into the disappearing swirls of powder. "With one exception, nothing major was taken. TV's, stereos, computers, all easily available, but none of that is missing. Instead, the thief or thieves took ham radio parts, power supplies, circuit boards, cable, CB crystals, stuff like that..."

She stopped stirring and turned to me, her suddenly wide eyes reflecting the rhythmic flashes of the copier light -- I had not put down the cover.

"Your perp is trying to block some signals, and mine is stealing electronics. Coincidence?" She put down the coffee, getting that 'look' on her face that I knew so well. She had had a hunch. She looked around. "Where's a map?"

I left the copier running and went over to the wall where a center city map of Philadelphia was posted. Red pins marked the spots where each body had been found and Terri joined me, studying the map carefully.

"Electronic Heaven." She pointed to a spot not two blocks from one pin. "And there are Mitchell Electronic Service and Arbus Electronics." She indicated two more spots, tapping nearby red pins. "All within a ten block radius." She turned to me and cocked an eyebrow. "Let's see the dates. When was the first murder?"

I thought back. "The sixth--"

"--and the first robbery on the seventh."

"And the second and third murders on the eighth and tenth," I offered, seeing what she was after.

Terri smiled. "And the other warehouse robberies were on the ninth and eleventh." She looked at me. "What do you think?"

I sat down. "I think I want to see pictures of any employees who work at all three of the companies that were hit. It's a stretch, but--"

"But it 'feels' right." She jabbed her own stomach. "Doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Uh huh." I reached out and picked up Jackson's phone -- he was out sick -- and rang Talbot's line.

&

"I still don't like it!" I glared at Terri as she finished putting on a bright red lipstick and inspected herself in the rear-view mirror. She was wearing a tight green mini-dress that was cut way low and slit high to really show off her great figure. Her flame-red hair was hanging loose instead of in its usual pony tail and, under the light filtering in from the night-time streetlights, the effect was devastating. She was sultry, mysterious, and sex incarnate. One part of me was fighting to keep my hands off her -- but another part was scared stiff.

Talbot had assigned her to work with me since our cases were obviously linked, and after we had grabbed a few hours sleep, he had sent us down try to draw the killer out. Or rather, to have Terri try to bring him out in the open. All the sudden I was seeing vivid images of the murdered hookers as I looked at Terri.

She put away the lipstick and turned to me with a patient sigh, putting a hand on my knee.

"We've gone over this, honey. Three victims, all prostitutes, all female. He knows your face, and there are no other female undercovers available--"

"None who would dare argue with you when you put your claim in," I observed. "Or that have your obvious... ah... qualifications."

She shrugged. "So, how else are we going to draw him out? I'm wired and you'll be monitoring with three back-ups."

My hands clenched as I leaned back. "Shit! I hate it when you make so much sense--"

"But you're worried about me. That's sweet and I love you for that, but you were right last night: this is why we shouldn't both work homicide." She slapped my knee lightly. "Now stop thinking like my lover and be a cop. I know what I'm doing. I have a black belt and I'm armed. I'll be fine." She checked her Smith and Wesson with a quick, professional twist and slipped it in her purse. "Really."

"I know." I sighed. "I'm sorry. Give me a signal check."

She climbed out of the car and turned away for a moment as I activated my receiver to hear her voice in a staticky whisper.

"I love you, but don't crowd me. Okay?"

I leaned out and gave her my best whine. "Yes dear."

She giggled. "Do me a favor, never go into acting. That just isn't you. Now let me get going. Just watch my--"

"With pleasure!"

She shook her head and headed up the street.

We had planned her route carefully. Down Market from City Hall to 13th and then over towards Locust. I would parallel her on Juniper which would give me repeated chances to cut down if she should get into trouble. We had already stationed several other plainclothes detectives in various strategic points along her route and I had channels to each of them. Fran Barkoloski was stationed around Chestnut as a bag lady, Dave Marks around Walnut as a drunk sitting on the corner and Billy-Bob Bowman was in place at Locust as another derelict. I'd keep an eye on her until she got down to 13th when Fran would pick her up -- not that I was worried as long as she walked along the well-lit Market street, or even down that first block to Fran's post.

