The Waterbed Killings By Pamala Rush All disclaimers apply. This story is for older audiences, but if you're a younger reader and you think you can handle a graphic scene, I'm not stopping you, just warning you. The woman was dressed in a sexy negligee and floating face down in the pool of water. Steve found this unusual; it was something he had never seen in his close to twenty years as a cop and close to eight years as a homicide detective. The woman had been murdered in her waterbed. She had obviously been lying on her stomach looking up at her killer when whoever it was decided to get rid of her for some reason. There was a large hole in the bed, made by some kind of knife, and her head had been pushed down into the water that had come pouring out. Steve shook his head. It was definitely the strangest way he had ever seen for someone to murder someone else. There were many questions to be answered. Like, why didn't the person just stab the woman? Why go to all the trouble of cutting a hole in a waterbed mattress and drowning her? Why did the killer murder this woman in the first place? "That is *not* a pretty picture," said the medical examiner from behind him. "No, Amanda, it is not," Steve replied. Amanda Bently was not only an adjunct county medical examiner, she was also a friend of Steve. "Do we know what happened?" Amanda asked. "She was drowned in her waterbed, Amanda," Steve said a little testily. "Touchy, touchy," Amanda said. "What did they drag you away from, the Saturday night movie?" "I had a date Amanda," Steve said with exasperation. "The first date I've had in six months. I doubt she'll ever go out with me again." "Poor baby," Amanda said. "I'm sure you'll get another date. With someone. Eventually. Maybe in another six months." Steve waved his hand toward the dead woman. "Amanda, do your job." Amanda winced. Steve was in a really bad mood tonight. "Must have been some hot date," she mumbled. Amanda stepped over to the bed and began to examine the body. She was looking at the back of the dead woman's head when a flash blinded her and she jumped back. "Whoa," said the person holding the camera. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blind you." Amanda blinked a few times before she could see who had been holding the camera. She was almost as tall as Steve with short brown hair and the bluest eyes Amanda had ever seen. She held the offending camera in her hands. "I am so sorry," the woman repeated. "I'm new at this and I want to make sure I get every picture that the detective will need." "I'm sure you'll do fine," Amanda said. "Just don't mess up any of the evidence and you'll be fine." "Haven't touched a thing," she said. "Just took pictures of everything." "Good job," Amanda commented then took a step closer. "Just don't do anything to tick off the detective. He's in a bad mood," she whispered. "I heard," the woman whispered back. "Called away from his first date in six months." She shrugged. "Who wants to date a cop?" "Exactly," Amanda whispered before she noticed Steve on his way to joining them. "Hey Steve." "You new?" he asked the young woman. "This isn't the first time I've seen a homicide victim, if that's what you're asking," she told him. "This is my first homicide as the crime photographer." "Steve Sloan," Steve introduced as he stuck out a hand. The woman shifted hands with her camera and shook the offered hand. "I'm Shannon Davis." Steve nodded. "You getting everything?" "And then some, Detective," she replied. Steve looked thoughtful for a minute. "Good job," he said then walked away. Amanda jabbed her in the ribs. "He didn't snap at you. Good job." Shannon smiled and went back to work. "There are certainly a lot of pictures this time," Mark commented as he looked at the stacks of pictures blanketing the kitchen table. "We had a new crime photographer at the scene," Steve explained as he scanned the pictures himself. "She was a bit over zealous, wasn't she?" Jesse said. "She was trying to do a good job," Amanda stated. The four were sitting at Mark's kitchen table sifting through the piles of crime scene photos that the new crime photographer had taken at the crime scene. Mark shook his head slightly and went back to sifting. "If just one of these extra photos helps solve the crime.... well, then it will be worth it." "Speaking of....," Jesse said. "How did your date go last night, Steve?" "What date," Steve grumbled. "I got paged away from it." Jesse winced. "Sorry, Steve." "So that's why you've been in such a rotten mood this morning," Mark commented as he looked at Steve over the top of his glasses. Steve didn't say anything, only grumped at his father as he looked at the pictures. A woman floating face down in a waterbed. What a way to spoil his weekend. Another victim was found Sunday night. Again, she was floating face down in a waterbed. Not a pretty sight by anyone's standards. The