Chapter Nine:  A Worthy Adversary

The anonymous white van with its even more anonymous occupant fulfilled its purpose, nobody gave it a second glance even as the man inside kept a careful watch on the glass doors opposite. He had been watching for some time now and was finally gratified when the object of his vigil arrived, striding at a rapid pace. He was only mildly surprised to see that Detective Sloan was accompanied by his father.

He'd learnt a lot about his detective over the last few months, had even got close enough to bump into him at the hospital where his father worked. There on a dual purpose he'd deliberately bumped into him as he'd recognised him stepping from the elevator, wanting to gauge his reactions. He had been impressed both then and when he'd seen him later that day, catching a hint of suspicion from him. It was at that moment he had realised that he'd been right, he was dealing with someone different here, someone who might even catch up with him, he remembered smiling at that thought, the detective had given him a puzzled look as the elevator doors had closed, if only he knew.

He had realised from an early stage that the detective assigned in this city bore watching more closely than the rest. In Denver and St Louis the assigned detectives had seemed bored, going through the motions, even when they had realised that they were dealing with someone different, with someone who killed more than once. Sergeant Sloan, however, really looked like he cared, had a sense of purpose about him, and that alone made him worth more attention than the others, that and his presence on the list.

The only person who had come close to putting things together before this was Detective Jarvis in New York, he hadn't spotted the pattern but nonetheless he had gotten too close, that's why he'd moved on to St Louis. The idiots there had just scratched their heads and got nowhere, and as for the imbeciles in Denver, they had more chance of catching a cold than they'd had of catching him. It had taken three bodies before they had even realised the killings were linked. He could have stayed much longer there but he had completed his ritual, he had to move on and wait until it was time to start again.

None of them had come close to spotting his pattern, only Jarvis had ever even interviewed him and that was when he had applied for and got a new job, in a new city. He had had to explain why he was leaving town, making it seem as though he was moving for a promotion, daring the detective to make the connection, slightly disappointed when the man had shook his hand and wished him luck.

No, he hadn't had a real challenge, not until now. Now the game was so much more exciting so much more personal. He'd thought it had been fulfilling before, but watching his detective that afternoon, as he'd moved to the latest body, had been so much more. Even now the memory of the anguish in the detective's eyes was delicious, Oh yes, much better, such a shame that there was only one killing left here, but at least he could make sure that that killing was special.

He was pulled from his musings as he saw Flanagan hand over the envelope. Reluctantly he turned the key to start the engine, it would have been good to stay and watch his detective react but that would be too risky and risks were things that you only took when they were calculated in your favour, besides he would get to see the fear. . .soon.

The white van pulled away and still it might as well have been invisible for all the notice anyone took.

--

Steve did not reach for the envelope straight away, allowing his professional training to take over, as his mind tried to process the implications. He took out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began to pull them on. "Has anyone else touched this?" he asked.

Ed Flanagan was momentarily confused when the envelope was not taken straight away, but quickly realised what Steve was doing. "I. . .er. . . only myself and my secretary, Miss Doyle," he replied, clearly flustered. "Like I say, it was on the top of his things and she handed it to me as soon as she found it."

Steve had taken the envelope now and was examining first the outside and then carefully feeling the contents, trying to decide if there was any reason why he should not open it, but he couldn't feel any wires.

"I. . . I'm sorry," Flanagan continued. "Fingerprints. . . of course, I should have realised."

Steve broke off from his scrutiny for a moment. "No it's all right, but it would be helpful if I could send someone over to get yours and your secretary's prints so that we can eliminate them."

"Yes, of course, no problem." Flanagan looked relieved at Steve's reassurance and Mark felt a good deal of sympathy for his friend. It couldn't have been easy finding out that the man you had been working closely with for more than six months was a potential serial killer. He knew from the couple of conversations that he had had with his friend, since Steve had made the connection, that Flanagan was finding it difficult to handle the fact that the killer was using his business to select his victims, so this would come as another blow.

Steve returned to his scrutiny of the package for a few moments more before looking round the lobby. "Have you got somewhere we could go to open this?" he asked. He didn't want to look at the contents here, out in the open, but neither was he patient enough to wait until he got back to the station.

