The Luck of the Dice

{c}Copyright 2004 - Bruce Gaughran

Jimmy’s father had always told him that Yahtzee and hunting were a lot alike. In Yahtzee, you never knew what combination of numbers was going to come up, but if you were smart and lucky, it would always be a winning combination. Similarly, with hunting, you never knew what game would end up in your sights, but if you were smart and lucky, you would bring home the kill.


Monday, May 19 – Rural Manchester County

After finishing dinner and cleaning up, Jimmy opened the closet and pulled out his favorite game - Yahtzee. He walked over to the kitchen table, opened the box, pulled out two dice, and threw them down on the table. The dice tumbled and spun around several times before a ‘4’ and a ‘6’ came up. He picked up two more dice from the box, shook them twice, and threw them down. This time a ‘1’ and a ‘3’ came up.

“Thirteen was definitely going to be someone’s unlucky number,” he mumbled as he counted down thirteen names on page 46 of the Manchester County telephone book. His fingers traced over the name as he commented, “J. A. Iverson, 414 West Walnut, North Bergen.”

He wondered for a moment if J. A. was a man or a woman. Often women only used their initials in the phone book to disguise their gender. But, in reality, Jimmy didn’t care what gender the person was; all that mattered was that the Mr. or Ms. Iverson still lived at 414 West Walnut.

The only question left was when. He picked up the last die in the box, shook it three times, and threw it down. This time a ‘1’ came up. Well, Iverson certainly was unlucky. ‘1’ meant Monday and today just happened to be Monday.

Picking up the Army-issue 45 and ammunition clip from the kitchen cabinet above the sink, he rammed the clip into the butt of the automatic and slid the receiver back. When he released the receiver, it made a clicking sound as the bullet seated into the chamber. Jimmy loved that sound because it gave him a sense of power.

Next, he carefully slipped the surgeon’s scalpel out of its homemade carrying case, and ran his thumb along the edge. Yes, it was nice and sharp, just the way he needed it.

If someone were to watch him as he prepared, they would immediately recognize that he was a perfectionist – leaving nothing to chance. That was why he had never been, nor ever would be, caught. Jimmy was a meticulous planner and left nothing to chance.

He reached underneath the sink and pulled out his gym bag. Placing both items carefully into the bag, he scratched off these two items on his checklist before packing the rest of the tools of his trade. Cotton gloves, surgical gloves and booties, one set of intern’s green scrubs, one surgical mask and cap, two pair of cotton socks, one bottle of ether, one box of cotton, one heavy-duty trash bag, a can of lighter fluid, a Zippo lighter, gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, jogging shorts, a box of Handi-Wipes, and a collapsible cooler with a chemical icepack. He carefully placed every item into the bag and zipped it closed.

Taking the bag with him, he walked into the bathroom. Using a straight razor, he shaved his face, his eyebrows, and head, showered, brushed his teeth, plucked his nose hairs, and cleaned and trimmed his nails. Jimmy always wanted to give a positive ‘last’ impression. As he cleaned up, he hummed Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony … placing extra emphasis on the ‘Da-da-da-DUM!’

Walking nude back into the bedroom, he carefully unzipped the gym bag, removed the jogging shorts, scrubs and one pair of socks, and zipped the bag closed again. As he dressed, he looked into the mirror and admired his physically fit appearance. It just goes to show what clean living and a healthy diet does for a man.

After one final check of the list, he carried the bag out to his ’96 blue Ford Taurus and carefully placed it on the passenger-side seat. As he pulled out of the driveway, he stopped to pick up the evening paper. He quickly scanned each page and was disappointed when he didn’t find any mention of ‘the Collector’ until page 6. There in the lower right corner was a three-paragraph article with the heading, “Police no closer to identifying the Collector.” Jimmy smirked as he read ‘the Collector’ in the heading. The Manchester County Free Press had given him that name after the second murder. They assumed that he was collecting the organs from his victims as some kind of prize.

