Thank you for reviewing. I hear no one is going to mind if I focus mostly on Gale and Dewey... so that's what I'm going to do. :) (I do still have plans for future chapters to center around other characters... but Gale and Dewey will almost definitely get more attention than the others...

Anyway... Here you go:

xxxxxx

Dewey glanced over at Gale. She looked shaken, but yet still maintained a bit of confidence and defiance. If the sheriff accused her of anything when they reached the station, he was certain she'd yell at him and fight with him over any accusation, even if she really was guilty. Dewey therefore relished the few minutes he had on the short car ride over there. Sheriff Jones was obviously furious with her when he saw her news report, so he'd surely confront her about it when given the opportunity. For this reason, he dreaded having the reporter and the sheriff in the same room.

He focused on the road as they drove in silence. He wondered what Gale was thinking right now. She obviously had encountered death before, two years ago, so it wasn't something completely foreign. Even so, he was certain it was still shocking and traumatic to have witnessed someone die. Especially in a violent way such as what Gale had been witness to. The 911 operator didn't die of natural causes... she was stabbed, as far as Dewey could guess at least.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Gale finally said.

Dewey looked over at her. She was staring at her hands and wore an expression of disbelief and disgust. Her hands were in her lap, one balled into a fist. She moved the fingers of the other hand, as though she was trying to somehow just shake the half-dried blood off. Dewey wished he had something to help her clean her hands with. He looked back at the road, and then glanced back at Gale, who was looking back at him now, waiting for his answer, "Oh... Just basic stuff... about what you witnessed... Anything unusual you saw before it happened... We'll cover it all in detail at the station..."

Gale rolled her eyes, "Not that..." she scoffed, "you called me before... You wanted to talk to me..."

"Oh, that..." Dewey hesitated, smiling nervously and pretending to have to put all of his focus on driving so as to avoid the question. What should he say? Should he tell her the sheriff wanted him to arrest her? Would the sheriff bring it up later anyway? "What do you think?" he finally asked, glancing over at her again.

Gale frowned, "I think you're angry with me," she admitted.

Dewey frowned too. It was difficult to be angry with her when she looked so vulnerable. She had just watched someone die, and was covered in that person's blood. She was probably terrified, "Why don't we not worry about that for now?" Dewey suggested.

Gale shook her head, "Maybe I meddle too much in things that I should just leave alone," she offered, staring down at her hands, which were both in tight fists in her lap now.

"Well..." Dewey started, "that's what reporters do..." He didn't want her to think what she did was alright, but he didn't want her to feel guilty either. The woman who had died was the same woman Gail had interviewed, but there was no way Gale could have known the 911 operator was going to be killed...

"Dewey..." Gale looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"Gale..." Dewey felt very uneasy now. He slowed the car down, pulling off to the side of the road and putting it in park. He leaned in closer to her, "what's wrong?" he asked, immediately regretting it. Why did he always have to say the most stupid thing possible? He already knew what was wrong... Obviously... Gale had just seen someone die, while she had tried to save her... and it was someone she had just talked to. She also probably felt like she might be a target, since the killer may have been right there in the park... maybe even watching her... Dewey frowned to himself... The killer could have just as easily killed Gale instead... He didn't even want to think of that.

"It's my fault Bethany's dead," Gale told him, tears shining in her eyes. He could tell she was putting a lot of effort into keeping those tears from falling.

"You tried to save her," Dewey assured her. "There's nothing you could have done more... You did everything you could."

Gale shook her head and held up her fist, opening her fingers to reveal a very bloody and crumpled piece of paper.

"What's this?" Dewey looked at her, taking the paper from her and smoothing it out. She didn't answer, but just continued to stare into his eyes. He looked down at the paper and read it out loud, "Gale, watch out who you are talking to. No one likes a nosy reporter..." frowning, he looked back at Gale whose wide eyes looked back at him. He looked back down at the paper and finished the last sentence, "Don't meddle." he read.