Flanagan was clearly keen to do anything he could to help and showed father and son through to a small office. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked as Steve moved round the desk.

"We'll need all your files on Center Tech and Mr. . ." Steve searched his memory, "Williams wasn't it."

"Simon Williams," Flanagan confirmed, "I'll get all of our files sent down to reception. Anything else?"

Steve looked up. "Some coffee would be nice," he replied.

Flanagan nodded. "I'll get you some," he said, recognising the dismissal for what it was.

Once they were alone Mark and Steve stared at the envelope with an air of trepidation. Mark looked up first and watched his son carefully, trying to read his expression, but Steve wore his characteristic stoic mask and Mark knew that for the moment he had shut his feelings down, repressed them so that he could focus on the task at hand, and that worried him as much as the earlier displays of guilt and frustration.

Steve met his father's gaze and took a deep breath. "Guess I'd better open it." He picked the envelope up and carefully slit the edge before sliding out the contents. He let out a gasp and visibly paled as he looked at the photographs that spilled out onto the table in front of him. He sank down into a chair and began to go through the prints one by one, muttering brief curses under his breath.

Mark divided his attention between watching his son's reactions and looking at the photographs. Most of them were shots of Steve arriving at or leaving the crime scenes where the bodies had been found, the slightly grainy appearance testament to the telephoto lens that had been used to take them. He could only guess as to what each of the images was doing to his son, knowing the killer was out there and being unable to stop him was one thing. Knowing now that the killer had been watching, taking some perverse pleasure in his perceived failure, as each new body was found was quite another.

Steve went through each of the pictures before he finally looked up. "He's been watching since we found the first body," he stated a mixture of revulsion and anger building as he realised that the killer had been there all the time, watching. He picked up the sheet of paper that had fallen out of the envelope with the photographs.

Sergeant Sloan,

Well done. You are so much closer to stopping me than anyone else, but now you only have one more chance.

One chance to end the game for one of us!

Enjoy.

Steve clenched his jaw as he read, dropping the sheet to the desk he pushed the chair back and turned, taking the two paces to the wall, he stood and clenched his fists until his knuckles were white with the strain, his nails digging into the palm of his hands as he fought for emotional control. Before this he had needed to catch this killer to assuage his feelings of guilt and responsibility, to stop him from killing again, now he needed to catch him to save his sanity, now it would always be personal.

Mark stood and moved round so that he could quickly read the note without touching it. Then he turned his attention back to his son and waited for the explosion of emotion that never came. He watched silently as Steve slowly brought his emotions under control, almost wishing that he wouldn't. He had already been on a knife edge with the guilt and responsibility he had felt for not catching the killer sooner, for allowing more deaths to occur, but now the killer had made it personal on a whole new level and Mark couldn't help but feel that he needed some sort of release.

Still not speaking Steve turned back to the desk and busied himself with gathering up the photographs and placing them back in the envelope.

"Steve. ." Mark began, not really knowing what he could say that would help, but needing to say or do something. Steve looked up and met his gaze, his face still an expressionless mask, but his eyes betrayed the mixture of pain and anger that he felt at this latest attack

Words however, were unnecessary, as their eyes met, the offer of moral support was made and accepted in silent understanding.

Steve broke the moment, reaching down to retrieve the note. "OK lets get these back to forensics," he said, needing to get out of the room which had suddenly taken on a claustrophobic air. "And I need to get an APB out on Williams, and a warrant to search his apartment"

--

The next few hours passed in a blur of activity and Steve was grateful that he was not left with time to think, to dwell on what the killer's message meant nor on his reasons for sending the photographs, as long as he was active he could keep his emotions in check.

A search of Williams' apartment revealed nothing, he had left five days earlier packing up all of his things and leaving no forwarding address. He had had a professional cleaning firm in to steam clean the place, ostensibly to get his security deposit back, but clearly in reality to remove any evidence. Extensive canvassing of the area had left no clues as to where he could have gone, a frustrating dead end.

The envelope and its contents had been clear of prints except for Ed Flanagan and his secretary, and a team had been dispatched to Medi-Quick to see if they could pick up any there. The department had also brought in their own technical consultants to see if there was anything left on Medi-Quick's computers but since Williams had had so long to work on it, it seemed unlikely.