He intently read and reread the three paragraphs, paying close attention to any references to the on-going investigation. He laughed as he read that the police continued to use the Federal and State databases to find any possible links to the seven victims. Jimmy only knew of one link, the Yahtzee dice. The dice decided who would die and when. No one died on a Sunday; no victims’ names were ever on pages 17-20, 27-30, and so on, of the telephone book; or were that number of lines down the page since the dice did not have a 7, 8, 9, or 0. He also had the option of deciding how the two dice read. A 3 and a 4 could be 7 or 34 depending upon how he felt that day. Boy did he like Yahtzee.


Monday Evening - North Bergen

Driving the thirty-three miles into North Bergen, he hummed what he remembered of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Jimmy liked most classical music. It was very calming, especially right before a collection. There was something about the way composers like Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, and Mozart could create perfectly harmonious music. Perfect in every way. Just like his collecting.

A few miles outside of town, he pulled into a QuikMart to use the phone. He dialed the number he had memorized earlier that day and after three rings a female’s voice answered the phone.

“Mrs. Iverson,” he inquired.

“No, this is Ms. Iverson,” was the response. “Who’s calling?”

“I am calling for the Christian Children’s Relief Fund. Could I take a few moments of your time and explain how this non-profit organization helps our poor and needy children?”

“No thank you,” was the immediate response. “And, would you please take my name off your calling list?”

“Why certainly, ma’am. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” Jimmy hung up the phone, shook his head, and mumbled, “She’s not much of a Christian woman if she isn’t prepared to help some starving children.” Jimmy then chuckled at Ms. Iverson’s request. After tonight, Ms. Iverson's name will be removed from many lists.


Thirty minutes later, Jimmy watched the look on the woman’s face as he carefully sliced opened her adnominal cavity. Still partially awake, but no longer feeling any pain because of the ether, the woman calmly lies on the floor only slightly aware of the organ removal process. With the skill of a surgeon, Jimmy carefully removes each organ, packages it in a zip-lock bag, and places it in the collapsible cooler. Then, when it was time for the lungs, Jimmy leaned forward and focused on the woman’s eyes. With the initial slice, he watched the life slowly and quietly slip away. He sat back on his legs and took a deep breath. Removal of the last two organs was always anti-climatic and rather disappointing to him.


Tuesday, May 20 – Manchester County

Jimmy was up early and walked briskly down the driveway to pick up the morning paper. Before he was back inside, he had unrolled the paper and glanced at the headlines. At the top of the first page was, “The Collector Strikes Again.” In bold letters right underneath was, “The police are baffled as to the killer’s motive.” All right, I am first page material once again.

As he sipped his tea and listened to Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony, Jimmy read the entire story of the gruesome, their words – not his, murder of this twenty-year-old college student. “No fingerprints, no one saw anything, no clues” – the reporter was really putting down the police department for their lack of progress on these eight murders. The reporter used the words serial killer again with a reference to these ‘Bundy-like’ murders. Now that made him mad. He was no Bundy!

As Jimmy prepared his breakfast, he reread the article again. Pulling out a pen from the junk drawer, he repeatedly scratched through the ‘Bundy-like’ words until the newspaper tore. Frustrated, he tore up the paper and tossed it in the trash. Bundy was an animal. The Collector is a scientist and an artist.

Even with his frustration over the reporter’s choice of words, breakfast this morning was excellent. The best he had eaten in close to a week. The sausage was especially good. He could hardly wait to try the new kidney pie recipe for lunch. Thank you Betty Crocker.


Tuesday Morning – Police Headquarters, North Bergen

Detectives Jena Young and Andy Donavon sat in the captain’s office awaiting his return. Captain Davis finished his press conference and returned to his office shortly after 9:30. As he entered, both detectives sensed the captain was not a happy man.

The captain fell into his chair and took a deep breath. “Just what is going on, guys? Why can’t we find this joker?” He gave a long sigh and rubbed his temples before continuing. “Jena, I know you briefed everyone at roll-call this morning, but go over it once again for me.”

Jena flipped open her notepad and, before beginning, read what was on the page. “Captain, this guy … or gal … is good. We still don’t have one lead. In all eight murders, nothing was left behind that could be linked to the murder. No forced entry, no witnesses, no sexual assault, no fingerprints, no DNA, other than the victims, NOTHING!” It was Jena’s turn to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, boss, but this case has Andy and me as frustrated as you.”