"It's my fault," Gale said again, "he killed her because of me... Because I talked to her on my news report..."

"Where did you get this?" Dewey asked her.

"Bethany," Gale responded, "she gave it to me... The killer must have given it to her and told her to pass it on to me..."

Dewey winced, the cop in him knowing he may have very well just messed up a piece of evidence. If the paper did have any prints on it from the killer, Dewey may have smudged them under his own prints... That is, if Gale hadn't already destroyed them... He placed the paper carefully on the dashboard of the car and focused on Gale again, "Don't feel like this was in any way your fault, Gale."

She shook her head, "the note pretty much explains it, Dewey," she frowned.

"Just because he wrote this doesn't mean it's true!" Dewey argued, feeling angry that Gale was letting this get to her. She never cared what anyone said about her... And she certainly never accepted blame for anything, even when it actually was her fault, "You can't read his mind, Gale. Maybe he'll kill me because you talked to me; how could you prevent that? You couldn't know he was even paying attention to what you were doing... There's no way you could have foreseen this."

"What if he does kill you next?" Gale whispered. Her eyes were wide and fearful, "Does the note imply that anyone I talk to will be killed? I'm a reporter, talking to the cops... That looks an awful lot like meddling to me..."

Dewey sighed, "Well... I think you should just lay low for a while... maybe don't interview anyone else."

"Obviously," she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and looking away from Dewey. Her emotional side was quickly being buried by her pushy, know-it-all side.

Dewey sighed and put the car back into gear. He pulled back onto the street, avoiding eye-contact with the reporter, "Let's just get down to the station, and we'll sort all this out." He couldn't help but have a bit of an angry tone to his voice, but only just a slight tone, of course. He hated how Gale was always so defensive. He knew she was emotional and scared right now; he wished she would just express her true feelings instead of lashing out at him.

...

Gale followed Dewey up the steps and into the police station, noticing his limp, just as she had earlier in the day. As soon as she entered the building, she was immediately greeted by Sheriff Jones, who wore an angry expression on his face. Gale winced and held her breath. He was probably going to yell at her for sharing the police report on the news. She dealt with criticism and anger all the time though, so she knew she could handle it.

"Miss Weathers," he muttered, gesturing toward an office apart from the main room.

Gale followed the sheriff into the office without speaking a word. Dewey followed her.

"Have a seat," the sheriff offered, but didn't sound like he was offering to be nice, but rather so that he'd be standing, looking down at her, as some sort of superiority tactic.

Gale narrowed her eyes, "I'll stand," she stated.

Jones stared at her for a moment, looking like he might argue, but giving that argument up before he even began it. Instead, he got right to his point, "Miss Weathers," he started, "are you aware that sharing a police report with the media is dangerous and a criminal offense? If we had told you the material in confidence and you leaked it, you'd be in trouble. If you eavesdropped and leaked the information, you'd be in even more trouble."

"Well," Gale responded, "my information came from an anonymous source. I was asked to not be a part of discussing the case, so there's no way I could have gotten the information here. I can use information from an anonymous source. There's no law against that."

"Gale," Dewey cut in, looking briefly at Gale, but then turning to face the sheriff, "It's not really important how you got the information..." he turned back to Gale, "you were a witness of a crime, a murder..." he turned back to the sheriff, "I think we need to discuss that."

"We're investigating a crime, Dwight," the sheriff retorted, "we need to discuss every aspect of it. The last person to see the victim alive, the person who is covered in the victim's blood... is standing right in front of us. She's got motive; this case is giving her all the fame she's ever wanted. She got so much fame from the last time this happened... She's looking like a pretty good suspect to me, and if she's claiming she didn't get her information from us, then where'd she get it from?"

Dewey looked shocked.

Gale felt shocked, but didn't let that feeling express itself on her facial features for very long, "You're not serious!" she demanded, half questioning, but mostly simply stating. She couldn't believe the sheriff would peg her as a murderer.