The frustrating dead ends continued into the next day, now they had identified the killer, they didn't seem to be any closer to catching him. The only thing indicating that he hadn't left the city completely was the note that accompanied the photographs.

--

Steve looked round the small group of detectives working on the case as he wrapped up yet another briefing that seemed to consist of dead ends and cold trails. Simon Williams had been living in the city for about a year, but there was no trace of where he had come from before that and even less indication of where he might be now. Nobody even had a photograph of him, they had had to rely on a police sketch. It had been over a week since the last murder and still they were no closer to catching him before he killed again and the strain was showing on everyone. Particularly Steve, who had attended Jeff Hollowell's funeral with his father, Jack and Amanda the day before.

"Any Questions?" Steve asked wearily once he had assured himself that everyone knew what follow ups needed to be done. There were none and Steve broke the meeting up, intending to throw himself back into the paperwork on his desk, currently his only defense against the ever present swirl of negative emotions that threatened to drag him down, a voice from behind stopped him.

"Steve."

Steve turned to see Detective Saul Elliot, and forced a smile, of all the people in homicide Saul was probably the man he was friendliest with, the man he was most likely to go for a beer with after a hard day. "Saul, how can I help?"

"Can I have a word?" Saul replied looking distinctly uncomfortable, he glanced around the room, "Somewhere private."

Steve frowned at the shift in mood, realising that something was very wrong, he nodded and the two men made their way to one of the interrogation rooms. Once inside Saul turned and spoke even as Steve shut the door, as though his resolve may fail him if he waited any longer. "Your name will be on the list." Steve looked momentarily confused. "The list of Medi-Quick customers." Saul supplied, and waited for the explosive reaction that he knew must come.

It took Steve a long moment to process the information as memories of conversations with his father and friends and with his Captain, flooded his consciousness. The note had clearly been a direct threat to him and the implications of the envelope being labeled; Sergeant Sloan, Homicide detective had not been lost on any of them, given that the last victims surname began h o, but the general consensus had been that Steve could not be a potential victim since he would never, would not have a need to, use a medical courier service.

They had managed to confirm that Jeff Hollowell had been getting medication delivered to control a mild form of epilepsy that, for some reason, he had not wanted the hospital to know about, which meant that all of the victims had been clients of Medi-Quick and since Steve was not, he should be safe. Even the profiling expert who had been brought in had confirmed that a switch in pattern was unlikely, and had suggested that the challenge was just to throw Steve off balance, citing the fact that several serial killers had taken great delight in taunting those set to catch them. It was all part of the need to feel in control.

Not that Steve hadn't considered that it might be better if the killer were coming after him, at least that would mean he wouldn't have to worry about another unknown innocent victim paying the price for his inability to catch the killer, but it hadn't seemed like an option, until now.

Steve walked across the room and sank onto one of the chairs. "How?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his friend.

"Remember last year when Sally and I were having problems?" he asked rhetorically, pressing on without pause. "Well I was having a really rough time of it, down all the time and I couldn't seem to shake it, I ended up going to the doctor and he put me on this new drug to help with the moods." He paused and licked his lips. "It's called Prozac, you may have heard of it."

Steve nodded, he seemed to remember reading something about a new wonder drug.

"Well I didn't want Sally to know about it and I couldn't have it delivered to the station. So I. . " There was a longer pause. "I got them to deliver it in your name, told her that you were getting it delivered through me because you didn't want your dad to know about it." He pressed on now that the confession was out he needed to justify it, to apologise for it. "It seemed a harmless deception at the time, nobody would have known about it if it hadn't been for. . . I mean how was I to know that. . ." he finally stopped and looked Steve in the eye. "God, Steve if I had known I never would have. . . I'm sorry."

Steve's mind was reeling, he didn't know whether to be more annoyed at the deception or the fact that it had taken his 'friend' more than a week since the initial threat to come forward with this information. He pushed the boiling anger he felt down, he would deal with his reaction later, for now he needed to focus on the implications. With everything else they had it seemed a safe bet that the killer really did intend him as victim number six.