The plan was to pull Fran and Dave up and around to parallel her on foot after she passed them, keeping within eyesight, and Billy-Bob would act as a pivot point as she passed him and roamed the area. I'd act as mobile back-up and controller.

I kept an eye on my watch as she turned the corner at 13th, and then spun around City hall to get back around to Juniper and past Wanamaker's down south, pulling up a little before Chestnut to wait for her to catch up. The streets were nearly empty. In my ear, I heard the rustling of Terri's dress over the microphone, in time with the distant clicking of her heels on the sidewalk.

"Going up 13th now..." she whispered, "no one in sight, yet." More fabric-rubbing steps for a while. "I see Fran up ahead. She's sitting on the ground next to her shopping cart. Damn, she looks different... all slumped." She walked on and after a minute, the rhythm of the steps changed, slowed.

"Hey, lady." Terri's voice was suddenly an octave higher, course and uneducated. "You awright?" Softly. "I don't like it. She's not moving, not even looking my way." The steps speeded up. "I really don't like this!" I was already starting the car as I heard her breaking into a run and yell, "Shit! Officer down!"

I spun out and around the corner and then down Chestnut with a screech of tires as I called out for Dave and Billy-Bob to meet up with me and then called in to central for an ambulance. I also wished I had a two-way link with Terri, but she was reading my mind, as usual.

"She's dead, Mitch. Her throat is cut. One quick slash. He didn't waste any time with her -- I guess because of all the lights, or maybe he saw her radio? She had it out for some reason. Maybe it went bad on her and she was trying to fix it? I didn't notice she was dead at first because of the way she was slumped and her dress is dark so I didn't see the blood till I was right up to her. Oh God, Mitch, she's a mess!" She was almost rambling and it was one of the few times I had heard tears in her voice while on duty. I gripped the wheel so hard it hurt my hands.

As I burned rubber onto 13th I saw Dave come running up, Billy-Bob not far behind. Terri was hunched down next to a crumpled figure next to the wall. Her gun was drawn and she was scanning the streets and windows all around as I pulled up and got out to join her.

"Nothing, Mitch," she snapped. "He's come and gone. Damn it! He must have done her even as I was rounding from Market. She was still bleeding! If I would just--"

"Stop it!" I heard the break in her voice and grabbed her free arm -- never mess with the gun arm. "It's not your fault! She didn't have your experience and he must have caught her off guard."

Her hand was white with tension on the gun. She wasn't listening. "He's mine Mitch!" Her voice was a harsh whisper. "I was maid of honor at her wedding and she's... was, like a sister!" Her jaw was tight and the expression on her face was frightening. I had seen it a couple of times before, in the mirror, and I knew what she was feeling.

She relaxed her hand finally and the gun was put back on safety and into the purse, but her face was a blank mask, almost more alarming than the rage that covered it a moment ago.

I wanted to pull her close and hold her, but I knew well enough to wait until we were alone. "The lab team is on the way, Terri. They'll photo and dust. Dave and B-B can watch things. Want to go back to the station?"

She didn't say anything, but just nodded. Dave and Billy-Bob touched her lightly on the arm as she passed them. They knew how she felt, and she knew they did. I opened the door for her and then went around to start the car to head back for the roundhouse.

A block away, I pulled over to the side and turned to her and opened my arms to hold her as she burrowed close, finally letting go. I also did. I couldn't help it.