Davis knew the two were frustrated. He also knew that they were both first rate detectives. “Have you found any links between any of the victims … any links at all, for that matter?”

Andy fielded this question to take some of the heat off Jena. “No, boss, we have the FBI and the State Bureau running every possible scenario. Nothing at all links any of the victims. Even stranger, nothing links these murders with any other murders anywhere in the country. Jena and I hate to admit it, but we are stymied. We believe it might be time to bring in the Feds on this one ... that is, with your permission, captain.”

In Davis’ 23 years on the force, he had never had a case as frustrating as this one. No evidence, no leads, no links, nothing. Perhaps it was time to bring someone in. Their lab was understaffed and using 1970’s technology. When he approached the county council for additional funds to update their lab equipment, they had turned him down. Manchester was just a sleepy little county where the worst criminal offense was a speeding ticket or shoplifting. Hell, even if they had evidence, they would have to send it off to the State Bureau for analysis.

Shaking his head, Davis grumbled, “As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right. Let’s bring the Feds in on this one. In hindsight, we should have brought them in a month ago. But, before making the call to the Feds, call to the State Bureau and let them know what we are doing, okay? We don’t want them mad at us for going over their heads.” Davis sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “What else can we do to catch this guy … or gal?”

“Well, we have been consulting with a Criminologist at the Bureau,” Jena jumped in. “She is also a profiler. She has her usual guesses including believing that the murder is a white male, between 30-to-40 years old, single, educated, and comes from a broken home. Without any additional clues and any links between the victims, she can’t say much more.”

“With that information, we have narrowed it down to a little over 15,000 possibilities in the county,” Andy chuckled. “That is, if the murderer lives in the county.”

Jena recognized the captain’s negative facial expression with Andy’s comment, and continued, “The profiler believes we should issue a county-wide notice asking everyone to be on the lookout for anyone fitting this description. I am hesitant to put something so weak out there for fear that we will be chasing down dozens of false leads and end up not working the case.”

Davis stood up and began pacing the floor. “I think you’re right Jena. We don’t want to panic everyone in the county. On the other hand, we should probably put out another statement, similar to the one we gave the press last month, recommending that people lock their doors, be on the look out for anything suspicious, and immediately call 911 if they think they have any information related to this case. I’ll also talk to the council about offering a reward for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of this murderer. A little money usually gets more action than civil pride.

One more thing, I would like you two to give a daily briefing at the morning role call. We need everyone working this case. Anything else?”

Jean and Andy looked at each other and simultaneously responded, “No, boss.”

“Okay, we’re done in here. Now go out there and catch the son-of-a-bitch before he kills someone else.”

Captain Davis fell back into his chair, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. I need seven more years under my belt before I can retire. If we don’t find this killer soon, the council might want to replace me … and who can blame them. They don’t want excuses; they want these murders stopped. Seven more years and I can walk away from this and never look back. Seven more years, then Angela and I can sell our home and move up to the lake.


Monday, May 26 – Manchester County

As Jimmy pulled into his driveway, he stopped to pick up the evening paper. Ever since Thursday’s edition, there hadn’t been any mention of ‘The Collector’ or anything else about the case. It was then he learned that the FBI had been brought into the case. When Jimmy had first read that, he was a little concerned. Even though he was meticulous in the planning and execution of his little adventures, he was now dealing with the Feds.

Jimmy looked through the paper before going into the house. Nothing again – that made four days in a row without a single mention of the investigation. That is strange for a newspaper that is hard up for any story of interest. Well, he would give them something to write about this week.

After preparing dinner, Jimmy sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of Burgundy wine and a plate of liver and onions. As he savored the first bite of the fresh liver, he thought back twenty-five years ago to his first deer-hunting trip.


He couldn't have been more thrilled when he shot his first buck - a five-pointer. As happy as he was, his father was even more thrilled. He slapped Jimmy on the back and raced him down the hill to the buck.

"That was a clean shot, son. You really are a chip off the old block. I am really proud of you, boy."

