Dear Readers,

Rather than add a sequel to "In the Wind" I have decided to continue it with Part Two. Please PM me if you get confused. I hope you enjoy the story.

Jopar

Part Two: Fifteen Years Later

Chapter One

Malcolm Prescott Fischer sat on a bench watching Pino's pizza. In the three weeks since his release from New Jersey State Prison, he had watched a lot of cops come and go, but none of them were Morelli. Where the hell is he? wondered Malcolm. He was losing patience. As much as I don't want to do it—I'll have to get proactive, he reasoned. No one could really blame me. Besides, it's Morelli's fault; it's always Morelli's fault…then and now.

Forcing himself to relax, he stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes. He waited until Pino's was about to close and then walked inside—quietly sliding into a booth in the very back.

A middle-aged woman carrying a tray walked by. It was her section. He had noticed her interaction with various cops while he was waiting and watching. If anyone could give him gossip about Morelli, it would be her. "Honey, we're about to close, but if you're quick, I can probably get you a pizza to go," she offered.

Malcolm nodded accepting a menu from her. Oh, I can be quick, he thought to himself. I can be very quick…then again, he mused enjoying her abundant cleavage. What's the rush…life's too short to scarf down the candy. Candy should be savored one·bite·at·a·time.

"Ok…what'll it be?" she asked taking out her order pad.

"Small cheese, please…and could you bring me a coke while I wait."

"Sure thing, Sugar. Let me just get this order in."

A few minutes later she came back with his coke. "Anything else?" she asked with a smile.

Holding her eyes, he turned on the charm. "I hate to ask and besides, you're probably too young to remember, but well…a friend of mine use to live in this area. I think he came in here a lot. I'm trying to hook-up with him…maybe, you might know how I can reach him."

"Sure…what's his name?"

"Joe Morelli."

"Joe Morelli, now there's a blast from the past. He got married—finally, to Stephanie Plum. Good God, took him long enough."

Malcolm winked and nodded encouragingly. God, I'm good, he bragged to himself, she's chatting away like a spewing steam engine.

"Anyway, he moved his family to a small town in Pennsylvania—Montrose, I think it was..yeah, that was it. Gee, that must a been 15 years ago."

"His family?"

"He had a sweet little girl—born just before they moved. That would put her 15 now. Come to think of it, I think I heard he might of have had a boy, too…oh, hell, maybe that was someone else."

Malcolm smiled. This is going to be fun, he thought, Morelli with a delicate little wife and two fragile kids. Oh, yeah, I really going to enjoy this. Turning his attention back to the waitress, he gently took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and gallantly kissed it. "Thank you, sweet lady…I'll look him up in Montrose."

She beamed, "Listen, tell him Darlene said hey, and you come back to Pino's if you need anything else."

"Thanks, I will."

Malcolm stepped outside and strolled out of sight. Dumping his pizza in the nearest trash can, he fastened his coat tightly around him and pulled on leather gloves. Pino's was now closed; he could see his waitress cleaning tables and replacing the chairs. Moving deeper into the shadows, he leaned against a wall to wait. He figured she would be done in an hour or so. He was right.

"See you tomorrow," he heard her call on her way out the door.

Silently, he followed her to her car. Grabbing her roughly, he covered her mouth and pulled her to him.

She whimpered against his palm and tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

He tightened his grip and whispered to her. "Since you're such a good friend of Morelli's, and you did say to come back to Pino's if I need anything else—well…consider me back, and what I need is to play." He pulled her into the shadows of a dark alleyway and…played. Besides, he reasoned, in the end, it's Morelli's fault…everything is Morelli's fault. After he was finished with her, he kissed her unseeing eyes goodbye and whispered into her unhearing ears. "Don't fret, Darling, I'll be sure and tell Joe Morelli you said hey." With that message conveyed, he scooped up his trinkets and left.

…

If Darlene's eyes could still see, she would have watched the shadows part a few minutes later and a pair of shiny black shoes amble toward her. The shoes stopped and knelt by her body. Being carefully not to disturb anything, a thinly gloved hand reached out and checked for a pulse…nothing. Having confirmed her death, the hand reached into a pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and hit the number 1 on speed dial. "Move Malcolm Prescott Fischer's file to activated. I will update it periodically," hissed the caller.