Fran and I had been close, too. She had been on my side, pushing Terri for months to accept my proposal. More than I had, and she had always teased me about that. But Terri had had one bad marriage already when very young, and I could understand her being gun-shy. I figured that sooner or later, she'd get tired of dragging clothes and stuff back and forth between our apartments and waking up unsure of which place she was in. I didn't want to press her. Fran had been doing enough of that for me. I periodically renewed my offer, and accepted the standard "not yet, honey". But the pauses before the reply were getting longer, and I wasn't going to give up hope.

But now Fran was gone, and I was afraid of it tightening Terri's shell again. To lose her best friend like that was a blow. Fran had been the newest and youngest detective in our district, and always a bright, cheering influence to the rest of us. Things would be a lot different without her, and I shared Terri's grief.

Still, the well ran dry pretty quickly -- both of us had seen too much death to waste time on tears -- and Terri looked up at me and wiped her eyes with my shirt.

"Sorry. No make-up, I promise."

"'S'okay. You all right?"

Her hands clenched my shirt briefly. "Yes. But I meant it: what I said." Her face was tight again.

I nodded. "I know. We'll find him." I reached out for the radio to call Jack Wilson in records.

"Hey Mitch," he came back at me right away. "I'm sorry, man. I heard. Tell Terri, huh?"

"She's here. Did you find anything in the personnel records?"

"As a matter of fact, yes..."

&

Jack had had a lead for us, all right, and it wasn't long before we were approaching an apartment door in an older building converted to an apartment house. It was the residence of a Steve Zeiger, who worked part-time at both Arbus and Mitchell's as a cleaning man, and at Electronic Heaven as night security. We had stopped by the station just long enough to pick up a search warrant a judge we knew had expedited, and the files Jack had obtained for us, and we had scanned them in the car on the way over. The employee I.D. picture from CityKleen had shown a cadaverous-looking man in his fourties with a tight crew-cut. It was the man in the bar, and the man in the police-artist's sketch. The only thing missing was the metallic skull-cap.

Now I just wanted to get this over with!

I pulled my gun and moved in on his door quietly, listening, but I couldn't hear a thing inside. Terri was on the other side of the doorway, gun drawn and her hand white on the weapon. We were ready. Dave and Billy-Bob were positioned at the entrance downstairs and under the fire-escape respectively, just in case Zeiger got past us. I reached over to knock but when I saw Terri's expression, I yielded to her, and as she banged on the door, she called out, "Police, open up. We have a warrant!"

Nothing.

I reached down for the door handle and turned it slowly. It opened easily with a soft squeal that made me wince -- it seemed so loud. I looked over at Terri. "Let me go first on the count of three," I whispered. "Follow me to cover." She nodded and I counted and then twisted to shove the door open wide to bang against the far wall as I hunched and threw myself into the room. Terri was right behind me and headed for the bathroom to repeat my assault entry. But the bathroom was as empty as the rest of the one-room apartment. It was an eerie place in the semi-darkness; immaculately neat, with a shiny countertop under the windows reflecting a neon rainbow that poured in from outside.

I turned on the light.

About fifteen by fifteen with a neat, open Pullman kitchen, the room was almost bare, except for a carefully made full-sized bed and an unpainted pine dresser by the far wall. Next to it, on the floor, was a big Electronic Heaven box heaped with electronic equipment. And on top of the dresser, sat a jury-rigged device of some kind that was linked by a long wire to a strange helmet lying on the bed.

It had started life as a metal colander, but the circuits attached to the helmet made it look like something out of a science fiction film of the fifties. And next to it, lay a black vinyl folder. I opened it to see a yellow legal pad inside, a carefully sharpened pencil lying precisely in the middle of the spine.

I flipped through the pad. Tightly controlled longhand notes covered the pages and I picked one at random.

The voice is getting more insistent, I read. It tells me that the bitches are getting out of hand. Everywhere you turn, The voice is right, hookers are cluttering the streets. They have to go.

I turned back to the beginning, a sinking feeling starting to squirm in my stomach.

I heard it today, the first entry read. I heard the voice calling to me to rid the streets of the human filth polluting it. The Word is coming on my braces, and I think the plate in my skull is helping to tune it in. This is worse than Grenada.