When they reached the deer, his father pulled out his hunting knife and cut into the buck's belly. Jimmy thought he was going to throw-up as he watched his father saw into the abdominal cavity. Jimmy stepped back in horror when his father buried both his hands inside the buck’s belly and began to scoop out its guts. When his father pulled out both hands, they were covered in blood all the way up to his elbows.

His father smiled while lifting a bloody mass of guts up towards him and asked, "Are you ready to enter into manhood, boy?"

Jimmy remembered how horrified he was at that moment. He started to back-up, but tripped over a log and went down hard.

His father laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. "What's the matter, boy; you aren't scared, are you?" As Jimmy stood up and brushed himself off, his father cut off a chunk of the organ he was holding, reached out, and stuck the piece into Jimmy's mouth. "Come on, boy, chew it up good. It'll put hair on that bare chest of yours."

The last thing Jimmy wanted to do was disappoint his father, so he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, chewed, and swallowed the meat. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. He immediately noticed the pleasing texture, but even more surprising was the warmth and magnificent flavor.

After a couple of more hunting trips, Jimmy had acquired quite a taste for fresh organs. Over time, he found it easy to satisfy his tastes by making regular hunting trips. It became far more difficult, however, once the Army drafted him.

Fortunately, Jimmy shipped out to Vietnam right after boot camp. Even more fortunate, his company commander assigned Jimmy to a RECON company that spent most of its time in the bush. All of a sudden, he found an unlimited supply of fresh organs. The only difference was that these were human organs ... Viet Cong. It happened on his first ambush operation in the Mekong Delta. Jimmy’s platoon surprised six VC – killing them all. As he checked to make certain that Charlie was dead, he noticed that one of them had a gut wound from a M-79 grenade and the VC’s organs were hanging out of his opened abdomen and chest. Instead of repulsed by the sight, he found himself mesmerized by it. And, there, hanging out on the left side was what was left of the man’s kidneys. Without even thinking, Jimmy reached down and ran his fingers along the top and sides of the organ. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked the blood off them. Memories of past hunting trips flashed before his eyes.

Why not give it a try? Jimmy pulled out his bayonet and sliced off a chunk of the kidney. As soon as he tasted it, Jimmy’s pallet immediately recognized that these organs were far superior and more fulfilling. In fact, they were wonderful!

At some point in his first Vietnam tour, Jimmy began to enjoy the act of collecting the organs almost as much as eating them. There was something exhilarating about watching a person die. After several experiments, he found that if he was careful, he could keep a person alive for a good portion of the organ collection process. Initially, and mostly through trial and error, Jimmy experimented with his victims by changing the order of the organ removal and watching the effect of the removal on the person. After more than a dozen experiments, he had perfected the order of the removal. He could now keep a person alive until he removed the last two organs, the heart and lungs.

As Jimmy’s first tour of duty ended, he realized that once he left Vietnam, he was also leaving a never-ending supply of food. There was only one thing he could do, he re-upt for another tour. Unfortunately, his two years was up far too quickly and so was his supply of organs. He then found himself back hunting deer once again, but the taste was less than satisfying now that he had tasted the good stuff.

After leaving the service, Jimmy went to work for the local funeral director. This was a purposeful career move for him. He wanted to learn more about the human anatomy - especially about the body's organs. During this training, funded by the G.I. Bill, he also became very proficient in the use of the surgeon's scalpel. He became so good with the scalpel that the mortician commented that Jimmy should be a doctor.

That was when he became 'The Collector'. I guess that name does fit me pretty well after all.

At first, the collections took place out of state and over random weekends, but his appetite for fresh organs became insatiable and the trips were too time consuming and expensive. He also found that it was becoming more difficult to make a body disappear. Besides, Jimmy was proud of his surgeon’s skills and wanted the world to know it.