same questions needed to be answered at this crime scene as had needed to be answered at the last. When Steve got there, he found that the over zealous crime photographer was there, snapping pictures of everything she thought might be important. "Excuse me, Miss Davis," he said as he took her arm and led her away from the scene. "I need to talk to you for a moment." "What about?" "We spent most of the morning sorting through the pictures you took last night," Steve told her. Shannon smiled. "I did a good job?" Steve nodded. "A little too good a job." The smile disappeared. "What does that mean?" "Don't take so many shots this time," Steve explained. "It's just extra work going through them all." "Right," Shannon said. "One of everything and several of the body. Right?" "That'll do," Steve replied and let her go back to work. Steve reached in his pocket and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and put them on. He walked around the grandly furnished room, going through drawers, looking in cupboards and sifting through boxes. Every once in awhile, Shannon would snap a shot of something behind him. He couldn't quite understand why he was so aware of her. When he finished the rest of the team gave him their reports. They were identical to those he had received the night before. No prints, no clues, nothing to go on at all. Even Shannon shrugged when he glanced up at her. First thing in the morning, Shannon had the pictures ready. "Do you stay up late just to get me these so early?" Steve asked her. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't get them to you right away," she explained with a shrug. "I don't sleep at night very well, anyway." She started to walk away when Steve stopped her. "Uh, would you have dinner with me sometime?" "No," she stated. "But I'll have lunch with you today." "....I was a photographer for two years before I decided I wanted more excitement in my life," Shannon was saying over the chicken bucket she and Steve were sharing at a local park. "So, I went to the police academy and became a cop. When I decided I missed taking pictures, but loved being a cop so much that I didn't want to quit, I put in for a job as a crime photographer." "How many cases did you ride along on before they cut you lose?" Steve asked as he gnawed on a chicken leg. "About twenty or so," she replied. "Six robberies, three break-ins, nine murders and two rapes. The rapes were the hardest to deal with." Steve tossed the bone aside and reached in the bucket for another piece of chicken. "I imagine so," he told her. Shannon leaned forward. "What about you? I want to hear about you." "What about me?" "How long have you been a detective? Why aren't you married? And HOW can you afford to live in Malibu?" Steve laughed over the piece of chicken in his hand. "8 years, because I haven't found the right woman, and I have a very understanding landlord." Shannon looked over the edge of the bucket as Steve was speaking to see that there were only three pieces left. "Understanding landlord?" she asked as she glanced around. "I live in a beach house with my father," Steve said as he watched her. "What is it?" "We have three pieces of chicken left," she said. "I'm not hungry anymore, so if you don't want any more," she pointed at a homeless man who was going through the trash looking for food. "Would you mind if I gave the rest to him?" Steve was touched by her thoughtfulness, so he nodded and followed her to within earshot of the man where he stopped to watch. "We have some left," she said as she held out the container. "You can have it on one condition." The man looked at the container hungrily. "What's the condition?" "Make sure the bucket gets in the trash," she replied. "OK?" The man took the container with a sharp nod and wolfed down the first piece. The other two pieces followed a bit more slowly, and the cardboard bucket went into the trash receptacle that he had been digging through only moments before. He turned and bowed to Shannon and Steve before taking his leave of them. "That was nice of you," Steve commented. Shannon turned to look at Steve. "It's the little things that make a difference," was all she said about it. "Can I meet your father?" "Sure," Steve said, a little surprised that she could remember what they had been talking about. "Tonight OK?" She nodded. "If there isn't something to interrupt." "Like another waterbed drowning?" Shannon nodded. "I've got to get back to work." She kissed him gently on the lips and left him standing, wondering about the mystery that was Shannon Davis. Mark was setting an extra place at the table for Steve's new friend when someone knocked at the back door. He looked up to see a tall woman with short brown hair wearing a flowered sun dress and sunglasses standing there waiting. Wondering who she was, Mark went to answer the door. "What can I do for you?" Mark asked after he had opened