"When you start cooperating with our investigation, maybe we can clear you from our suspect list," the sheriff smirked slightly. He was enjoying this too much.

"Sheriff," Dewey was clearly uncomfortable, "She's not a suspect... she's a witness. She wasn't even in town when the first murder took place... And... well... I just know her better than you do. She wouldn't kill anyone."

"With all due respect, Dwight," Jones looked at him, "you seem to have a bias toward the suspect. You should probably not be involved in this."

"You're the one with a bias," Gale cut in, glaring at the sheriff, "you think I stole your case information, and now you're taking your idiotic prejudice to assume my guilt."

"Tell me what you would do, Miss Weathers," the sheriff stared intently at her, "someone was murdered, and you were there. No one else was... Who should we suspect?"

Gale opened her mouth, but wasn't sure what to say. She closed it again. How could she prove her innocence? She had been the only person at the park. How could anyone know for sure that she hadn't stabbed Bethany? Then suddenly, she thought of something, "Did you find the murder weapon? Look for it! Search me for it. That'll prove it wasn't me. If you find it, it won't have my prints on it."

"Why, because you wore gloves?" the sheriff looked angry. Did he really think she was a murderer, or was this simply personal, because he didn't like her?

"Look for gloves then! They'd have to be at the park, because I don't have any on me," Gale suggested.

"I think you should just stay quiet for now, Gale," Dewey suggested, looking like he felt very nervous for her, "We'll investigate, and we'll prove you're innocent. I know you didn't do this... But if you keep trying to prove your innocence yourself, you may accidentally say something that could make you seem guilty."

Gale ignored him. He was trying to help; she knew that... but she could handle this on her own. She wasn't stupid, "you're wasting time," she yelled, glaring at the sheriff, "you're wasting time accusing me when the real killer is still out there. I can tell you what I know, and you might get closer to finding this son of a bitch."

"I'm just doing my job, Miss Weathers," Jones said, flatly.

"You're doing a piss poor job of it," Gale stared at him, "You could take your hatred of me and pretend you've got a suspect here, ignoring the fact that an actual murderer is running around your town, picking people off one by one, or you could question me as a witness, and I could help you actually find this guy."

"You'll be thoroughly questioned," the sheriff assured her, "We'll get to the bottom of this." He seemed to be through with this argument, whether Gale was or not, "Dwight," he looked at the younger man, "take the suspect to a holding cell for now. We need to process the crime scene."

Gale looked pleadingly at Dewey. He wasn't really going to lock her up, was he?

"Didn't you send two deputies out there already?" another cop asked.

Gale looked at him. Where did he come from?

"I'd like to see it for myself," the sheriff added, "go on, Dwight. And check her for weapons."

Dewey looked down at Gale sympathetically, "This way, Miss Weathers," he frowned, putting his hand on her arm to lead her toward the holding cell.

Gale pulled her arm away from him and walked to the cell on her own. Dewey was actually walking behind her, as though she was the one leading him. She knew Dewey couldn't really do anything, since the sheriff had authority over him... but he could have at least given some effort. He was always trying to do everything by the book, trying so hard to do the right thing and to stay out of trouble. Gale hated people like that... but then, there was still something about this quality of his that was a bit endearing. It made him seem more innocent. Certainly his and her personalities would completely clash if he wasn't a bit of a pushover...

She waited for Dewey to unlock the cell and then stood by the door, looking at him, waiting for him to demand that she go inside. She wasn't going to go in until he actually made her.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Dewey asked.

Gale glared at him, "what do you think?" she asked, rhetorically.

"Do you mind if I pat you down?" he asked, "just in case... I mean... not that I think you have any. It's, uh, just procedure, you know?"

"As a matter of fact, Dwight," she started, sounding quite bold, "I do mind. Where would I put them if I did have weapons, Dewey?" She raised her arms up and turned in a circle. She was wearing a small shirt which fit quite close to her skin, and a mini skirt. There was no room for hidden weapons...

