A/N: After a little sentimental Valentine's diversion, let's go back to the dark side.

Jeff continued driving up the rugged fire road until he reached the stables near the summit of Montara Mountain. At just shy of two thousand feet, mountain was a bit hyperbolic, but it was the highest elevation in the area and offered a spectacular view. San Francisco was only about 30 miles north of the park, but the drive had taken quite a bit of time on the twisting two-lane portion of the Cabrillo Highway.

The abandoned barn was just as Jeff remembered it and to his delight, the object of his quest was still present and intact. The large oval watering trough would be the perfect setting for his final diorama. He got out of the car and walked over to the galvanized tub, checking it carefully. A few inches of liquid covered the bottom, confirming it was still water tight. He checked the pump next to the trough. It spewed a rusty stream into the tub after a few tries. Even the color is perfect, he thought as he worked the pump handle.

From the position of the sun, he assumed it was after three. His four hour safety window was nearly up, but he assumed he'd have more time. The 1200 mg dose of the prescription sleeping pill was a large one, particularly for someone who had never taken the drug. More than likely, the detective would be out for several more hours, but the longer he waited, the riskier it got.

He would have thanked Todd Walters if he were still breathing, for his introduction to Quaaludes*. They were so easy to get; doctors seemed to prescribe them like candy these days, euphoric and empowering if you forced yourself to stay awake during the trip and ever so effective for incapacitating victims. Todd's use of the drug to make his sexual conquests compliant and less inhibited was despicable, but for Jeff's purposes, the drug was perfect. His victims died on the ride of their lives. He was willing to bet the cops never even did a blood test on the other victims.

Walking back to the car, he popped the trunk, retrieving and lighting several kerosene lanterns he'd picked up on his last visit home. Daylight ebbed quickly at this time of year and the lanterns would ensure ample illumination while he prepared the site. Lizzy was still out. He reached through the open window and checked her pulse, worried she'd been hurt more than he thought when she hit the dash. Her heart beat steadily under his hand.

The young man opened the back door and roughly shook the unconscious inspector. He was still completely under. Pulling the .38 from his holster, he inspected the gun and shoved it in the waist band of his pants. He wouldn't need a gun this time, for even the manner of death was prescribed by the artwork he had in mind.

Jeff grabbed Steve under the armpits and dragged him out of the car, across the grass covered paddock area. The sight of the lawn pleased him. It was an exact match to the verdant shade of carpet in the original. Perfect. Jeff dropped Steve's head and shoulders to the ground, panting from the exertion of moving the dead weight. He took time to make sure the body was out of the sightline of the car.

He retrieved a thermos from the floor under the driver's seat and opened the lid. Setting it on the roof, he pulled a small white envelope from his pocket. Jeff opened the packet, and poured the last tablet into his hand. He broke it in half, dropping part on the ground and dissolving the rest in the still warm sweet tea. Just enough to take the edge off. It was time to wake up Lizzy.

00000

"Looks a lot like my room when I was an undergrad." Lenny commented when the trio entered the apartment. The space was filled with an assortment of mismatched furniture that had seen better days and was littered with takeout containers and random pieces of clothing. Over by the window, an easel was home to a small canvas covered with a cloth. It was all perfectly ordinary.

Bill went to work, sorting through a stack of papers piled on the dinette table. Mike walked to the easel. Next to it sat a low chest, covered with various art supplies and a can filled with paint brushes. Mike uncovered the painting and called Lenny over to take a look.

"If the letter wasn't enough proof, I think this seals the deal." On the easel was an unfinished image of Lizzy Grisko as Madam Lisa Giocondo, the Mona Lisa. Mike picked up a yellow legal tablet from amongst the art supplies on the chest. It was a list, written in an almost illegible hand. He passed it to Lenny.

"Doc, I guess you're the expert on unreadable penmanship. Can you translate any of this?"

Lenny rolled his eyes at Mike before scanning the list. "Titles of Paintings. Looks like he had lots of ideas."

"Any you recognize?"

"Sure. These are the names of some of the most famous paintings in the world. The ones crossed off," he pointed to several scratched out lines, "are the images he already used."

"Any indication of what might be next. It could help us find Steve."

Before Lenny could answer, Bill spoke up.

"Hey Mike, I think I've got it. Brother's name might be Chris, lives in Daly City, south of town."

Mike walked over to the detective. He held a greeting card and its envelope. The front bore an image of duck decoy, inscribed with Happy Birthday, Brother in curling script. Tanner opened the card. Love, Chris and Dora was neatly penned below a printed message. He showed Mike the envelope with a clearly written return address.

