Prisoner of Death

The mid-morning sun shown brightly into the far corner of the hanger. Myron Hawkes heard the footsteps approaching and sighed, knowing his enjoyable morning was about to be disrupted. He continued to clean the piston as he formulated his plan to fight off the intruder. A moment later Captain Ronald Rust leaned against the table and tapped a cigeratte from its pack. Rust remained silent as he lit the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of bluish-gray smoke.

"Do you think you'll ever finish this thing?" Rust asked, looking up at the vintage P-51B Mustang.

"That depends on how often I get interrupted on my days off," Myron answered.

Rust ignored the comment as he looked over the aircraft. The engine compartment was empty. The engine, now in hundreds of pieces, was spread out on the large table in front of Myron. The birdcage canopy had also been removed and the broken pieces of glass removed, but not yet replaced.

"I thought you told me you had the money to have someone overhaul the engine for you," Rust said, turning back to Myron.

"I did," Myron said. "Now I don't, so I'll just do it myself."

Rust groaned. "Don't tell me you've been down at the River Princess again."

Myron dropped the piston on the table and began wiping the grease from his hands. "I had a full house, kings over jacks. What was I suppose to do?"

"Oh, let's see, how about trying to stay away from the place," Rust said. "Hell, you've paid for them to remodel the poker room twice. They love you down there."

Myron knew where the conversation was going and had been there too many times already. "Did you come here to preach at me again, or help with the overhaul?"

Rust dropped the cigarette and smashed the fire beneath his heal. "Neither, I have a case I need you on, and I need you right now. You could have saved me some time if you would just get a cell phone."

"I don't like cell phones, and I don't like being interrupted."

"Well, I'm sorry, all of my good detectives are occupied," Rust said. "Now get your stuff, they are holding the crime scene for you."

"Did you even notice the part about this being my day off?"

"I believe you mentioned it, I just don't care."

Myron sighed and shook his head. "What do you have?" he asked as he got up and started toward a row of lockers.

"A very nasty one," Rust said, pulling the cigarettes from his shirt pocket. "And we don't have a lot of time to solve it."

"Why is that?"

"You'll see."

It was a five minutes past noon when Myron and Rust arrived at the crime scene. Rust went to make some phone calls as Myron rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Once there he had little trouble finding the crime scene. The doorway to apartment 622 was being guarded by two uniform officers as several members of the crime scene team waited in the hallway. Myron signed in, then ducked beneath the yellow tape that criss-crossed the doorway. The room had four occupants, one of which was the center of attention. The man's body lay on the floor just beside a folding card table. While the official cause of death would not be determined until the ME examined the body, Myron felt confident he knew what had killed this man.

The top forward portion of the man's skull had been lifted away by what appeared to be a single gunshot wound. The entry wound was in the center of the lower jaw, and visible signs of powder burns were clearly evident. A forty-five caliber automatic pistol lay on the floor beside the body. Myron's first thought was suicide, a self inflicted wound, but if that were the case, why did Rust insist on Myron coming to the scene.

"This should be interesting," a man said as he approached.

Myron turned to find Doug Peters beside him. Doug was a handsome man, his features rugged and well defined. While not large, Doug presented an imposing figure, mostly through his personality and obvious self confidence. Myron had worked with Doug on several occasions and knew him to be a good and dependable officer.

"Looks like a suicide," Myron said. "What makes you think it is something else?"

Doug smiled. "It is a suicide, no doubt about it," he said. "He recorded the whole thing on video, just for us," Doug continued, pointing to a video camera mounted atop a tripod.

Myron stepped over the body and glanced at the items on the table before turning his attention to the camera. "Other than it being a bit odd, why are we allocating so many people to a suicide."

"You'll want to watch the video," Doug said. "Its not exactly your standard suicide note. We've already played it a couple of times, so don't worry about getting prints on he camera."

Myron adjusted the small LCD monitor and then pressed the 'PLAY' button. There was a slight hesitation before the screen came to life. The apartment came into view, then the view was briefly obscured as a person walked in front of the camera. A moment later Myron could see it was the man who now lay on the floor only a few feet away. In his left hand he held what appeared to be several Polaroid pictures, in his right hand he held a forty-five caliber automatic. He shifted the gun awkwardly in his hand. Myron made a mental note to himself that this man was certainly no gunslinger. After starring at the recorder for several moments, the man began to speak. His voice was low and shaky, but he could clearly be understood.