After washing up the dishes, Jimmy reached for the Yahtzee box in the closet. Jokingly, he yelled, “7 come 11,” as he threw the first two dice down on the table. A five and a two came up and Jimmy yelled, “All Right!” He then threw the second two dice down and yelled, “Come on 11.” This time a pair of ones came up. “Snake-eyes,” he yelled again and then giggled. “Players choice,” he mumbled to himself, as he pulled out the telephone book from the kitchen junk drawer. Jimmy looked at the second and the eleventh name on page 52. Anthony L. Damon and R. Davis. Neither stood out, so he did the next best thing, “Eny meny miny moe, catch a … to choose this very next one.” R. Davis was the winner. He memorized the rest of the information before putting away the phone book. Next, he threw the last die and a six came up. “So, Davis gets a reprieve until Saturday.” Jimmy glanced towards the refrigerator wondering whether there was enough meat to last through the end of the week.


Friday, May 30 - FBI Temporary Offices, North Bergen

Jena and Andy arrived at the Holiday Inn at 2:30 in the afternoon. They nodded to Sam Stevens, the owner, as they walked through the lobby. Rooms 113 and 114 were now the official ‘temporary’ North Bergen offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Andy knocked on the door to 113 and had to wait several minutes before Special Agent Rita Sanchez admitted the two into the control center. Agent Sanchez did not greet the two detectives; she just turned around, walked back to the third laptop, sat down, and began scrolling down the screen. Andy couldn’t resist and said, “Good Afternoon to you to, Rita.” Rita didn’t even look up from the screen. Jena jabbed Andy in the ribs and gave him a dirty look. Andy just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

Both detectives were immediately impressed with the set-up. The Feds had replaced the beds and furniture with office furniture and equipment. Four laptop computers were on one long table. A combo-printer, fax, and copier was located on a small table next to the PCs. Cables and cords ran everywhere inside the one room, but Andy noticed that they were all duct taped to the floor to minimize any tripping accidents.

Special Agent Mark Griffin walked into the room through the side door to 114 and stopped dead in his tracks – surprised to see the two detectives. “Well, hello. I didn’t know we had company.” Rita glanced up from the screen and gave one of those ‘like you really care’ looks.

Jena didn’t want to waste the agents’ time, so she jumped into the purpose for the visit. “Captain Davis asked us to come over and get an update. He has a meeting with the mayor in about,” Jena looked at her watch before continuing, “two hours. Is there anything new you can share?”

Rita didn’t even bother to look up, reflecting her disdain for local police officers. Mark, who had come from the police ranks before entering the academy, was slightly more appreciative of the local’s role in crime prevention, and asked the two to step into his office – pointing to the door to 114.

As they entered, the detectives noticed the meeting room had two large blackboards along with a small table and six chairs. Taped to the south wall were pictures of the eight victims along with a cheat sheet reflecting the date, time, and location of each murder. On a small table next to the door was a coffee maker, a box of donuts, a half-eaten bag of chips, and three colas. The trash can next to the table was overflowing with fast-food bags and Styrofoam cups.

Mark closed the door behind him and motioned to the chairs. “Please sit down. You have to forgive Agent Sanchez; she is rather focused and doesn’t take interruptions well.” Mark pulled out a chair and sat down. “Now what can I tell you?”

Jena put on her best smile, thanked Mark, and sat down. “As I mentioned, Captain Davis has to brief the mayor in a couple of hours. He was hoping to include an update on your activities over the last few days.”

Mark briefed the two on everything they had accomplished including the setting up of their temporary office, logging onto the national criminal database, their discussions with the FBI’s best profiler in Washington, DC, and that they sent DNA samples and crime scene photos to their Boston office. He also explained that they reviewed the police department’s case files and visited the eight crime scenes. “I must say that the two of you were very thorough in your initial investigations of each crime. It isn’t often we see such good work from local police departments. You two should be commended.”

Jena glanced at Andy and saw the smile form on his face. She, on the other hand, believed Mark was just blowing smoke. “Thank you, but is there anything concrete we can report to the mayor?”

Mark saw that the lady detective was sharper than he had originally thought and decided it was time to level with her. “No, I am sorry to say that we have nothing new. Until ‘The Collector’ strikes again, we just have to sit and wait. Meanwhile, we continue to browse other serial killers’ files in our national database, looking for similarities. So far, we can say this is no copycat killer.” The agent paused for a moment as if thinking through everything they had done in the past few days.

