Chapter One: Saturday

It was Saturday, and there's not much I hate more than hauling my detectives back in to work on a Saturday. It's bad enough to work overtime when you're in the middle of a case and see it coming midweek – it's far worse when you think you're clear and get sucker-punched by a phone call when you're about to go outside and play ball with your kid.

Of course, just because I don't like it, doesn't mean I don't do it when I have to.

I had to do it that day.

Eames the first to arrive in the conference room, which didn't surprise me at all. Endicott arrived soon after, complaining bitterly about missing her third Saturday at home in a month and her partner, Matthieson followed her in. Matthieson was – and is – an arrogant asshole, and he strutted into that room as if he knew nothing important could possibly go down without his exalted presence. McFredies and Millen arrived together, as I recall, and I remember thinking how weird it was that they barely looked each other in the face. Turns out my call had interrupted something that day – but that's a whole separate story, and I didn't figure it out until months later, anyway.

Goren was last, which didn't surprise me either, because he usually used Saturdays to go visit his mom. He must have made pretty good time that day, because I hadn't thought he'd make it back until after the briefing. It wouldn't have been a problem, of course. Eames was always like a human notepad – remembered every damn thing you told her as if it were written on the back of her hand – and she would have brought him up to date. But he was there thirty seconds before I was due to start, with his organiser under his arm and a cup of coffee in one hand. I thought for sure he was going to spill it as he headed across to sit next to Eames, but somehow he didn't.

Somehow he never does.

Anyway, with my whole team there, I couldn't put off starting any longer. I pointed to the photo on the board. 'This is Miranda McCormack,' I told them. 'Member of a militant feminist group called Medusa, who believe they're on a mission to eradicate dangerous and violent men from the world. Unfortunately, their definition of 'dangerous' encompasses pretty much anyone with a penis, so their activities aren't exactly well-regarded even in hardcore feminist circles.'

Eames leaned forward. 'Didn't Medusa take out a judge in Oklahoma a couple of months ago? Claimed he was sexist because he refused to uphold the right of a mother to smother a baby son because she didn't want to raise a male in her household?'

Goren nodded. 'The woman argued that she had the right to choose whether she allowed that which was produced from her body to survive. In her view, those babies would not have lived if not for her, so she had the right to take their lives away, but the judge didn't agree.'

'So along comes Medusa, and bang! No more judge,' said Eames. 'Lovely people.'

I nodded. 'Exactly. Medusa have been linked to seventy three homicides across America, and only twelve Medusa members have ever been brought to trial. The FBI is monitoring their activity pretty closely, but they're having a hard time figuring out the chain of command. In the meantime, local PDs are left to deal with individual chapters as best they can, with FBI backup as needed.'

Endicott sighed. 'You're telling us we have a whacked-out Medusa member of our very own to deal with, aren't you?'

I wished I wasn't. I didn't want to get involved in a high-profile case that was bound to get messy. I could just imagine the publicity. Women's lib groups insisting that the male chauvinist establishment left Medusa no other alternative but to push back. College professors and so-called experts debating the social pressures that led to the emergence of groups like Medusa. No-one ever seemed to see crimes like the Medusa case for what they were: crimes. Pure and simple.

But Medusa's structure let Homicide label it 'organized crime' and handball it straight down our throats. I looked at Endicott and gestured again to the photo. 'A patrol officer stumbled across McCormack bending over the body of a recently-deceased attorney.' I flipped through my folder and pulled out a picture of a man's smiling, handsome facce. 'ADA Thomas Puglisi,' I said flatly, and pinned the picture up beside McCormack. 'Thirty seven. Wife, two children, and number three on the way. Cause of death: exsanginuation due to multiple stab wounds.'

Eames frowned. 'If McCormack was caught red-handed, why the task force?'

I sat down. 'McCormack was unarmed when she was discovered. She claims that she stumbled upon the body accidentally, and that she was bending down to see if she could offer any assistance when she was found.'

'Was she covered in blood? Has anyone found the knife?' asked Matthieson.

I shook my head. 'She had a minimal amount of blood spatter on her, consistent with her story of crouching beside the body to check for a pulse. And the knife hasn't been found in the immediate vicinity.'

Matthieson rolled his eyes. 'Then she must be telling the truth. She must have stumbled over the body, and the fact that she belongs to this Medusa-group is nothing but coincidence.'

Goren cocked his head to one side. 'Not necessarily. Twelve trials out of seventy three murders – those are pretty good odds. It would suggest that Medusa has specific plans in place to prevent its members being caught and charged.'

'What better way to avert suspicion than finding the body yourself?' Eames put in. 'Takes care of any of the victim's blood that the police might find on you, and any fingerprints you might have left on the victim.'

'It's risky, though,' said Endicott. 'What if there are witnesses? What if the timing was off and the police find you before you dispose of the knife? If you can put such an elaborate plan in place, why not plan to never be seen at all?'

'Because then people wouldn't know,' Goren said. 'Medusa likes publicity, and as soon as the press finds out that a Medusa member was found at the scene of a violent, bloody death, they're going to get plenty.'

'Air space,' said Eames. 'Headlines. Interviewers asking anonymous Medusa sources why they see such drastic measures as necessary. Journalists writing articles on how and why Medusa arose. And all the while Miranda can stand back and say she's being persecuted by the police for nothing more than stopping to help an unfortunate soul she tripped over in the street.'

Matthieson – who was approximately as subtle as a Great Dane puppy and nowhere near as charming – looked like he had something else to say, but I didn't give him a chance. 'This is all conjecture at this stage, so we need to turn it into fact, fast. If Miranda McCormack did kill Tommy Puglisi, then I don't want her getting away with it. If she didn't, we need to find out who did as quickly as possible. Either way, let's not give these whackos any more publicity than we can help. It only encourages them.'

Matthieson stood up. 'I'd be happy to head up the investigation for you, captain,' he said, formally. He looked around the room. 'I suspect media commitments are going to prevent you from running it personally.'

The bastard was right, but I didn't have to like it, and it didn't have to be him. 'Actually,' I lied, 'I was just about to talk about that.' I glanced around the room, and made a snap decision. 'Eames?'

She looked up at me. 'Captain?'

I smiled at her grimly. 'You're in charge.'