• 2:02 a.m.
    October 8

    Driving the brand new unmarked black S.U.V. he had bought from the bonus he had received from the countless hours of overtime he had killed himself over, he kidnaps his third victim in his own suspicious yet perfect crime of murder. He spent countless hours of his precious yet small amounts of free time, planning this loathsome dreaded sin. “Thou shall not kill,” the majestic, commanding thought from the sixth commandment had entered the darkened depths of his devilish possessive mind, he found himself questioning his own mental health, his own mental state for the occasion he stops thinking, his mind focusing on the murky waves belonging to the lake of Tempe crash over and over onto the bottom of the bridge named after the college in Tempe.
    “Get out.” He orders, he watches him slip out of the car, onto the ground face first. He drags his captive; over to the shallows of the chilling water on the fall October night. The night of his sister’s birthday.
    He was kneeling beside the victim; a tall, lean, muscular, Hispanic male in his early twenties earning a psych major over at Arizona State University, the killer begins to tie the captive up with rope. His victim tries to fight against the restraints that held him. The killer smiles; the smile had held so much hatred, so much evil within foreshadowing the death that lay ahead. He pulls on rubber latex gloves, the solid strong shield of invisibility. The darkened zone held the metallic scent of blood. The call of death could not be rushed.
    He looks around, surveillance of the streets waiting… watching the streetlamps for any known sign of life. There must be no soul watching him commit this deadly sin. After he was satisfied no one had seen; he peers at his watch, marks down the time, the mode of operation, the symbolic time of death 2:12 a.m.
    He goes to grab the small black and gold knife, when he lets it catch the mysterious light of the full moon peering from the misty-red clouds. Piercing his victim had given him a strange, yet…utterly satisfying feeling.
    When the disastrous feat was finished, he leaves a final message, the warning of death behind. He signs his initials with the sacrifice’s blood. Placing the body in a symbolic cross, he takes off sprinting into the quiet depths of the night.
    9:57 a.m.
    October 10

    “Happy Birthday,” A voice behind me told me, twenty-six the year seems so young in the ways of the world.
    Sitting quietly in the one way interrogation room, I found the words flowed from my heart to my notebook, scribbling down the poem as fast as I could,
    “I have heard of reasons manifold why love must be blind. But this the best of all I hold. His eyes are in his mind, what outward form and feature are. He guesseth but in part, but what within is good and fair, he seeth with the heart.”
    My partner to the right of me suddenly stops the questioning asking for my notes, snatching my notebook, he lets it fall to the ground in a heap, and he takes me down to the ground with him, when Dirk Arthurs, a widely known drug dealer to the Phoenix area, decided to pull a gun and begins firing at us. “Get down!” Jack screams, covering my head with his chest and arms as the bullet strayed from its original target into the wall.
    “Someone always pays.” A psychotic cry coming from Dirk’s mouth, I saw the foam-like saliva pouring down his face onto his neck. Two more shots flared from my gun, the angle from the table was near impossible.
    “I can’t get an angle on him. Not from down here.” I whisper to Jack blowing my hair away from my eyes, reloading my gun, I found only two rounds left, the glass shattered around us, Dirk stops shooting to reload pausing heaving for breath.
    “Alexis, you need to get yourself out I’ll take the blow of all of this, from the Chief, and from the media, just get yourself out.” Nodding, I begin to crawl away on my hands and knees, heading towards the door. Dirk lets off a couple more rounds the shells landing close to me, when the door suddenly is bashed open, Sergeant Allen Noble drags me to my feet, surveying for any serious injuries closing the door behind me.
    “Where’s Jack?” Fear growing wide within his eyes as he watches me shake like a leaf against his embrace,
    “Inside the interrogation room, he needs help. Get more officers in there now.” I command, wiping away the blood from the glass with his handkerchief. More cops swarm the room; I heard the deafening bang of the table breaking the solid structure of the building. Rushing into the room, the dust begins to settle, I kneel beside Jack, helping him up, he pats the dirt off of his outfit, while a homicide rookie named Harper Cole reports,
    “Your suspect is running on foot towards Rio Salado near Ala Moana.” Running towards the patrol cars, I take the passenger seat hearing Jack swear under his breath in the driver’s seat.