--

Several more fruitless days of investigation passed, not that they didn't acquire a wealth of information from their investigations, and the ongoing contact with Denver and St Louis, but still there was no clue to where the killer might have gone to ground. Frustratingly, the source that may have given them the most information, New York, the place where this all seemed to have started, was the one where least was forthcoming. The death of the detective who had handled the case still hampering their efforts at getting cooperation, it wasn't that the detectives there didn't want to cooperate, it was just they had too many open cases of their own to spend time going through someone else's records. Eventually Steve decided that enough was enough and he went to his Captain to request permission to fly up there himself to see what he could find.

The argument had been a fairly short one, Steve easily countering all of Captain Blackwell's objections, all other avenues of investigation had been hitting dead ends, so anything that they might pick up from the New York investigation, which might give them a new place to look, had to be worth checking on. Steve's final point, that the only alternative was to wait until the eighth of August, using himself as bait to see if they were right about who the killer would come after, had won his case and he had booked a ticket on the red eye.

Steve stopped off at the hospital on his way to the airport and was greeted by Jack as he made his way down the corridor to his father's office.

"Hey Steve," his friend called from behind, moving to catch up with him, he patted him on the shoulder. "I hear you're going to New York."

Steve nodded "Plane leaves at ten," he regarded his friend critically. "Let me guess, you've got some cousin up there that you'd like me to say hi to if I get the chance."

Jack grinned at him, "Well there is my cousin Vinny, lives up on the West Side, he knows the best place to get a cappuchino and cannoli in the whole state, if you get the chance. ."

"Jack,  I'm not going on vacation," Steve interrupted sharply, and instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't snap it's just this case. . .  "

"Hey no problem," Jack said holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Knowing you're the target of some whacked out killer can't be easy."

Steve shook his head, the comment was as near to an expression of concern as you could get from Jack. Not that he didn't care, Steve had occasionally seen him with his guard down and had realised just how deeply he did care for others, he knew that's what his father had seen in him when he'd taken him on as a protégé, but Jack had a persona, a front he maintained, that had been drummed into him by his upbringing and sometimes you had to look behind that to figure out what was really going on.

Relations between the two of them had been strained for a while after Jeff Hollowell had been killed. Jack was unable to get past the fact that if he had been warned Jeff might have avoided his fate. It was Mark who had got Jack to see that, even with a warning, there would have been no guarantees, and if it hadn't been Jeff it would probably have been someone else. Deep down Jack knew he was right and had let the anger go, he could see how much the case was eating up at his friend and had done his best to go back to being supportive.

"So how many cousins do you have exactly?" Steve asked getting the conversation back on track. He looked across as Jack's brow furrowed in concentration.

"Is that in New York, or do you want the figure for the whole country?" Jack asked.

"On second thoughts," Steve smiled, "Maybe I don't want to know."

"Hey if you'd like," Jack said, "I could give you a lift to the airport, save you leaving your truck there. I get off in ten minutes." Steve nodded his agreement. "OK I'll meet you by the entrance when I've got changed."

They had arrived at Mark's office and Jack continued down the corridor as Steve went in, smiling a greeting at his father's secretary Delores.

"I'm sorry, Steve, you just missed him," she said, regretfully "He was called to an emergency in the OR, he asked me to apologise, said you should call him in the morning."

"OK thanks," Steve said, trying to hide his disappointment. He wasn't sure if he'd called at the hospital for his own reassurance or his father's. Mark had seemed remarkably jumpy for the last few days and, although he hadn't really said anything, beyond discussing it in the context of the case, ever since the possibility of Steve being the killer's next target had become more of a probability, Steve had noticed subtle changes in the way his dad treated him. Nothing too overt, the odd look here and there, a slight tendency to want to see him a little more often, to let his gaze linger on him when they were together. If Steve hadn't known his father so well he might not have noticed it, but it was enough to make him change his own behaviour slightly, checking in a little more often in an attempt to allay his father's fears.

--

The ten o'clock flight got Steve into New York at 6am local time the next day and Steve made do with the fitful sleep he'd managed on the plane. Despite the fact that it was still only 3am in LA, he headed straight for the Manhattan precinct where the investigation had been based. After talking with several officers who were involved in the case and filling most of the morning, he spent most of the afternoon chasing up the evidence from where it was stored and tracking down Detective Jarvis' case files.