the door. "I'm a little early," she replied as she took of her sun glasses and glanced down at her watch. "I'm Shannon Davis." Mark nodded with a small smile. "Steve told me you were coming. Of course not this early." "I thought I could help out and we could get to know each other a bit," Shannon said. "I love to cook." "Then you are definitely welcome here," Mark said. "We love to eat." Shannon smiled and shook her head slightly. "We are going to get along just fine," she told him. "What are we having?" "Meat loaf," Mark replied as he led her to the kitchen. "Would you like to help with the gravy?" "You make gravy for meatloaf?" Shannon said. "We always put ketchup on ours." "What do you put on the potatoes?" "Nothing," Shannon replied. "I always make these wonderful cheese potatoes. There's less fat, especially if you use low fat cheese." Mark opened the refrigerator and looked inside. "I don't have any low fat cheese. What kind of cheese do you use?" Shannon looked over his shoulder. "Whatever you have." Mark and Shannon spent the next hour preparing the meal and talking about food, wine, art and music, as Shannon taught him how to make the potatoes she had mentioned. Mark decided that he adored this woman. He just hoped that Steve adored her as well. Mark set the platter of meatloaf on the table just as everyone was coming through the back door. "I think she's going to be late," Steve said. "I've been watching for her for the last half hour." "Who?" Jesse asked as he and Amanda sat down at the table to eat. "Me," Shannon said as she came out of the kitchen with the casserole dish of cheese potatoes in her hands. She set it down on the table next to the green beans and meatloaf and sat down between Mark's seat and where Steve had set down only moments earlier. "I came early to help with dinner and talk to Mark." "Hello, Shannon," Amanda said. "How are you?" "Fine," she said as she noticed Jesse looking confused from the corner of her eye. "Did you find anything during the autopsies?" Amanda shook her head. "Only a few bruises on the back of their heads from their assailant's holding them down." "Nothing under their fingernails?" Shannon asked. Amanda smiled with a bit of surprise. "No, nothing. That's good." "What's good?" Jesse asked with a mouth full of meatloaf. "Sometimes you can find scrapings of an assailant under the victim's fingernails," Amanda explained. "I was present when a crime photographer did pictures of a rape and murder once," Shannon said. "The detective found traces of the killers blood and skin under her fingernails. Hoped that maybe it would be present in this case." Amanda shook her head. "Nope, sorry." "Mark, Where's the gravy?" Jesse asked. "We didn't make any," Mark replied. "The potatoes are very special." "How?" "I made my special cheese potatoes," Shannon told him. "Try them." Jesse looked skeptical, but he tried them anyway. His face lit up and he made a small sound. "These are good!" Shannon smiled. "Good. I expect you to clean your plate or no desert," she said in her best motherly voice. "If desert is this good," Jesse said. "Then I'm going to be happy forever." Several weeks passed and there were no clues to the identity of what the press was calling "The Waterbed Killer." Steve was getting a bit frustrated at the whole case. Every other week there were three murders. One Saturday, one Sunday, and one Monday. Some found in the morning, some found at night, all with the same MO, all unsolved. Steve saw a lot of Shannon when they weren't at murder scenes, and that was what kept him from going crazy. He loved the way her deep blue eyes sparkled when she smiled or laughed or just simply looked. She made him weak in the knees when she looked at him in one certain way and even when they were apart, he couldn't help thinking about her. Steve was waiting for the call. It was Saturday night, two weeks after the last murder had taken place. Shannon hoped that maybe something had happened and the murderer would stop committing the murders this time. She and Steve were walking along the beach, hand in hand, when both of their pagers went off. She looked at him and he looked back. "Is your camera in my car?" he asked. Shannon nodded. "It always is these days," she replied. The crime scene was the same as the others. The woman had lived in such a small Burbank apartment that Shannon ran out of things to photograph. She went outside and watched the crowd for a minute before aiming the camera at them and snapping away the rest of the film in her camera. Rewinding the film, she watched the crowd until she realized that one face looked a bit familiar. She didn't know where she had seen him, so she shrugged it off and finished winding the film. Steve came out of the apartment and put his arm around Shannon as he watched them bring out the latest victim in the body bag. "She's in her mid to late thirties," Steve