I skipped a couple of pages.

It works. The helmet blocks the voice when I sleep, but the mesh cap I made only tones it down. It's still there, whispering, nagging me whenever I go out. Twice now, I have stolen parts to try to make modifications, but it doesn't work. God keeps screaming at me: kill the bitches, kill the bitches! I can't ignore it any longer. Something had to be done and I have started.

I heard a hiss of breath and realized Terri was leaning over me.

"He's gone!" Her eyes were wide. "Total psycho all the way."

"Looks that way, and now we know who the killer is. But at least we came to the right place." I felt my beeper shiver; the vibration alarm warning me that I was being paged. I had had my radio on ‘silent’ and I reached down and turned it on, to hear Talbot calling me.

"They just found another one -- a fresh one. A hooker got slashed behind that bar where you got decked last night. The clean-up man found her and called us. Same M.O. as the other three, bruises and all." I heard him curse under his breath before he asked me if we had found anything at Zeiger's place.

I described the notebook and he grunted.

"Keep that safe for evidence! And, settle in. The girl was just done and your boy might be on his way home to roost. It's not that far, so he should be there soon."

I radiod Dave and Billy-Bob to hide while I closed the door and turned off the light. While we waited, I snagged the note-pad and picked another page at random towards the end; peering down to read it in the kaleidoscopic light from the window.

I think I know how to find the voice, now. I built a direction finder and I will search. It's near here, two blocks or so up the street. Strange place for a vengeful God to hide...

What the hell? Was he actually hearing voices? I'd heard of braces and fillings picking up some radio transmissions. Was he hearing and misinterpreting somebody's calls and using them as a reason to go out and kill?

A sudden sound from the hallway startled me and I felt Terri tense. I motioned her to move across the room so we could cover the door from opposite sides.

The door opened and a crack of light from the hall spilled in and widened as a tall silhouetted figure stood in the doorway. Terri drew a breath and I heard a click as the hammer of her gun was pulled back.

So did the figure in the door. He spun and bolted down the hall.

Terri cursed and threw herself forward to crouch in the doorway. "Police officer! Freeze, you're under arrest!" Then she called to me as she took off after him: "He ducked up the stairs." She was gone.

I followed her.

I could hear her running up the old wooden steps above, half a landing ahead of me -- she hadn't had time to change clothes, but she had put on sneakers she kept in her purse, at least. Then I heard the squeak of a metal door and a hollow thud as I rounded a landing and saw Terri aiming her gun at the handle of a closed door at the top of the stairs.

The small landing echoed with the explosion from her gun and the door shivered and popped open as the handle disintegrated into splinters. She kicked the door and rolled forward as I followed to cover her.

Zeiger stood behind the high ledge at the edge of the roof, his back to us staring off into the distance. He stood cradling something unseen in his hand.

He knew we were watching, but didn't turn. "It's not just me, you know. He's over there." He nodded towards a rooftop across the street and to the right. "That's where the Voice comes from, the one that is forcing all those evil things to happen. I thought it was God speaking to me and I got rid of some of the sluts, but I was wrong. Someone else is trying to take credit... Why can't I stop him?" he asked in a puzzled, almost anguished, voice. "I'm trying... and you're not going to stop me!" His voice was suddenly angry as he twisted towards us, raising something dark and long that he was holding.

Terri dropped to her knees and her gun flew up to explode into thunder the second time that night as she yelled to me to take cover.

But I had just seen what was really in his hand and yelled, too late: "Stop! Don't shoot!"

But Zeiger was already toppling, thrown back and to the side from the force of Terri's slug. The small antenna array and amplifier he held in his hands dropped free and tumbled towards us.

Terri lowered her gun as she realized what it was, eyes wide and an anguished cry broke free. "No!" The smell of cordite hung in the air accusingly.