"That's good work." Mike smiled and slapped the detective on the back. "Call Norm and have him update the APB. Then call the phone company and see if you can get a number to go with that address."

While Mike was distracted, Lenny left the living area and entered the bedroom.

The unmade bed was flanked by a nightstand. Lenny picked up the prescription bottle and read the label, shaking his head. He called for Mike.

"Quaaludes. Dear God, I wish doctors would stop prescribing these things." Lenny showed the bottle to Mike. "I don't know if you've gotten the toxicology report for your victims, but I'd bet this is what he used to knock them out. It might even be the chemical courage that started it all."

Mike shook his head. His stomach knotted as he imagined Steve incapacitated by the drug. Time was running out. "Did you see anything that might give us a clue where he is?"

After a fruitless 15 minutes, emptying drawers and looking through cabinets, they were no closer to figuring out the location of Jeff Powers.

Bill had been on and off the phone, finally getting a line on Chris Powers. "I spoke to the wife, she said he'd be home from work shortly. Apparently they live in the house Chris and Jeff grew up in, bought it from the parents when they retired. He still has a room, spends the summers there."

Fear made Mike momentarily doubt his own instinct. If he guessed wrong, it could cost Steve his life. He looked at Lenny with a question in his eyes, Lenny responded.

"There's nothing here to find. You need to talk to the brother, if he still has a room, maybe…"

That was all Mike needed to hear. "Looks like we're going to Daly City."

00000

Jeff shook Lizzy until she opened her eyes, pushing the tea into her hand. "You hit your head on the dash. You've been out for a little while."

Lizzy was more than confused, she was totally blank. She felt even worse than she did earlier in the day. She drank a sip of the tea and looked around, having no idea where she was or why she was there. "Where are we?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, no, wait, we went to the funeral, but the rest is kind of a blank. Hey, where's Steve?"

Jeff decided to push his luck. "When he woke up, he saw that you were asleep. He decided to let you rest while he took a look around. He's a nice guy. Go ahead, finish your tea, I can't wait for you to see the view."

None of this made sense, but for the life of her, she couldn't dial up a better narrative. Her head was pounding and the tea seemed to be just what she needed, so she drained the thermos. Maybe it would help clear the fog.

"That's a good girl. I was really worried about you." He tenderly stroked her hair as she shut her eyes. To his surprise, she drifted off again. He smiled. When she woke, she should be just pliant enough to help him finish the job.

He went to work. Jacques Louis David had always been one of his favorite artist. His hyper-realistic style gave an air of gravitas to all his subjects and Jean-Paul Marat was no exception. Martyred by Charlotte Corday in the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution, his fellow revolutionary David memorialized the murder in an elegant painting reminiscent of the old masters.

Lizzy would act as Charlotte, clearing the final obstruction to their life together. While this pig was no noble martyr, he was handsome and well proportioned. He would play the role of Marat admirably.

Jeff returned to the trunk, picking up bolts of ecru and green linen, a 3 foot length o lumber and a silver knife. He then set about preparing the detective. The shirt had to go and was easily cut free, but he'd need the leverage his pants and belt provided to hoist the inspector into the tub. The rusty water would camouflage the trousers.

It was a challenge to muscle him into the tub. The cold water sloshed over the edge and drenched Jeff's clothes. He didn't care and went about positioning the body. Head resting on right shoulder against the side of the tub, and arm draped outside, knuckles gracefully kissing the grass.

He placed the length of lumber across the trough as a substitute for a writing desk and placed Steve's left hand upon it. After verifying the pose, he carefully arranged the fabric around the tub and the victim, finally stepping back to admire his work. The Death of Marat had never been so visceral or affecting, it brought him to tears. Jeff picked up the knife and looked at his watch. It was almost time.

*A little bit about Quaaludes. Before they were banned entirely in the US in the early 1980's, although calls for banning them go back as early as 1973, Quaaludes were the number one prescribed sedative/sleeping pill. Their hallucinogenic properties were quickly discovered and abused, particularly on college campuses in the 60's and 70's. The pills were fairly cheap and easy to get.

Their effect on the user is similar to alcohol, but greatly enhanced, and they were often mixed with alcohol for a bigger high. In small doses they lower inhibition and causes delusions. They were also the drug of choice for "date rape" before the term even existed and were replaced by Rohypnol and Ketamine (Special K) for that purpose. They have been in the news again lately as part of the ongoing investigation into the actions of American comedian Bill Cosby.

I have heard from several people that the casual references to recreational drugs, alcohol and sex in this story are off putting. I get it, but it was the early 70's. I am not condoning those behaviors, but nothing I have referenced here was out of the ordinary for a lot of Art students and many college students of the era. Except for the psychopath bit. LOL