Pt. 5

Peter moved away from the crime scene, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had, over the years, seen some bad situations on the street but nothing like this. That the woman had survived at all was a minor miracle. From what the uniformed officers told him of her condition before the ambulance had taken her away, it would be some time before she would be in any condition to be questioned. "Anyone see anything?" he asked in frustration, not expecting an answer. The silence from the crowd did not surprise him.

"Perhaps we should talk to her friends?" Miriam commented quietly, moving out of the shadows where she had stood. "They may be able to at least give us an idea of what she was doing today."

One of the officers pointed out a sobbing woman standing in the crowd, leaning against the wall of Caine's Kung-Fu studio. "That's one of them, Angie Devlin. She lives just down the street, above some flower shop. We tried questioning her but she's pretty hysterical."

Miriam sighed in frustration. "We won't get much out of her in that condition."

Peter spun around and glared at the woman. "Her friends been tortured and left for dead in an alley. Cut her some slack!"

"I can't afford to, Detective Caine." Miriam replied calmly. "He won't wait to begin his work on his next victim just because this little diversion has created such unhappiness. If we are to catch him, we must pick up his trail and soon. Before he decides he's not having anymore fun here and moves his game on to the next city."

"Game!" Peter replied, incredulous.

"Yes. It's a game to him. One in which he makes all the rules. The only way we can stop him is to find him before he decides to fold up the game board and leave us counting up our dead. Now go over there and use your boyish charms on that woman and ask her where her friend has been all day."

"Where will you be?" he asked stiffly.

"Looking for a familiar face." She replied, walking calmly back to the alley. Behind them, a silent figure turned and walked nonchalantly from the crowd, disappearing down the street.

"So, the little witch has tracked me down." The man thought, calmly strolling down the street away from the crime scene. No one gave the man a second glance. There wasn't anything to distinguish him from any one of hundreds of middle-age men walking about the streets on Chinatown, seeing the sites or hurrying on their way to some important meeting. If anything, he was more ordinary than most, of middle height and slightly chubby, with a round face and bright blue eyes. Women didn't follow his figure with their eyes, as he had seen them do to the young police detective who had arrived to look over his latest efforts. It was something that would normally have annoyed him, but today his anonymity was a blessing in disguise. "I'll bet her employers don't know she's here." He mused, stopping to admire a vase in the window of an antique store. "Well, we'll have to remedy that little oversight." He turned and continued on, pausing only moments to drop a used Kleenex in a trash barrel. No one looked at him long enough to see that the fabric was covered in blood.

Peter and a policewoman sent from the Precinct sat with the victim's friend, Angie, in his father's kwoom. She had finally stopped sobbing long enough to give him an idea of where her friend had been. "She and I were together most of the day. But she had to make a run to the post office and I had some other shopping to do. We made plans to meet at the café just around the corner. If only I hadn't let her go off by herself! I read all those stories in the newspaper about the Ripper, but you just never imagine something like that could happen to someone you know!"

Peter knelt in front of the distraught woman, patting her hand. "I know this must all be very hard but I've got a few other questions. Do you have a recent picture of your friend? We would like to have something we can show people in the neighborhood, perhaps jog their memories a little."

"I think so." She sniffed, pulling her purse into her lap. From it's recesses she extracted a photo of a smiling, auburn-haired young girl. The girl's green eyes shown with laughter from the photo, inviting the world to laugh along with her. "That's Anne."

"May I?" a voice behind them asked. Miriam moved into the room with quiet grace. Behind her, Kwai Chang Caine gently motioned his remaining students towards the door. Miriam took the photo from Peter's hand and scrutinized it carefully. "She's very pretty. But not a natural redhead. And those green eyes are contacts, aren't they?"

"What makes you say that?" Peter asked, noting the surprise on Angie's face.

"I found one of the contacts just a few feet from where she was found, buried under some trash. And a strand of her hair was caught in a some broken boards. Enough to tell me why he didn't try to take her away for later.' She handed two little plastic bags to the detective, the wandered across the room to examine Caine's small studio. "She wasn't a perfect beauty. Not like his other victims. But near enough so he didn't realize his mistake until he had her in his grasp. Most likely her contact coming out was his first indication that she wasn't like his other victims and therefore not worthy of his complete attention. That probably saved her life."

"But others will not be so fortunate." Caine commented quietly.

Peter motioned to one of the uniformed officers to escort the distraught friend back to her home. As soon as she was out of sight, her turned to his companions. "How long do we have before he strikes again?"

"Soon. But first he'll try to distract us. I suspect our man was in that crowd, sporting a new face to go with his new identity. He was watching us examine his unfinished work and that will annoy him. Like any good artist, he doesn't want his talents judged by his rejects, only by his finest works. He'll strike again soon. But first, he'll try to distract us. Or more precisely, to distract me."

"Why?" Caine asked calmly.

"Because he knows I know him. I know how his mind works, what motivates him. Even if he changes his M.O., I'll find him again. Some things he just can't help. So he must make sure I don't get close enough to finish the job I started years ago."

"You never told me how he got away from you the first time." Peter commented.

"No, I suppose I didn't. When I caught up to him, he had just found himself a new victim, a drifter he had caught coming across the border from Mexico. The young man was approximately his age, height and weight so when Forensics went in to perform their investigations on the site…"

"Site?" Peter asked, confused. "Wait a minute, what are you talking about?"

"Well, I did say I dropped a house on him didn't I? When I went in to make the arrest he triggered an explosive device he had rigged in the basement. I was lucky to get out with my life. We all assumed, from the evidence at the scene, that he had not been so fortunate. Now, of course, in hindsight I see that was a mistake." Miriam eyed the men before her coldly. "It's a mistake I won't make again. Nor, I suspect will he be willing to let me walk away from this hunt as he did before. I'm sure he knows I'm here to finish the job."

"How?" Peter asked, a cold feeling creeping up his spine.

"Well, I expect he was in the crowd watching us when we arrived. Sociopaths of his kind like to watch the reaction their actions stimulate. Next, he'll probably contact my employers and telling them I'm being a very bad girl. You see, Detective Caine, as I told your father I'm not supposed to be here. My superiors will be very annoyed to hear that I'm hunting this particular psychopath."

"Why?"

"Probably because they see it as a personal vendetta not a professional investigation. They maybe right. But I will find the "Good Doctor" and when I do one of us will be dead. Of that I am a totally sure."