It was late afternoon by the time he sat in a small dark office, and began to sift through the material he'd been given, and early evening when he made his first significant discovery. Picking up the files for Med -Speed, and musing that these courier firms didn't try very hard for original names, he opened it up and drew in a sharp intake of breath as he looked at the printout. Something had obviously been misaligned when the printer was set up because every section of information had the first two letters printed at the end of the line, with the rest printed on the line below, part of one mystery solved. He scanned down the sheets for the surname of the first victim, as he did so the sheet slid to one side and he noticed that the letters on that line exactly matched the letters on the same line of the page underneath, noticing further that that line corresponded to the profession of the second victim.

Excited by his discovery, Steve looked for the rest of the victims and noticed similar corresponding alignments on the sheets for all of them. Pleased with himself he carefully replaced the sheets in the file. They still didn't have all of the why, but at least they had the beginnings of the pattern. Heartened, he set about sifting through the other evidence with a renewed vigour.

By midnight, however, he was flagging to the extent that he caught himself falling asleep halfway through reading a statement. Several times in the last few hours he had lamented not having his father or Jack or Amanda with him to help him sift through this and provide some insight from a different perspective. As he stood, having decided to call it a night, he decided to look into the possibility of being allowed to ship some of the material back to LA on a temporary basis. He was certain that there was something in here that would give him a clue as to where the killer had gone to ground, he just wasn't sure that he could find it alone.

--

Steve was bone weary by the time he got off the plane and was glad that he did not have to drive himself home, Jack was picking him up since Mark had had to work the late shift again. His powers of persuasion had eventually worked and he had most of the files that he had requested in shipping boxes on the trolley in front of him, but it had taken most of the day to first get the NYPD to agree to let him borrow the files and then to fill in the necessary paperwork, and then he'd had to endure the long flight back, the time difference making him lose out in both directions.

He was relieved to see the young doctor, waiting for him, all he really wanted to do was get home and lie down in a proper bed. He would deal with everything else in the morning. He did his best to fill Jack in on his findings on the trip back to the house, but eventually gave up when his constant yawns made it difficult to remain coherent.

Steve opened the door bringing his case, whilst Jack followed him in with one of the file boxes, he estimated it would take them three trips to get everything indoors and then he would finally be able to rest. He was heading towards his room to deposit his case when he heard the muffled cry behind him and heard the thud of the box hitting the floor. He whirled round, trying to shake off the tiredness as adrenaline flooded through his system, just in time to see Jack crumple to the floor. Behind him Simon Williams stood, and Steve found himself looking straight down the barrel of a gun.

"Good Evening, Sergeant Sloan, are you surprised to see me?"

Steve stared back at the man he knew had killed 23 people, refusing to let any fear show. "It's only August 3rd," he replied evenly. "Aren't you a little early?"

"Very good detective," Williams said, stepping over Jack's prone form, "but I figured that you may be taking a little too much care by the time it got to the 8th. Maybe setting a trap for me? So much better if you come with me now. You can stay as my guest until it's time."

"I'd rather not," Steve said, watching for an opening. He knew that if he went with this man now, the chances were the next time anyone saw him it would be with a bullet through the brain.

"Ah, unfortunately I'm afraid it's not optional." Williams said, gesturing with his gun, "So if you don't mind."

Steve began to move, carefully calculating the distance between himself and the killer, waiting for his opportunity.

Jack groaned, and shifted, it was all the distraction Steve needed and he launched himself at Williams, using all of his weight to knock the man over, grabbing for his gun hand at the same time.

If Steve had been a little less tired he might have made it, but his reactions were just a little too slow. The gun went off as he knocked it out of the way, and he felt the heat sear across his shoulder even as his momentum carried them both down to the floor. The impact with the ground caused his shoulder to explode in a sea of pain, a white hot flash was the last thing he saw before his senses shut down.

Williams pushed Steve's body off him with a curse and took a deep breath to steady himself as he stood. He looked down at the spreading pattern of blood on the shoulder and tried to decide what to do. If he took him now he might not be able to keep him alive and it wasn't time yet, wouldn't be time for five more days. On the other hand, if he left him, he might not get the chance to get close again, and it had to be him. He kicked at the source of his frustration, eliciting a groan as he made his decision.