I went over to his slumped body and knelt by his side to check his pulse. But there was none. But the knees of his pants and his sneakers were stained with fresh blood. Fran’s blood! Only partly dry, the blood was mute witness to what he had done before coming back home.

So why did I feel sick to my stomach?

I knew. I had seen too much of it. He was just another of the poor neglected few who had fallen through the cracks of the system and been denied proper treatment. I remembered his medical record from the hospital that Jack had read from when he told us about Zeiger. "Typical schizophrenic," Jack had told us. "He has a strong fixation about hearing voices that tell him what to do. He had been put on lithium and discharged when he had appeared to improve. He probably wasn't scheduled yet for proper follow-up exams."

I knew what Jack meant. Like so many, Zeiger had probably forgotten to take his medicine or had run out, and all the old symptoms had returned with a vengeance when he had heard some new voices. Voices that weren't all in his head. I wondered what they had actually said.

Terri came up to stand over me to stare down at the still body, a vaguely shell-shocked expression covering her face.

"I didn't need to kill him him," she said in a little-girl voice. "I could have tried for a wounding shot--"

"There wasn't time!"

"I..." She looked doubtful. "No. He killed Fran... that's why. I know it. But why don't I feel any better?" She looked up at me, her eyes wide. "I just shoot a defenseless man!" She kicked the antenna across the roof angrily.

I got up and took her hand. "Don't! After what he did, you couldn't know he wasn't armed; and look at it! It looks like a weapon." And it did. It bore an eerie resemblance to a sawed-off shotgun. "It was an honest mistake. I'll vouch for you."

She straightened and shook her head. "No... I did it! I have to take responsibility and call Internal Affairs." She wouldn't look at me, but just stood silently staring down at Zeiger's still body.

"But, Mitch?" she finally whispered. "I need to be alone for a little bit. Can you...?"

"No problem. We'll take care of things here."

Dave and Billy-Bob were coming onto the roof, chests heaving from the forced climb. "You're pulling to the right, Terri," was Dave's first comment as he looked at the body. But then he saw her face and the antenna lying on the roof and bit his lower lip briefly. "Sorry!"

"It's okay." She punched him lightly on the arm. Then she turned to me. "I'll be back in a bit. I need to take a walk. Okay?"

"Sure."

She put away her gun, handed me her radio and headed for the stairs.

"It was a righteous shoot, Terri," Billy-Bob called after her. "I know you." But she didn't seem to hear him.

&

Dave kept watch on the roof while Billy-Bob and I went back down to Zeiger's apartment. Something about those notes was nagging me. There had been something else there I had only partly seen before his return had stopped me from reading on. I wanted to know more about that voice Zeiger claimed to have heard. I suddenly remembered his comment the previous night as he had stood over me after clubbing me with the pipe.

"No, you're not one of them, you're a cop," he had said.

I grabbed the pad again and leafed through the pages until I found an entry that chilled me.

I wish I could find them. It's the Devil. Not the voice of God. The Devil is telling his servant to kill, pretending to be God. I never hear the servant, only the Devil sending him after those women. I keep trying to stop him from taking credit, but by the time I get there, it's too late. The women are dead. Do they really deserve to die? Of course! But I should be His instrument. I was, several times. But the other one? I can't seem to catch him at it. He's too quick, too clever.

I looked up, confused. If Zeiger was writing the truth and not just nuts, then he wasn't the only killer... but just eavesdropping on someone giving orders to another killer by some sort of radio signal. Probably to stay anonymous. And that's what Zeiger's braces and metal skull-plate had been picking up. I went over to the desk and looked around on it, trying to make sense of the contraption Zeiger had built, but a squawk on the radio interrupted me.

"Hey, Mitch,” Dave’s voice called. “This dead guy's talking! I can't make out what he's saying, but I'm hearing some buzzing from his mouth, like a real low voice.

"Take off that metal mesh beanie he's wearing." My gut was twitching as I realized what was happening.