said. "Their ages haven't even given us a clue to why this psychopath has been killing people." "They're just always women," Shannon said. "Nothing is ever missing, their apartments always show no signs of being broken into, and they all have waterbeds." She paused. "That really makes me want to get rid of mine." Steve looked down at her with a slight smile. "You can come stay with me if you want." Shannon looked up at him. "Right," she said. "So you can keep me awake until all hours.... and you probably snore." "You said you don't sleep well at night," he said. Shannon pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss. "I'd sleep even worse at your place." "Let's go back to my place," Steve said. "Dad's working late." Before Shannon could answer, Amanda came up behind them. "OK you two, cut it out," she said parentally. "The gawkers probably come to watch you instead of us bringing the body out." Steve looked at his friend. Amanda and Shannon had been becoming pretty good friends, and Steve suspected that when Shannon wasn't with him, she was with Amanda. "OK, we're leaving," Steve said. "You'll have that report for me tomorrow?" "Hopefully before the next one comes in," Amanda replied as she followed the other ME into the van. "Let's go," Steve said as he pulled Shannon along towards his car, neither noticing that one man from the crowd was watching them. Mark parked his car by the garage and got out, placing his phony melted popsicle in the seat he had just vacated. He walked up the front walk, wondering why there were no lights on in the house. Amanda had gotten back from another of the Waterbed killer's scenes before he left the hospital, and he had expected Steve to be home. He glanced at his watch to find that it was only ten thirty. Now Mark was a little worried. He unlocked the door and went inside the dark house, climbing the stairs that led into the living room. As he touched the switch to flip it on, he heard a female voice whisper, "What if that's your dad?" Too late to stop himself, Mark flipped on the light to find Steve and Shannon tangled up together on the couch, making out like a couple of teen-agers. Shannon untangled herself quickly and stood up. Steve was only seconds behind her and both were giggling like school children. "Sorry Steve," Mark said, blushing as he flipped the light back off. "Go back to what you were doing." Mark went down into the hall and flipped that switch on so he wouldn't fall on his way to his room. He could still hear the barely controlled laughter of the two adults, who had somehow gone back into childhood, behind him in the living room. He waited until he was in his own bedroom before he released his own chuckles and guffaws. Steve woke the next morning with his arms around Shannon. She lay sleeping in one of his t-shirts her head resting on Steve's shoulder. Her short brown hair was soft against his cheek and her hand was warm against his chest. He lay there just enjoying her being there until she finally stirred. "You awake?" she murmured. "Yes," Steve said. "You?" He heard her laugh. "If I was asleep, do you think I would be asking you if you were awake?" She looked up at him. "No," he replied. "You hungry?" "Mm, yes," she replied, kissing him again. "But not for food," she went on with her lips against his. "I can handle that," Steve replied. That night, the killer struck in Beverly Hills. A woman in her late twenties to early thirties was the victim this time. No clues were found. Shannon felt like she and her photographs weren't helping at all. After taking the pictures of the crowd the night before, she decided to take pictures of the gawkers again today. Maybe there was a clue in them. The next morning when she brought them and the ones from the previous night, when she hadn't been able to get them developed because she was with Steve, he asked why she had taken the pictures of the gawkers. "I thought they might help," Shannon explained. "If serial killers kill because they like the attention, then it makes sense that he would be there to watch them bring the body out." "Good idea," Steve said, but before he started looking through them, he looked her in the eye. "Dinner?" Shannon smiled at him. "Where?" "You decide." "Your place." "Dad and Amanda and Jesse will be there," Steve pointed out. "You sure?" "I like Mark and Amanda and Jesse," she replied. "After dinner, we can go down to your apartment and start where we left off last night." "Sounds good to me," Steve said and he kissed her. Shannon felt like she was being watched all the time she was with Steve that day. Having dinner with everyone, she felt safe. Downstairs with Steve, she felt wonderfully safe. When she got home, she didn't feel safe. She locked the front door and the side door and the back door, then checked the windows, but she still felt the crawling feeling that she was being watched. Shannon felt like she was