Heron

"Holy Shit!"

Deputy Sheriff Heron Marque whirled his head around, just as a junior detective fell backwards out of a stand of brush, his hand over his mouth. The teenager shuffled backwards with his legs and free hand, swearing. Heron pulled him to his feet, and shook him.

"What?" He just stood there. "Rodriguez! Speak to me, kid!" Still nothing.

Heron turned to another nearby officer, grabbed his coffee, and threw it in Rodriguez's face.

"Holy Shit!" He said, shaking his head and brushing off the scalding liquid.

Heron took a step back. "Yeah, we know! Now, if you wouldn't mind, could you tell me what it is that's got you so worked up?"

The kid sobered up a bit at his calm voice. "Okay, chief. I was checking the bushes over there," he motioned towards where he had been moments before, "Like you told me to. I was feeling around the ground, and I felt something. I pulled back the branches, and, Jesu Christae..." He seemed to fade away again. Heron shook him back into focus.

"And?"

"Chief, there's a body down there."

Heron turned away, and reached into his pocket. He turned back around, with a cigarette between his lips.

"You've done well, kid. Go ahead back to the patrol cars. You're done for the day."

Rodriguez relaxed visibly, but shivered on his slow way back to the road.

Heron lit up, and ambled over to the bushes Rodriguez had indicated. In his surprise, the young officer had knocked a good number of leaves to the ground, leaving a clear view of a pale hand. A quick kick brought the victim's head into view, along with what was left of his neck.

The ground was stained black from the young man's knees up, with an impressive spray reaching almost to a small stream, easily fifteen feet away.

"Well, Cat, you've outdone yourself this time." Heron whispered to himself.

Another junior detective walked up beside him. "You think it's him again, sir?"

"Shows all the usual details. Victim's a nobody, just some random local kid. Done with a knife, none too neatly. Also, the splatter pattern matches an attack from above, so our little acrobat must have been perched on that branch up there." Heron waved his hand upwards, his eyes never leaving the ground. "And of course, we're the last to know about the damn thing."

The younger man swore under his breath. "Goddamn message boards."

"He's got quite a fan base, especially now that he tells them his exploits first. The crime scene's never clean, 'cause his "fans" always try to clean up after him. Not that there's much left to clean, that is."

"He sure is professional, boss."

Heron flicked his shortened cigarette angrily into the bushes. "Damn straight. He's about the only person who takes the time to be truly thorough these days."

Angry voices could be heard as a large white truck pulled up behind the line of police cars. It bore the olive wreath emblem of the Department of Internal Investigations.

"Speaking of waste..."

Riot-armored officers , all wielding overly large assault rifles, stormed out of the back and quickly established a perimeter. Their leader, bearing the stripes of a Captain Inspector, stepped up to Heron, barely missing his feet. Neither moved a muscle.

Heron broke the silence. "Nice entrance, Jackass. But don't you think a full armored platoon is overkill?"

The DII leader flicked up his visor, revealing a long-faced man not much older than Heron. "First of all, that's Captain Inspector Jackass to you. Second, we were told there were followers of the killer around."

"What, you mean the fans?" Heron asked, gesturing to a handful of young people lounging around the cop cars. "They're nothing more than star-struck children, Derrick. They couldn't even find the body."

"How such a gruesome criminal can attract so much positive attention is beyond me. I'm glad they didn't interfere, otherwise I'd have to arrest them all as accomplices."

"You know that'll do no good." Heron chuckled dryly. "But I guess that never stopped you before. Gotten that gang of preteens to talk yet?"

"No, they've been quite uncooperative."

"Well excuse me, sir, if a field trip group that happened to blunder over a dead body doesn't know anything about the murder. I wonder how that interrogation session went over with their parents. 'Now don't worry Mrs. Smith, it's just like a sleep-over, but with bright lights and cigarette burns. I promise Johnny will have a great time.'"

Derrick swept Heron aside angrily and stepped towards the body. "Joke all you want, Deputy Sheriff Marque, but it's our investigation now." He popped a round into the chamber of his weapon. "And don't make my team forcefully remove you this time. It's such a waste of manpower, and I'm sure your precinct can't afford many more medical bills."

Heron clenched his fists. "Maybe if your department would come down off their pedestal and let some real cops do the work, I wouldn't have to break my knuckles on one of your men's faces."

Derrick sighed, and snapped his fingers. The DII troops all lifted their guns to bear on the smaller local police contingent.

Heron's mind was already calculating the time necessary to hit Derrick, take his rifle, and open fire before he realized the hopelessness of the situation. He raised a hand, getting his men's attention.

"Still relying on your little leash-buddies, Derrick? Well, can't say I'm surprised. Let's go, guys. We should leave them some privacy for their "Departmental Investigation", or whatever they're calling it these days."

He walked briskly towards the squad cars, the junior detectives in tow. When he sat heavily in the driver's seat of his car, one of the teenage fans approached his window.

"Hey man, you just gonna leave the scene to those DII bastards?"

Heron smiled as he looked up at the young man's freckled face. "Son, how long have you been following The Cat?"

"Three years straight, every site. Cleaned each one 'til it shined."

Heron fumbled around in his pocket, eventually taking out a tiny digital camera. He popped out both memory chips, and flicked one to the startled teen.

"Then you know me better than that."