Dave sounded doubtful. "We really shouldn't disturb the body. You know what I.A. will--"

"Take off the fucking cap, damn it!"

"Okay, okay!" A moment's silence, then, "weird! I hear a man's voice... real faint, but if I lean close--"

"What's he saying?"

Billy-Bob was looking at me like I was nuts.

"Something about showing somebody named Walker, somebody something... 'try to force my girls off the street'," Dave quoted. "'...I'll force your girls all the way off. Bunch of dirty bitches, anyway. Not like mine. Mine are clean!'"

Dave sounded confused but all of the sudden it made perfect sense and my eyes met Billy-Bob's. "A turf war over hookers!" B-B looked confused and I explained.

"Some pimp is using a radio to send messages to some hired killer he's using to kill another pimp's hookers."

Dave was still repeating into the radio.

"'What's she look like?... The redhead again? The one you missed because the cops came around? Well, she's not one of mine. It must be one of Walker's. Waste her. You're the crazy mother-fucker. Have fun. That'll teach him not to run girls on my ground."

"Redhead!" Dave's cry joined Billy-Bob's and mine as we stared at the radio. "Terri!"

But I was already out the door, yelling over my shoulder. "She's still wearing her hooker outfit, and she doesn't have her radio! Call it in and get back-up down here, now!" I took the steps half a landing at the time, bouncing off the wall on each floor, visions of Terri being jumped and slashed by some freak dancing in my brain.

Outside, I froze, not knowing which way she had gone. I looked both ways desperately. No sign of her, or of anyone. Just an empty street lit by anemic lights. The neon display was on the next block behind the building. Then I saw the pet store window four buildings down.

She would have gone that way, to see if there were animals to look at.

As I ran, I pulled up my radio and called to Billy-Bob to let him know which way I'd gone. I stopped and peered down the first alley I passed. Nothing. I went on, and as I passed the next alley I heard a low voice and I froze.

"Are you awake now?" the voice had asked.

I dropped low and moved into the alley, keeping to the shadows. There was a large shadowed alcove about ten feet in, and as I peered around the corner, I saw Terri.

She was lying on the ground, gagged with a rag, her hands tied behind her back and her feet were tied together with electrical cord. She was softly illuminated from above by light from a billboard on the roof of the next building. She was just regaining consciousness and I could see the angry bruise forming on her forehead where she had been slugged. She had to be furious at herself. I knew that if she hadn't been upset about Zeiger, she would never have been caught like that.

A tall man stood above her. He was in his forties with black hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing gloves and a butcher's apron, and I saw an ear-plug in his ear attached by a wire to something that looked like a walkman that was sticking out of his jacket pocket. Here was the other killer -- the man Zeiger had been trying to find and stop! And somewhere nearby there was a pimp hiding behind a microphone and controlling him.

The killer was shaking his head slowly as he looked down at Terri. "Yes, I see you are awake. Welcome back. I'm... well, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to tell you. My name is Paul Martin. Paul, the street-cleaner, you might say." He chuckled briefly before continuing.

"Strange that you should be doing this sort of thing. You're different. Clean. And you must have some shred of decency since you were helping the cops before. For a minute I thought you were one of them. The gun, you see. But then I realized that it makes sense that you would carry a gun. The streets just aren't safe any more. I took it, by the way. Still, I have to say that I'm disappointed that a clean and pretty girl like you is out here. Don't you know about the risk of AIDS? Soap and water don't help, you know. People like you spread the infection and kill innocent people. Poor confused people like Jerry."

Terri cocked her head curiously. I could see her instincts at work. She had been groggy, but she was coming around and I could see her testing her bonds even as she listened carefully to Martin.

It was starting to make sense now, and I resisted the urge to rush in waving my gun. If he wanted to talk, it might be better to let him. With two witnesses, anything he said might be admissible in court.