being watched as she put her satin pajamas on and wrote her weekly letter to her sister. She stamped it and put it in the pile of letters waiting to be mailed on her desk. She had been debating on getting rid of her waterbed since her work with the "Waterbed killer" had begun, but hadn't quite gotten around to it. She smiled. Steve Sloan had been quite a distraction over the last few weeks. For some reason, she didn't want to go to bed in the big waterbed. The thought had scared her more and more as she worked on the case with Steve. They were both doing their best, but working together made it hard for either one of them to concentrate. She had to chuckle when she remembered Steve's father walking in on them making out on the couch like two teen-agers. Steve had thought it funny at the time as well. Mark had been completely embarrassed, but Shannon had thought he was cute from the start. She stood in the doorway of her room, trying to decide whether or not to go to bed on the waterbed when she felt someone in her house. She turned around and peered through the darkness, a huge knot in her stomach. At that moment she decided not to sleep in the bed and began pulling the blankets and pillows from it to drag with her into the living room so she could sleep on the couch. Shannon turned and was about to walk out the door when she saw someone standing there. He looked familiar, then she realized that she had seen him at several of the crime scenes, even photographed him a couple of times when she had been taking pictures of the crowds outside. He was the serial killer. Shannon dropped the blankets and backed away from him. She wasn't sure what she should do. Her window was way across the room where it would take virtually forever for her to get to and he would probably get to her first. Her gun was in the other room where she couldn't get at it, and he was starting towards her with a knife in his hand. He stopped by the bed and stabbed a hole in it without taking his eyes off of her. She found herself against the wall, trapped between him and it. He looked her in the eyes for a long time before striking her hard enough to stun her. She fell into his arms and he dragged her to the bed where he threw her face down in the bed and pushed her face into the water. She immediately began to struggle, her arms flailing about. At one point she got a hold of his neck with her right hand and scraped her fingers along his neck, cutting him and making him bleed. He loosed the hold on her head enough for her to lift it and take a breath of air. She gasped for air as he put one hand up to his neck and touched one of the bleeding lines before looking at the blood on his hand. For one brief instant, Shannon thought that he might let her go. The hand that she had scratched him with gripped the side of the bed and she tried to push herself out of his grasp, but a look of ferocity came on his face and he pushed her head down into the water so hard that her nose hit the bottom and she felt a stab of pain run through it. She consciously tried to keep her right hand out of the water while trying to push herself out of the murkiness with her left. Unfortunately, he was a lot stronger and she stunned and in pain as he used both hands to keep her head beneath the murky water. Shannon realized that she was losing the battle to survive, so she used both hands to try to phase her attacker. Nothing helped. Her right hand slid over the edge of the bed and her left lost all will to move. Her last thoughts before she succumbed were of Steve. *I love you, Steve.* she thought as she lost consciousness. The killer held her head down for two minutes longer than he needed to before he released her. Shannon's head floated in the waterbed as all the other women's had. He stood and took a deep breath, savoring the feel of the death of another victim. It was fun killing them this way, he thought. New and inventive. This one he had been obsessed with since he saw her at the first scene. He wasn't sure he would make her a victim until she took pictures of him at two different scenes. She would have figured out what that meant if he had let her live. Now she was part of his dreams forever. Steve woke up and sat up sharply. Shannon's voice rang through his ears along with the telephone. She was telling him she loved him in the dream, and it only took him a waking moment to realize that he returned the emotion. It took him a moment longer to realize that the phone was still ringing in his ears. "Sloan residence," Steve answered the phone while he rubbed his eyes. "There's been another waterbed murder," the officer on the other end said. "Where?" Steve asked as he crawled out of bed and pulled his jeans on with one hand. The officer gave him the address and Steve hung up the phone so he could finish getting dressed. At the scene, a tiny house with one bedroom, a garage and a cute little