"It's procedure, Gale..." Dewey repeated, "just so I can tell the sheriff that I searched you..."

Gale frowned. She knew Dewey was still just trying to do the right thing. He believed her, or else he would have patted her down without asking her permission first. He had hoped she would just let him do it; that's why he'd asked, to be a gentleman.

"Fine," she said flatly.

He patted her down quickly, pausing while his hands were on her hips and looking into her eyes for a moment. It made Gale hold her breath, remembering the romantic history the two of them had. But now was hardly the time and place to be thinking about romance...

Dewey gestured toward the cell, silently telling her that she needed to go into it.

She simply stared at him, narrowing her eyes and frowning, "You know I didn't do this," she said quietly, so that only Dewey could hear her, "aren't you even going to fight him on this?"

"You won't have to stay here for long, Gale," he assured her. His expression showed his concern as he added, "besides... you're probably much safer in here than out there," he gestured toward the front door, "that note sort of implied that you might be a target..." Then he looked worried in a different way, the kind of way a child looks worried when he says something that was supposed to be kept a secret, "I mean... you don't need to be scared or anything... uh-"

"I'm not stupid, Dewey," Gale glared at him, "I read the note... I know what it implies. By the way," she raised her eyebrows, "are you ever going to share that note with the sheriff? He didn't really give me a chance to bring it up..."

"Oh!" Dewey looked embarrassed, "I can't believe I forgot about that..."

Gale sighed. She might as well just do his job for him...

"Did I give it back to you?" Dewey asked, looking confused and a bit concerned.

Gale rolled her eyes, "No," she could hear in her own voice that she sounded tired and maybe a bit frustrated "Check your pockets... or your car... I don't know where you put it."

Dewey stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, and then into his pants pockets. Then he just felt around his chest and sides as though perhaps he thought he may have somehow gotten the note stuck to his jacket without knowing it, "It... uh... must still be in the car..." he smiled nervously, knowing Gale was losing patience with him.

Gale shook her head, "whatever, Dewey," she walked into the holding cell and sat on the small bench along the wall, giving up fighting him, "he'd probably only claim I wrote it myself anyway."

Dewey walked into the cell and sat down next to her, putting his hand on hers, "His reasons for considering you a suspect are a little bit legitamate..." Dewey started, looking at her hand and then lifting his own hand off of hers, "but there won't be any evidence against you, so you'll be cleared in no time..." He was still staring at her hands, "do you want to wash your hands?" he added.

Gale nodded and followed him back out of the cell and into a washroom.

"I'll bring you a clean shirt too," Dewey told her.

"I won't wear a jail shirt... Whatever you'd call it..." Gale said as she washed the blood off her hands, "if you bring me some prison uniform shirt, I'll just not wear a shirt at all."

Dewey smirked and exited the washroom.

Gale was glad he believed her. If he thought she was guilty, he wouldn't leave her alone in the washroom, because a guilty person might run off at this point. She knew it would only get her in more trouble, and would get Dewey in trouble too, so she stayed put. She took her shirt off and wet a paper towel, dabbing her stomach with it, as blood had seeped through the shirt and onto her skin. She examined her skirt. It seemed spotless, but it was black, so she couldn't say for sure. Her shirt only had blood in the middle, and not the bottom... so the skirt was probably clean... It was really the least of her concerns right now.

Dewey walked back in at this point. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, looking Gale over. She could tell he was surprised (pleasantly) to see she had already taken her shirt off. Gale couldn't help smirk slightly.

She handed Dewey her bloody shirt, "you probably want this as evidence," she told him, noticing he still looked like a kid in a candy store as he stared at her, "Dewey," she said his name, drawing his attention up to her face.

"Oh... sorry," Dewey looked ashamed, which made Gale smile. He was so awkward. He held out a t-shirt, that looked like one of his own, like a snug-fitting under-shirt, perhaps, "It's clean," he assured her.