“One other thing and maybe this is significant. We cannot find that ‘The Collector’ has sold any of the organs. We checked all hospitals and institutions within the United States and our contacts overseas. No one has seen any of these organs showing up. Now, that doesn’t mean that he or she isn’t selling them on the black market. All it says is that the organs aren’t moving through normal channels.”

Andy leaned forward and asked, “It has been eleven days since the last murder. You don’t think he has skipped town do you?”

“I don’t think so, detective. Often in cases like this the perpetrator takes a break for some unknown reason and then starts up again.”

Jena thanked Mark for the update and again asked that she be contacted if anything, anything at all, comes up. Mark assured Jena that he had her cell phone number and wouldn’t hesitate to call. As Jena stood up, she thought of one more question. “The press is getting pretty nasty about this news blackout. They are calling the department several times a day attempting to pull something out of anyone answering the phone. The mayor is also pressuring the captain to release more information. Is this blackout still necessary?”

“Detective, our profiler believes it is critical to not feed any information to the perpetrator. He believes that the perpetrator loves the publicity. So, to answer your question, yes, we believe that we shouldn’t do anything to feed his or her ego. At some time in the future, it might be important to feed the perpetrator something, perhaps some false information, to see if we can spark his or her interest enough to make a mistake.”

After the two detectives left, Mark walked back into 113. “Rita, why the attitude? You could at least talk to them when they visit. They’re just trying to do their job.”

Rita, who had been staring into the PC’s monitor, snapped around and glared at Mark. “Don’t give me any of your high and mighty crap. Those two detectives are just glorified parking meter maids. And, Captain Davis doesn’t impress me at all. He just looks like he is biding his time until he can retire. In fact, the entire North Bergen police department couldn’t solve this case even if the killer walked into the station house and confessed.”

Mark shook his head and knew that he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. “Give it a rest, Rita. They are doing the best they can with the limited resources at hand.”

“I’m serious, Mark. The only ones capable of finding this killer are professional law enforcement officers. People like you and me.”


Late Friday Afternoon – Police Headquarters, North Bergen

As soon as Captain Davis saw the two detectives outside his door, he waived them in. “Well, Detectives, what do you have for me today? I need something to tell the mayor.”

Jena saw the strain in the captain’s face as he asked the question. Davis had dark bags under his eyes and the wrinkles in his forehead appeared to be permanent. Until this last week, she didn’t understand the political pressure he was under to solve this case. “I’m sorry to say that the FBI hasn’t come up with anything more substantive.”

Davis lowered his chin to his chest and started to massage the back of his neck. Jena didn’t know what to say next. Andy jumped in trying to make conversation. “They have quite the operations center down at the Holiday Inn. If we had just a small portion of their budget, we could have probably cracked this case already.”

Jena jumped in before Andy stuck his foot any further down his throat. “Special Agent Mark Griffin did provide us with a more definitive profile of the murderer.” She pulled out her notes and continued, “The FBI believes the person is a white male between 35 and 45 years old. He comes from a broken family. He most likely lived with his mother after the divorce. The person was probably a doctor or an intern who had his license to practice revoked or possibly flunked out of medical school. Their profiler believes that the person removes the organs to show off his excellent surgeon skills.

They also cannot find any records that the murderer is selling the organs on the open market, but they do not discount the possibility that he is using the black market.”

Captain Davis looked up and the expression on his face told the two of them that they were not helping. “So, what are we supposed to do – just sit around on our asses until he kills again?”

Jena didn’t have an answer for her boss, but commented, “I’m sorry to agree with you, Captain, but I guess we do the same as the FBI is doing. We just have to wait and hope he makes a mistake or we get lucky this time.”

Davis recognized that Jena was feeling sorry for him, took a deep breath, slicked back his thinning hair with his hands, and straightened his back in the chair. “Wrong, detective! I want you to canvas the neighborhoods of the eight victims …”

“But, boss, we already did that,” replied Andy.