"Did I tell you about Jerry?" Martin wondered. "I guess not. Well, you see, the poor boy was a bit insecure because he was overweight and had a bad complexion... a badly treated case of chicken-pox when he was seven. But because of all that, he had a hard time finding lovers and he would occasionally try something different and pick up a slut like you." He moved forward and glared at Terri who rolled her eyes and tried to mumble something through the gag.

The killer cocked his head. "What did you say? I'm afraid I can't understand you. No matter, though. I bet I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. He was my baby brother. And on her death-bed, I had promised mom I would look out for him. Ten years I slaved taking care of her and then when the cancer finally killer her, God rest her soul, I thought I would have my life back." He glared down. "But no-o-o! If you noticed, I said 'was my baby brother'. He got infected with AIDS! And eventually developed pneumocystic pneumonia, and died! Not at once, mind you. He lived long enough to suffer. And once again I had to slave to care for someone who was slowly dying..." His voice had been rising in pitch as he talked and he stopped himself to draw a deep breath. "Well, it's all over now. But no more. No one else should have to go through what I did!" He pulled a good-sized chef's knife out from under the apron. "I can't do anything about cancer, but I can do my thing to try to stop the spread of AIDS."

I stepped out into the light and raised my gun. "I think that that's quite enough!" Terri's eyes snapped open wide in relief. "I'm a police officer, and so is she. She was undercover to try to catch you. She is not a dirty hooker, so you have no reason to hurt her. Why don't you just put down the knife and relax." I used my most soothing voice. No need to egg him on. Easy does it.

I moved forward slowly, my gun trained right on him. "Just back away, please." He was too close to Terri. But he didn't move. His eyes just flashed back and forth between us as he cocked his head, a puzzled look covering his face. Then he smiled.

"Oh, that's good. I almost believed you, Walker." He chuckled, but his eyes weren't on me any more. Just on Terri as he looked down. "Very clever. I was warned you were clever. But now let's see just how determined you are." He dropped down behind her and started to bring the knife around the front of her throat.

I had no choice but to fire. The only part of him exposed was his head and I had to shoot before he got the knife around in front of her where it would cut her as he was thrown back. The explosion of the gun was doubly loud in the dead silence of the night and the walls around the alley amplified it further. Martin's body was jerked back and the knife clattered to the pavement.

Terri's head dropped to her chest and I heard a soft hiss of relief. She mumbled something else and I put away my gun to drop down by her to untie the gag over her mouth.

I didn't care about Dave and B-B who had just come running up -- I kissed her, long and hard as she leaned back into me. Then, as we broke apart, she cocked her head and smiled a little wicked smile.

"Uh, do you think you could untie me, too? Unless you've got a kinky side we haven't explored yet?"

I untied her quickly and helped her up, my face burning as I heard Dave and B-B snickering. Then I remembered the invisible puppet-master and turned to Dave, who held up a hand.

"Before you say anything, several units responded and they surrounded the building our boy on the roof pointed out--"

"They find the 'voice' Zeiger wrote about?"

Dave nodded. "Yup, parked in an apartment with a home-built transmitter set-up. And a list of names and addresses that match up with several of the deaths. They said he was one surprised sucker!"

B-B had been searching the body on the ground and he came over to display the earphone and a transistor radio-sized two-way radio. "Our boy's communicator. This is how Martin was sent out after his victims. Now it's really over."

Terri grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the body and the others. "Not really. The medical Examiner and I.A.D. has to get called about both shootings--"

"Get out of here, you two," B-B prompted. "We'll file the reports and make the calls."

Terri smiled gratefully and then turned to me to speak softly. "That'll give us a chance to talk in private. I think it's time I took Fran's advice regarding something you've been nagging me about." She raised her left hand, rubbing her ring finger and then wrapped her arms around me and held tight for a moment before looking up with a tired smile. "Let’s go home, honey." She released me only enough so we could turn and walk towards my car.

- end -