patio, Steve got out of his car and headed inside through the crowd of people who had gathered. He ordered the people back then he started inside, looking forward to seeing Shannon's smile. His father's voice stopped him and he turned to see him breaking through the crowd. "Can I talk to you inside?" Mark asked as he held up a file folder. Steve nodded and led Mark into the tiny living room. "What's up?" "Look at these pictures," Mark said as he slipped them from the folder. They were of crowds gathered at two of the crime scenes. "Shannon took these to get rid of film, and look what I found." Steve looked at the two photographs. Out in front of both pictures was a man. The same man in both pictures. "One scene is from Beverly Hills," Mark pointed out. "The other is from way out in Burbank." Steve looked at them thoughtfully. "I'll have Shannon take some more pictures of this crowd." He looked around. "If she ever gets here." The crime photographer came out of the bedroom as Steve said this and he went over to the man. "Where's Shannon?" "I don't know," he told Steve. "They paged her, but there was no response. I got the pictures of the victim if you want to go take a look." "That's not like her," Mark commented absently. Steve couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "Go take some shots of the crowd, will you?" "Sure thing, Detective," was the answer and the man went outside to do as Steve had asked. Steve turned and went through the door to the bedroom, almost tripping over the pile of blankets and pillows just inside the door. He carefully stepped over them with his father following suit before looking up at the victim in the bed. His stomach suddenly tied in knots at how familiar the woman looked. She was floating face down in the water that had poured from the mattress with her right hand hanging over the side of the bed, dry and unmoving. Neither Steve nor Mark could move, and when Amanda joined them in the room, she was struck with the same fear that Mark and Steve had been struck with. She pushed past them and rolled the victim over before backing up against the wall with tears in her eyes. Shannon's face was blue, and her nose slightly disfigured. Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she were closing them against what was coming. Her right arm was frozen above her head as if she didn't want to get it wet for some reason and her left hand was balled into a fist at her chest. Steve walked back into the living room and bent over trying to contain his emotions. Mark joined him with a crying Amanda and both tried to comfort him. Steve took a few deep breaths before standing up straight and going back into the bedroom. He walked around the bed to where Shannon's head floated, now face up. He touched her cold face and ran one finger across the lips that just last night had had the life in them to kiss him. He touched her right hand and noticed that it was pretty dry. The fingers were outstretched, as if she were reaching out to him. And under the fingernails, he saw blood. He bent down closer, his emotions suddenly pushed away and he was a homicide detective instead of a man who had lost someone he loved, and examined them closer. Had she consciously, in her last second of life, left him something to go on? Had she been thinking of him and the investigation more than she had been thinking of her own life? Steve got the feeling he would never know the answer to any of his questions. "Dad, look at this," Steve said as he glanced up. Mark released Amanda and came over to where Steve was standing. Amanda was suddenly not crying and came over to look at what Steve had found. "Blood," Amanda said as she examined the fingers of Shannon's lifeless right hand. "Do you think she did this on purpose?" Steve shook his head. "We'll never know what she was thinking in those last seconds..." he fell silent for a few seconds before he went on. "I want to find whoever did this and make them pay." Amanda wiped her eyes and nodded. "Let's get the stretcher in here and get her back to the lab for an autopsy." Amanda almost choked on the word, 'autopsy.' Mark tried to lead Steve out, but he wouldn't go until Amanda had zipped up the body bag and headed out to the van with Shannon's body. Steve closed his eyes and breathed heavily. He could still smell her, still feel her lips on his own, still see the way those intensely blue eyes twinkled when she smiled. He felt so empty. Mark found Steve deep in thought on the couch in the living room of the beach house. Mark didn't say anything, just stood with a manila envelope and a file in his hand until Steve looked up at him. "What is it, dad?" Steve asked. "The pictures from the crime scene and Shannon's autopsy report," Mark answered. "Do you want to see them right now?" Steve nodded and took the offered objects. Not willing to see Shannon's cold dead body again quite yet, he put the