“Do it again,” snapped Captain Davis. “Start with the most recent victim because the neighbors' memories will be the freshest. However, this time ask questions that you didn’t ask before. Don’t take anything for granted and probe further into who was home and what they saw and heard the evening of the murder, or perhaps several days before hand.”

“But, boss, what … Ouch!” Andy shut up and rubbed his ribs where Jena had just jabbed him hard with her elbow.

“You’ve got it, Captain,” replied Jena without looking over at her partner. “We’ll get on it first thing in the morning.” Jena turned to leave and when Andy continued to stand there in front of the captain’s desk; she grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door.

After Jena closed the captain’s door, Andy grabbed her arm, swung her around, and pointed at his ribs. “That hurt! What did you do that for? You know this is bullshit work and we aren’t going to uncover anything else. It is a total waste of time.”

Jena pulled Andy out of earshot of the door and in a hushed tone responded, “I know it, Andy, and so does Captain Davis.”

“Well, then why are we doing it?”

“Because the captain needs something to tell the mayor. And, who knows, we might get lucky and pick up something we missed in our original canvassing of the area.”

“Yah, right! I still think this is going to be a waste of time.”


After Jena and Andy left his office, Captain Davis opened the side drawer of his desk and pulled out the letter from the mayor. He read it again - the third time today. The last sentence again made his hands tremble.

‘Captain Davis, if you cannot solve this case within the next two weeks, I will
have no alternative but to ask for your immediate resignation.’

There goes my pension. Who is going to hire a 48-year-old police captain?


Saturday, May 31 - North Bergen

Jimmy sat in his car down the street from R. Davis’ house. It was a modest two story colonial with a detached garage. As usual, he had called on the way into town and the woman answering the phone had refused to help the needy children. It was 9:30 in the evening and the neighborhood was settling down for the night. A calm settled over him as he waited for the right moment. Saliva built up in his mouth as he thought of the fresh meat he would be bringing home this evening.

He reached into his gym bag and ran his hand over the barrel of the 45. Even though he knew it was loaded, he pulled it out and once again checked the magazine and chamber. Better safe than sorry. Instead of putting the revolver back into the bag, he slipped it into the specially designed holster taped to his lower back. He then taped the surgeon’s scalpel to his inside arm – handle down for easy extraction from the case. Everything will go just as planned.

At 10:00, Jimmy walked down the street towards the house with his bag in hand. Twice during the walk, he reached behind his back and checked for the 45. He casually glanced up and down the street for any activity. As he climbed up the steps to the front door, he lifted his nose into the air and for a moment imagined the smell of fear that would be present in just a couple of minutes. He rang the doorbell.

After a moment, he heard a woman’s voice inside as, “I wonder who that could be at this time of night?” The woman, Jimmy guessed in her mid-forties, looked out the glass of the side window and asked, “Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but I didn’t know what to do. My car broke down on the way to the hospital. I think the radiator hose blew. I saw the lights on at your house and, well, would you be kind enough to let me use your phone to call the auto club so I can get a tow?”

Jimmy noticed the woman sizing him up in his surgeon’s scrubs, and after glancing behind him to see if there was anyone else on the steps, she nodded her head. He heard the deadbolt lock snapping free and the door opened. The saliva really started to flow in his mouth and he had a hard time swallowing it all.

As the woman invited Jimmy in, he sized her up quickly. Even though Jimmy liked them a little younger, a woman in her forties who took care of herself could still be quite tasty. “Thank you, ma’am. You are most kind.” As he followed the woman down the hallway, he glanced right and left into each room to see if anyone else was at home. “This is a nice home you have here, ma’am. What does your husband do for a living?”

“He’s the chief of police.”

Jimmy stopped dead in his tracks. For the first time since he started his little adventure, sweat beads popped out on his forehead and he quickly wiped them off with his arm. He needed to get out of the house. “You’re Captain Davis’ wife,” he asked, as he looked even harder for the husband.

Mrs. Davis stopped and turned around to face Jimmy. “Oh, do you know my husband?”

“No, ma’am, I've just seen his name in the papers. Is Mr. Davis home this evening? I would definitely like to meet him,” he lied.

