CHAPTER 1: A Shot in the Night

Detective Fern Walters lit a cigarette outside of the state penitentiary. As she inhaled the enticing, yet toxic fumes, she deeply pondered what the suspect had told her a few minutes before. There were six attackers according to the victim. Such a drastic number, Fern thought as she looked around the parking lot. There were some cars from the third shift crew, but half the lot was empty. It was 2:41 in the morning, after all. "It's dead time now…" the detective said to herself. "Somewhere out there, the gang of violators are scheming, strategizing to slay their next victim…" Fern spat on the concrete. Smoking always activated her saliva glands.

"You should really quit smoking there, Walters."

Fern turned around. Her partner was standing in the doorway to the prison. He was grinning like usual. Fern didn't say anything. She was not in the mood for jokes or games. Not at this point in the case.

"Can I bum a smoke off you at least?" Asked her partner as he walked up beside her. Fern pulled the cigarettes out of her pocket and handed them to her good-natured associate ("friend" would probably be too much a stretch). Her partner took one of the cigarettes and put it in his mouth. He then chuckled to himself. "Got a light too?" he said, handing her back the pack of nails. Fern took the pack and pulled out her lighter and placed it in his open hand. It was one of these fancy silver lighters you find in display cabinets at gas stations. "Thanks," muttered her partner, as he lite up too. The two detectives stood there in silence, each using every bit of nicotine to keep them awake. By the way things were going, it was going to be a long night.

"What do you think? Hard to tell her level of sanity," said Fern's partner, finally breaking the solemn silence. Fern finished her cigarette and flicked the burning stub out into the parking lot. "I think she's telling the truth, Baxter," replied Fern. Baxter, or Buster Baxter, as his full name, hit a long drag of cigarette. "I think she's full of shit," he said bluntly as he adjusted the collar of his jacket. It was cold outside, being November in Elwood City. Fern kept watching the parking lot. Why did she feel like they were being watched?

Buster glanced over at his quiet partner. "These attackers aren't stupid enough to get close to prison, ya know," he said. Fern's eyes started scanning one car to the next. No one in that van. No one in that truck…she put her hand into her overcoat pocket, where her loaded revolver was ready. "Try me, you bastards," she thought to herself as she felt the wooden and steel grip of the weapon. Buster finished his cigarette and walked down the two steps onto the pavement of the lot. He methodically put out the burning stub, and then flicked the stub off to the side where the small ravine was. He turned to his partner.

"We should probably go back inside and try again," Buster said as he began to climb up to Fern's level again. Fern nodded. "If she messes up the details of the incident, then I'll change my mind about her testimony," Fern said, and went to open the door back into the prison. BANG! A bullet whizzed right past Fern's head and made contact with the brick wall. Fern wiped out her revolver and started firing shots. It was the old, red sedan. She noticed it looked suspicious, but she wasn't sure at first. Now, it was obvious. BANG! Another shot was fired from the vehicle, this time hitting the slack in Buster's jacket. Full of busting nerves, Buster struggled to pull out his pistol. Fern held her ground and fired the remaining bullets. Click. Empty. Buster finally got out his firearm and turned to Fern.

"Which vehicle was it?" he asked. He was shaking a little.

Fern pointed to the suspected car, and quickly popped more shells into her revolver. "I think I got him," said Fern as she rushed over to her partner. The two investigators bent down and scurried behind cars for cover. They went from vehicle to vehicle, keeping full attention on their target. Several of the prison guards, each armed with .12 gauge shotguns, opened the exit door and yelled for the detectives. Buster stood up from behind their current cover and waved off the backup. "He's not shooting at the prison guards, that's a good sign," whispered Buster as he knelt back down. Fern kept her eyes on the red sedan. The driver side window was open. Several bullet holes pierced the door.

"Cover me, Baxter. I'm going in," Fern whispered as she made a cross sign with two of her fingers. She wasn't exactly a devout Catholic, but if God could protect her at this point of time, she would probably repay the favor by attending Mass for once. Buster gave her a thumbs up, and Fern ran over to the back of the sedan. She kept her head clear from the rear window. She figured the shooter was playing dead to lure them into a trap. Buster watched from the next row of cars with his pistol aimed right at the target. Fern made eye contact with her partner. They both nodded to each other, and Fern quickly got up, and ran to open the driver door.

"FREEZE!" she yelled with her gun pointed as she whipped open the door. Buster saw no movement. Then Fern lowered her gun. "It's clear, Baxter," she said, still looking into the driver side of the vehicle. Buster got up and ran over to his partner. They both looked into the vehicle. Fern was right. She hit her target. A bleeding man was slouched over the steering wheel. He was coughing up blood. Fern got him on the right side of the chest going through the abdomen, just where she wanted. To the left, and the shooter would have died of a punctured heart in under a minute.

Buster pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Fern grabbed the shooter and leaned him back. He slowly turned his head to look at the person who shot him. Fern ignored the eye contact and worked on unbuckling the seat belt. "Parked in a lot at 3am and you still have a seat belt on?" Thought Fern as she tried to avoid getting too much blood on her hands and jacket. Fern wasn't fancy, but that jacket wasn't cheap either. With the seatbelt off, the shooter could breathe easier, increasing chances of survival and interrogation. She then checked his pockets. No wallet. No ID. "Damn it," she thought to herself.

"Ambulance will be here in 5," commented Buster as he dialed another number. The shooter started coughing up blood again. It was dripping all over the steering wheel and on the wind shield. "They better hurry or we got a dead criminal on our hands," breathed Fern as she pulled out her inspection gloves. She quickly put them on and reached over the shooter and grabbed his weapon. After pulling it out of the car, the female detective scanned every detail. 2-barrell .22 rifle. Wooden stock. Made by Taylor Guns, in Pittsburgh. Buster hung up the phone a second time. "DCI Petrofus said she's on her way," said Buster. He looked over at the firearm. "Pretty pathetic rifle, huh?" Fern nodded, and looked back at the shooter. "Let's hope he makes it. This might be related to the case," she said. Fern carefully put the rifle down and pulled out her pack of smokes. "You just had one!" exclaimed Buster. Fern ignited a cigarette. "Too much excitement for one night," she replied as she looked at the road and waited for the Detective Chief Inspector (DCI) to arrive at the scene. "If this shooter is related to the case," Fern thought to herself, "then maybe this was the lead we are looking for…" The two detectives stood out in the cold, and anticipated the arrivals of both Petrofus and the ambulance. Overhead, the crescent moon became covered with overcast. Rain clouds.