envelope on the table and looked into the file. Her nose had been broken, and she had died of drowning. The bastard who had killed her had pushed her face down into the water so hard that he broke her nose. Steve's eyes scanned down the report, stomach contents, toxicology report, all normal. His eyes finally fell on the entry which told about the what had been taken from under her nails. It had been a good sample; Amanda wrote that she had taken not only blood, but skin from under her nails. She had found that the man was a Caucasian with type AB- blood. Very rare blood type. While Steve had been looking at the autopsy report, Mark had opened up the envelope and separated the pictures of the crowd from the pictures of Shannon's body so that his son would not have to go through the pain of looking at them. Mark handed them to his son and placed his hand on Steve's back. "The same guy," Steve said as he looked at the picture. Mark looked over his shoulder at the picture, saw something and jerked it out of his grasp. Steve looked at his father with a strange expression and waited for him to saw what he had seen. Mark put his glasses on and looked at the picture for a second before he got up and went into the office for a magnifying glass. Steve followed him there, waiting as Mark peered through the glass. He smiled and handed the glass and photo to Steve, pointing at the man's neck. Steve took it and looked through the glass at what his father had pointed out. The man had three scratches down his neck. Deep scratches that looked like they had bled badly from them when they were made. "That's him," Mark said when Steve looked back up at him. "I'll get an APB out on him right away," Steve said as grabbed the cordless phone and dialed. ".....Police have finally released the name of the most recent victim of the "Waterbed Killer." The victim was named as Shannon Davis. Davis was working with the police as the crime photographer at the time of her death," the newscaster was saying. "Her killer is still at large, but we do have several photographs that were taken by Davis at the scenes of the most recent killings." The enlargement that Steve had released to the press appeared next to the woman's head. "He is described as about 6 feet tall and around 160 pounds with dark eyes and hair. If you know this man, please do not approach him, but call the Los Angeles police department." She turned to a new page in the stack of papers on the desk. "And in other news...." Jesse turned the television off and turned to Steve as he sat on the couch in the hospital's doctor's lounge. He looked like he could use a year's worth of sleep and a good shave, but Jesse avoided talking about it. Jesse hurt to see his friend like this, and he wished he could do something to help. He knew that the only thing he could really do was to just be there for him. "You look like you could use a cup of coffee," Jesse said, radically understating how his friend looked.. Steve grunted. "I guess," he said. Jesse turned and filled a ceramic mug with hot coffee. He left it black and handed it to Steve. Steve gulped the coffee down and looked back up at Jesse. "What?" he asked. "You want to talk about it?" "Not yet." "Well, I'm here when you're ready to talk about it," Jesse told him. Steve nodded. "Right now, I just want to find the guy who killed Shannon and make sure they punish him to the full extent of the law." Jesse nodded. "I hope you get your wish." Steve's pager chose that moment to begin beeping, and he unclipped it from his belt and looked at it before he grabbed the phone and dialed the number that had been there. "Sloan here," he said when he got an answer. He sat and listened to the person on the other end of the line, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the receiver harder and harder. "I see..... Santa Monica Park..... the north end?.... OK, I'll be there in a few minutes." Steve hung up the phone. "Our suspect climbed a tree in the north end of Santa Monica Park and tied a rope to it. He tied the other end around his neck and jumped out of the tree." "He's dead?" Jesse asked. Steve nodded. "His neck broke when he came to the end of the rope." He fell silent a moment. "A note fell to the ground beneath him, confessing to the murders, detailing Shannon's murder, and saying he was sorry... for getting caught." "You want me to come with you?" Jesse asked. Steve nodded and stood up. Jesse pulled his white coat off and threw it in a chair. "I ready," he said. Steve started to the door before he turned around and looked at his friend. "Jess?" Jesse looked up at him. "Thanks for being here." "No problem," Jesse replied. By the time Steve and Jesse got to the park, the body had been taken down and was in a body bag on a stretcher. Amanda stood close by as others wheeled it away. "Well?" Steve asked as he approached. "His neck broke instantly," Amanda said. "But