    Stepping out of the car, I catch a glimpse of Dirk Arthurs running to the grand entrance of Ala Moana, immediately lost within the enormous number of crowds shopping during the holiday weekend. Grasping my shoulder, the look in his eyes reveals the mystery of carefulness and concern wondering where to take the situation until Jack orders,
    “Stay here and radio for backup I don’t want to lose him. For god’s sake Alexis, be careful.” He steps away from the car when he looks back staring at me with dark gray eyes,
    “I don’t want this to turn into a hostage situation either.” He sprints to the open door when he nearly knocks over a woman and her child. The woman sulks away quietly with her child going to her car.
    Nearly ten minutes have passed since Jack had gone inside alone, people come pouring out onto the main parking lot in large masses in a rise of dead panic Phoenix SWAT had been called for crowd control. The tinted glass doors burst open for the first time with Jack carrying Dirk handcuffed. He drags him over towards me.
    “Dirk Arthurs, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of my partner and of myself, also for the possession of illegal narcotics.” Throwing him inside the S.U.V. quoting the ever-famous Miranda Rights,
    “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish one, do you understand these rights as I have given?”
    Arthurs tries to fight against the cuffs. He grumbles through gritted teeth; the dark, diabolical look of evil written upon his face,
    “Yes. I understand my rights.” While I slide into the driver’s seat securing the buckle of the seat belt, Jack leans inside the window;
    “When you’re done with Arthurs, meet me at the crime scene. There’s someone I want you to meet.” I nod. He explains that he will remain here to speak to the press and to Chief Robert McHeartly who had just arrived.
    “See you there.” I let go of his hand. Leaving it for the wheel I drove slowly and carefully out of the mall, the emergency vehicles had arrived to check on Jack and the masses of people who had gotten hurt.
    Arriving at the prison gates, a gruff voice came from the entrance, “Sergeant Montana, thank you for driving the prisoner here, I certainly appreciate it.” The voice belonged to David Gerald, helping him was his slightly younger brother Thomas. They placed Dirk Arthurs in a single cell with padding along the walls. Upon leaving the prison grounds, I received promises of not leaving him out of their sight.
    The sun started to lower in the sky, leaving marvelous streaks of color in the sky I made it to the scene. “Montana!” Jack called, waving me over. I flashed my I.D. to Harper Cole,
    “Go on in Miss Montana.” He blushed scarlet, softly grinning from ear to ear,
    “Rookie.” I murmur, snickering behind my hand. I stopped straight into a man from my past life,
    “Alexis Montana, meet Special Agent Shaun Hammermill, he’s with the…” Shaun placed a hand up in the air, interrupting Jack.
    “We’ve met.” We said simultaneously. Special Agent Hammermill shifts his weight side to side, a sure sign of impatience something had changed in him yet nothing has changed.
    The body had been placed like the cross; arms were spread wide and his feet close together. Small dark bruises and fresh dry blood covered the victim’s wrists. It looked like suicide, but I knew it wasn’t suicide. “Smart killer.”
    “Andrew Zachary Kingman, age 19, five foot eleven inches, weighs two hundred and seventy pounds, blood alcohol level .20.” Shaun summarized reading the initial report.
    “Thanks. Got an address on the parents?” I ask him. He stares at me,
    “Do you have to be the one to make that call?” I nod. The sudden thought of emotion choked in my throat, I swallow stating,
    “I’d ask Allen to do it but it’s far too close for comfort with him. I won’t do that to him.” “Can’t anyone else make that call?” I stare at him with curiosity stinging in my mind.
    “You really don’t want me to make this call. Do you?”
    “I rather you didn’t. I’ll do it for you.”
    _______________________________________________________
    6:17 p.m.
    Walking up towards his best friend, who had been standing discreetly beyond the yellow caution tape hiding his face from any on looking cops, the yellow tape sealed off the crime scene away from any curious onlookers and the annoying, gnawing, nagging anything for a story reporters of the press, “This killing was a complete success. The cops have no idea, that; it was I, who killed Andrew Kingman.” He tells him quietly, with adrenaline pumping throughout his brain, breathing heavily with pride. His friend gives a small approving laugh, approving of the deed completed by his friend and of his own escape. Smiling, the sole smile reveals evil and death. “That perfect murder of yours was just on KTVK only a few moments ago… that b***h partner of yours knows far too much. She’ll discover your secret, thus discovering who you truly are.” The friend warns glaring down over at her, who had been talking to a reporter named Kathleen Chavez whom had been from KTVK. His partner rarely talked to the press; she had the same