Gale slipped it on as Dewey placed her other shirt into a plastic evidence bag. His shirt was loose on her. It felt cool, soft, and well worn. She enjoyed knowing that he wore the shirt a lot, so it must have been one of his favourites.

Neither of them spoke as she followed him back to the holding cell.

She walked into the small room and then turned around to see Dewey had followed her. He held his arms out like he wanted to hug her. She held hers out as well and accepted his gesture.

Gale pulled away a little after a moment, looking up into Dewey's eyes. He gazed back down into hers, and then moved down to kiss her.

"Dwight!" they both jumped as they heard the sheriff call out, "are you about done back there? How long does it take to put a suspect into a cell?"

Gale was glad the sheriff was not within sight. He probably would have been furious if he'd seen what Gale and Dewey had been up to.

She felt almost out of breath, as she and Dewey looked at each other. Their almost-kiss was lost now. The moment was no longer right. They had kissed many times before... and had gone much further than kissing back while they were dating... Even so, the kiss she had just almost recieved still made her skin tingle just like the first time they had kissed...

"I've got to go," Dewey finally muttered quietly.

Gale nodded, "See you later then," she frowned.

Dewey smiled slightly and kissed her forehead. He ran his hands down her arms and squeezed her hands. She squeezed back. He turned and exited the cell, locking it behind him.

Gale must not have hidden her emotions well, because Dewey reached his hand back through the bars, "This will all work out," he assured her, "I know you're innocent, and Jones will believe it too soon. So don't be worried."

"I'm not worried," she lied. She was confident there'd be no evidence against her, but she also wondered if Jones would see it that way, and she also felt relatively sure she might be wearing a huge target on her back. Whoever the killer was didn't seem to like her very much.

"I'll see you later then..." Dewey forced a smile and then walked away.

Gale sighed and sat down on the bench. Now she was all alone with only her own thoughts to occupy her. She was used to being hated, so it was no surprise to her that the sheriff had a grudge against her. He knew she had stolen case information. He couldn't prove it, but he knew it, and so she knew precisely whey he hated her. Even so, she was not used to be accused of murder, so this newest accusation had her a bit agitated.

Since she had nothing else to do, she kicked off her high healed shoes and tried to come up with her own suspect list.

Sidney and Randy could potentially be suspects, since they were involved last time... but neither seemed like the killer-type. Plus, they had both been away at school, as far as Gale knew... And she didn't think Randy would kill his own sister.

The note Bethany had given her was her biggest clue. The killer knew where to find Gale so he could deliver his message effectively. So who knew that she was going to be in the park? Dewey did... Dewey couldn't kill someone though. Did he tell Sheriff Jones where he was going? Did the sheriff know she'd be in the park? Because he seemed rather spiteful... and he certainly would have wanted her to stop meddling with his case information...

Gale's blood ran cold. The sheriff seemed the most likely suspect. He'd be able to pull off murders easy, and then go back to the scene to investigate... No one would suspect the police of murder... The note had told her to watch who she was talking to... Jones had pretty much said the same thing, telling her to mind her own business and stay away from his case...

What if the sheriff killed Dewey next? Jones didn't always seem to be too fond of Dewey... and right now, the two of them were together, driving in a car with no one else around... Dewey might be his next victim.

Gale had to do something... She shot up from the bench and ran over to the bars between her cell and the rest of the building, "officer!" she yelled out to the nearest uniformed person, "I need my phone call!"

xxxxxx

Ooooooooh... What's going to happen! Who's she gonna call? (Ghostbusters!) - not really... Ghostbusters wouldn't do any good in this case...

P.S. Sorry for any typos... I've had this chapter written for about a week now, but I haven't felt like proof-reading it. I still don't feel like proof-reading it... but I bet a couple people have been waiting for it to be published... I'm not encredibly stupid, so hopefully it doesn't have many errors...

This chapter was a little too long for me to want to read over it again... I hope you like it though. :) Let me know.