it seems that he didn't die instantly." "He suffocated?" Jesse asked. Amanda nodded. "The pain from the broken neck probably caused him to pass out. Nobody moved to help him because they thought he was already dead." "Seems like justice has been served to me," Steve said, and he turned and walked down toward the beach with his hands shoved in his pockets. Jesse and Amanda stood looking after him. Amanda had tears rolling down her cheeks when Mark's voice came from behind them. "Which way did he go?" Jesse turned to face his friend. "Down towards the beach," he answered. Mark hugged Amanda before he took off after his son. Steve had stopped outside where the wet sand was to watch the waves as they rolled up to his feet then back again. He heard Mark approach, but said noting to him until his father was standing next to him. "I feel cheated," Steve told him. "I know, son," Mark replied. "I feel a little cheated, too." Steve looked at his feet then back up at the waves as they rolled in. "Shannon was the one who was cheated." "Cheated out of a life with someone she loved," Mark agreed. "She never told me that she loved me," Steve said. "You know it's true," Mark replied. "You feel it too, or you wouldn't feel so.... cheated." Steve sighed. "I loved every minute with her." "So did I," Mark replied. "And I wasn't the one in love with her." Steve looked over at Mark. "Thanks dad." Mark patted his son on the back and turned him around to lead him to the car. "You won't feel like this forever son," he said. "Believe me, I know." "So do I," Steve replied. Mark held the large black umbrella over the heads of himself and his son as they stood next to Shannon's coffin at her funeral. The priest finished the prayer the walked away from the assemblage with his own umbrella over his head. Rain was falling on the group, many of which were crying. Steve wasn't crying, having done his crying earlier in the day at home with is father. Right now, however, he was glued to the spot where he stood, staring at the coffin which held Shannon's body. Suddenly a blonde haired woman with Shannon's eyes was standing before him. "You must be Steve," She said as she offered her hand. Steve took a deep breath before he took the offered hand and shook it. "Yes, I am," he told her. "I'm Maia," she told him. "Shannon's sister." Mark held out his own hand for her to shake. "Mark Sloan." Maia smiled. "She told me about you, both of you." Steve only nodded, but Mark spoke. "Did you get to talk to her often?" She nodded and wiped a stray tear from her cheek with a wrinkled tissue. "I got a letter one or two times a week," she said. "The last few weeks the letters have been filled with you." She looked at Steve as she spoke. Steve lifted his head and looked into Maia's eyes, eyes that were so blue, so like Shannon's. Maia went on. "She had one letter that she had written the night she died. It was waiting to be mailed and I found it and read it." She took the letter to which she referred out of her coat pocket and held it out, offering it to Steve. "I think you should read it. Her last thoughts were obviously of you." Steve debated on taking the letter she offered. "It's yours," he finally said. "I don't think I should read her thoughts to you." "It's yours too," she replied, putting it into his hand. "She told me everything she had been planning to tell you the next time she...." her voice broke and she moved away, crying, to put a red rose on the coffin and head back to the limousine which would take her back to her hotel. Steve looked at Shannon's pretty handwriting on the envelope. Maia's address in Ft. Worth was printed carefully in the middle, and Shannon's own address was in the corner. Mark put his hand on Steve's shoulder and put a little bit of pressure there, to get him started moving back to the car. He put his son in the passenger seat of the car and went around to get in on his own side, stopping to talk to Amanda and Jesse, leaving Steve in the car alone. Steve slid his finger into the already opened envelope and pulled out the sheets of paper. There were two of them, and he could smell the spaghetti that they had had for dinner that night on them. Shannon's handwriting told her sister-- and Steve-- that she had loved him with all her heart. Every word told him that she had loved him, and in the final paragraph, she said that she was going to tell him the very next day when she thought she would see him again. He read the letter several times before he leaned his head back on the headrest. Mark slid into the driver seat and looked over at his son. "Are you OK?" Steve nodded and handed the letter to his father. Mark read the letter through twice then looked over at his son with a slight smile. "I told you she loved you," he said. Steve looked over at Mark. His expression was serious for a moment, then he smiled. "I knew," he said. "The letter just confirmed it."