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Damien arrived at the police station, pulling into the crowded parking lot. He passed the investigators and security consultants that were at Darlene’s high school, plus a few other faces he hadn’t seen before. Damien pressed his way into the Read Off Room, where the commanders held their pre-shift briefings before the Hayeston cops hit the streets.

The room was stuffy and thick with testosterone. The majority of the people in the room were men, anxious to put a stop to the killer who appeared to have taken another victim. Like every disappearance before it, the clock was ticking and they didn’t have long to save her.

As Decker moved behind the worn wooden podium at the front of the room, Damien eyed each of the investigators, examining their hands and arms for scratches or bruises that could have been formed by the nails and fists of a dying teenager.

Any one of them could have been the culprit, a killer hiding behind the badge.

All the people in this building could know the details of Mark’s crimes, including the information withheld from the public.

Decker lifted his arms, encouraging quiet. Seconds later the side conversations stopped and all eyes were trained on Damien’s commander.

“Thank you all for coming here,” Decker said, his voice tired and gravelly. “Another blonde girl has gone missing. Her name is Charity Lynn, a senior at Hayeston High School, and a member of their track team. In preparation for an upcoming meet, she’d been jogging from her neighbor- hood to the water tower and back before going to school – a distance of over five miles. This morning she never came home.”

Damien peered through the crowded room, this time looking for Sanders. He was absent, as usual.

“We have patrols walking her route, looking for clues, talking to family, Charity’s friends, old and current boyfriends, but it appears more like the work of our killer. The fact that all of you came in such short notice tells me you feel the same.”

Everyone, including Damien’s commander, thought the copycat murders stopped with Darlene’s death.

Yet Sanders believed Mark killed at least one more victim and, if this new killer was murdering teens in reverse order, then the old detective was right. Thinking back to the three missing girls Sanders’ originally thought could have fallen prey to Mark, Charity’s disappearance matched most closely to that of Taylor Lawson.

Her original missing persons file spoke of her love of jogging, running daily along the rural nature paths two miles out to Devil’s Bluff and back. Like Charity, she left her house that morning wearing shorts, a t-shirt and jogging sneakers and never came home.

If the killer was amongst the investigative team, Damien couldn’t take him alone. He was still new to the party, with only a few months in the police academy. There were too many strangers for Damien to research, analyze and observe to weed out the good cops from the bad.

By that time, Charity Lynn would be dead.

Even though a lot of years had passed since Sanders served as a detective, he knew this department better than Damien. If anyone could help him find and stop the killer before Charity died, it was the old man.

After the briefing concluded, Damien approached Decker and answered his question before it could be asked.

“I don’t know where Sanders is,” Damien said. “He’s not answering his phone. I was going over to his house as soon as we were done here.”

“Good,” Decker said. “Keep me informed. And Hill…”

“Yes, sir?”

“You look like crap. When was the last time you slept?”

“About the same time you did, sir.”

Decker smiled, his weary eyes brightened for a moment. “Let’s catch the bastard and go home.”

“Agreed, sir.”

Damien nodded and left.

***

Damien pulled his Crown Vic up to Sanders’ house. His car was gone, but a bicycle lie on the grass near the front door. Perhaps Tobin would know how to reach his father.

Damien walked with a purpose up to the door. For once he felt like he wasn’t playing from behind. Charity was missing, but no one other than Sanders and Damien knew how to tie that to Mark.

Damien read the old detectives notes on his theories, but they were brief in comparison to the case notes of Mark’s other murders. They were lightly sketched, not details of a crime.

Sanders was the only one who could tell Damien the information he didn’t write down, the hunches that led him to believe Taylor Lawson belonged on Mark’s murder sheet. That information may be the only way to save Charity.

\Damien wrapped on the wooden front door. A few moments later, Tobin opened it, greeting him with a surprised smile.

“Detective Hill,” Tobin said. “What a nice surprise.”

“May I come in?” Damien asked.

“Sure. That’d be awesome.”

Damien entered the musty house as Tobin closed the front door.

“Your father may be an ass at times,” Damien said, “But, he’s one hell of a detective.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone. He may be a little older, but he hasn’t lost his skills, no matter how hard things have been for him.”

“Do you know where he is? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”

Tobin lowered his head and chuckled.

“Me either,” he said. “He’s like that sometimes. Once he smells a lead, he doesn’t stop until he tracks it to the end.”

“He’s the most tenacious man I’ve met.”

“He is.”

Damien took a seat on the frayed couch and motioned for Tobin to sit in the chair next to him.

“You know, Tobin, my dad was not a good man. My childhood was not the same as most kids. I have a feeling you know what I’m talking about.”

Tobin blushed. “I do.”

“Funny thing about being a kid is you don’t pick your parents. You’re stuck with them, good or bad, and you want to love them, even when they’re not good at showing it themselves.”

“That’s right,” the teen said.

“I just want you to know, it gets better. Once you get a little older, when you’re able to move out on your own, you’ll be able to decide what parts of your childhood you want to take with you and what parts you want to leave behind. You get to decide who you want to be. Find people who help bring out the best in you. That’s what my wife does for me. She sees me as the man I’ve always wanted to be, not the screwed up kid with an abusive dad.”

“You’re lucky.”

“You’ll be lucky too, as long as you remember that you get to determine what defines you. No one else.”

“Thank you, Detective Hill.”

“Cadet Hill,” Damien corrected. “Besides, unlike my father, anyone who sees how your father looks at you knows how much he cares for you.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Tobin said as he stood. “Well, I don’t know how long my father will be gone. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Anything with caffeine.” “A coke okay?”

“Perfect.”

Tobin walked into the kitchen.

“Any news on the copycat?” the teen asked from the other room.

“We’re getting close. Unfortunately, another girl has gone missing, but I think we’ll be able to save her this time, if I can get in touch with your father.”

“Another girl is missing?”

“Yeah,” Damien said. “A girl named Charity. Runs track at Hayeston High.”

“Oh, like Taylor Lawson,” Tobin said. Damien tilted his head.

“That’s right. How did you know that?”

“I told you, I read all my dad’s files. I know as much about the case as he does. Maybe you and I could work together on it while we wait for him to come home.”

“I forgot about that,” Damien said. “You read all the files.”

“Every single one.”

“So, you’re one of the few people to know things that weren’t released to the press.”

“I guess so.”

Damien slowly moved his hand to his Glock and unclipped the holster strap.

“I think, with the two of us working together, we may be able to find the clues we need,” Damien said. “And show your dad a thing or two.”

As Damien was about to stand, out of the corner of his eye he saw Tobin and the flash of a swinging baseball bat.