“Actually, he just called and said he was on his way home. He should be here any moment now.” Mrs. Davis pointed to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall and said, “Do you have the number for the auto club or do you need a phone book?”

Jimmy knew he had to move fast. “I’ve got the number, thank you. You are very kind.” He picked up the phone and dialed the Davis’ number and as he listened to the busy signal, he began to explain the situation to the fictitious person on the other end. “Yes, is this the North Bergen Auto Club? … Good. My membership number is 239654. Listen, my car broke down and I need a tow. Could you send a wrecker out to …,” he looked over at Mrs. Davis while covering the mouthpiece and asked, “Ma’am, what is your address,” even though he had memorized it six days ago.

Mrs. Davis gave him her address and told him to tell them they were right around the corner from Momma’s Bakery because everyone knows where that is.

“Yes, the car is just down the block from 5310 South 27th Avenue. I am just around the corner from Momma’s Bakery.” He smiled back at Mrs. Davis as he repeated her instructions.

After a brief pause for effect, he continued, “Okay, great. Thanks so much.” He hung up the phone and began walking towards the door. “They said they had a wrecker in the area and it should be here any minute. Thank you so much for being so kind. Not everyone would open their house to a stranger at 10:00 at night.”

“Would you like to wait inside until the wrecker arrives?”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I should be waiting outside to direct the wrecker to the car.” Jimmy stopped at the door and held out his hand. “Thank you, again.”

As he opened the door, Captain Davis was also opening the screen door. Both men stared at each other for a moment before either spoke. “You must be Captain Davis. It is so nice to meet you.” Jimmy stuck out his hand again and vigorously pumped the captain’s hand. “Your lovely wife was nice enough to help out a person in distress this evening after my car broke down. I’ll let her explain it to you because I have to wait for the wrecker.” Jimmy tried to push by the captain, but in doing so his holster caught in the screen door handle and was ripped from his back.

All three looked down as the holstered 45 fell to the steps. Davis yelled for Angela to run as he attempted to kick the pistol away from the man. Angela screamed and slammed the door shut. Jimmy reached up his sleeve and yanked out the surgeon’s scalpel. He swung it around in a wide loop hoping to make contact with Davis. The scalpel barely missed Davis’ throat as he stepped back away from the lunging man.

Davis, however, lost his balance with the move and fell down the three steps. Slightly dazed from the fall, but still in control, Davis looked around frantically for the 45. In the grass less than three feet away was the pistol. Both Jimmy and Davis saw it at about the same time. Davis lunged for it. Jimmy jumped from the steps onto Davis’ back and sunk the scalpel into his shoulder. Davis screamed in pain. Jimmy tried to crawl up Davis’ back to get to the pistol. Davis swung his right elbow up and caught Jimmy with a devastating blow to his temple. Jimmy rolled off of Davis and couldn’t move for a moment as he recovered his senses.

Davis crawled across the yard to the pistol, picked it up, and pulled back the slide to make certain it was loaded. As he rolled to his side to locate the attacker, he saw the man lunge at him again. Davis just had enough time to level the gun and pull the trigger as the man fell on top of him. The noise was deafening and the recoil from the 45 almost ripped the gun from his hand. The man lay on top of Davis without moving. Taking a deep breath, Davis pushed up on the man, rolled him to the side, pulled the scalpel from the man’s hand, and pushed back with his feet to make certain he had a clear shot should the man attack again. While attempting to catch his breath, Davis leveled the pistol on the man and said, “Don’t move.”

The man rolled onto his side and between coughs of blood began to chuckle. Davis got to his feet and while holding the gun on the attacker yelled for Angela to call 911. The man mumbled something that Davis couldn’t quite make out. Davis took a step forward, flipped the man over onto his stomach with his foot, and sat down on the man’s back. Davis could see the huge hole in the man’s upper back and knew the ambulance wouldn’t arrive in time.

Davis heard a couple of more bloody coughs, a gurgling sound in the lungs, and another chuckle. “What’s so damn funny, man? Don’t you know you are dying?

The man spit out some more blood and between coughs whispered, “I guess it wasn’t my night for dice.”