"I have a girl, and if you don't find her in time, her death will be on you," he said, holding out the pictures. "You will have eight hours to find her from the time you play this tape. The timer on the table will give you a count down to go by, so don't waste time."

Myron glanced away from the screen and could see the small timer on the table. It was counting down and currently read seven hours, fifty-two minutes. Myron looked at his watch, then back at the screen as the man continued.

"She has been buried alive and she has enough air to last until the timer runs out," he said. "Everything you need to find her is in this room. If you don't find her, it will be your fault, not mine. There will be no mulligans, no do-overs. You get only one chance to save her. As for me, I have done everything in my power to help you. Please, find her, save her, and don't let all this be for nothing."

As he finished speaking, the man put the barrel of the automatic under his chin, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger. His body was thrown back and landed in a twisted heap, in the same position it currently lay before Myron and the other officers.

"Not exactly something you see every day," Doug said. "Here are the pictures," he continued handing over the five photographs.

Myron took the photos and examined each one. They showed an attractive young woman sitting in a shallow grave. Her hands and feet were bound with ropes and what appeared to be a dish rag served as a gag. The following pictures showed the woman being sealed into a wooden box, then the box being buried to a depth of approximately two feet. Myron noticed each of the photos had a time stamp on them. A quick calculation told Myron the times seemed right, and would match the time table given on the video tape.

As Myron looked at the last picture two additional people entered the apartment. They paused briefly to examine the body, then joined Myron and Doug on the far side of the room. Myron's partner, Tim Murphy, took the photos Myron offered as Doug introduced the second newcomer.

"Myron, this is my new partner, Jennifer Tyson," Doug said.

"Nice to meet you," Myron said as they shook hands. "Doug, you've had a look around, any reason we shouldn't think this guy is for real?"

"Hard to say, but I think he is on the level," Doug said.

Myron considered the situation as he starred at the timer. "Okay, we have to assume he was telling the truth," he finally said. "Doug, you and Jennifer find out who the girl is. Where did he abduct her? Most importantly, when did he take her? Find out if she is married, children, lives locally, in town visiting, everything you can come up with, and we need it yesterday."

Doug nodded as he took the pictures from Tim. As Doug began explaining the situation to his partner, Myron turned to Tim. "He said everything we need to find her is in this apartment," Myron said. "I don't think he was talking about a map, so we have to look at everything. Take a look at the video and get caught up, then go over it with a fine tooth comb. Is there anything on the tape, anything he said, that could be a clue. I'm going to give search and rescue a heads up that we might be needing their assistance. At least, lets hope we do."

6 hours 10 minutes remaining.

Myron had set up a temporary command center in the hallway just outside the apartment. A large map of the city had been tacked to the wall and two temporary tables set up. Myron was studying the photos when Tim joined him.

"Crime scene guys are going over everything," Tim said. "They got a few things, but nothing earth shattering. They'll bring it out as soon as photography and prints are done."

"Who called the police?" Myron asked.

"Call to 9-1-1 was made from the pay phone in the hallway, they didn't leave a name," Tim said.

Myron nodded toward the door. "It doesn't look like you had to force your way in."

"Door was slightly open when we got here," Tim answered. "Only about an inch. You can watch the video tape until the end and see the uniform was the first one in the apartment."

"Strange, I would have expected the door to be closed and locked. You would think he would have wanted privacy for this," Myron said.

"So far nothing about this guy has been what you would expect."

"I need you to get some deep background on our dead guy here," Myron said. "Where did he grow up, was he seeing a doctor, did he like to go camping, and if so where? Check his phone records and his credit cards, especially his gas cards. Maybe we got lucky and he had to buy gas on his way to bury the girl. Have a couple of uniforms start calling every number you find for him, friends, family, co-workers, enemies, anybody and everybody. And find out if he owns a car, and if so where is it. If you find it, have the CSI guys go over it."

"That's a tall order for six and a half hours," Tim said.

"I know," Myron answered. "Let's remember that was the estimation of a suicidal person. We have to assume his calculations could be off one way or the other, so let's not cut it too close."

"This just keeps getting better and better."

Tim left and Myron turned back to the map. He once again studied the photos and made several mental calculations. He was still deep in thought when someone spoke from behind him. Myron turned to find a man in a park ranger's uniform standing in the hallway.

The man appeared nervous and uncertain of where he should be, or if he should even be there at all. "They said you wanted to see somebody from the parks service," he said, his voice shaking. "They sent me. I'm Jason Knife."

Myron introduced himself and shook Jason's hand. "We have a situation here Jason and I'm hoping you can help us out. I need you to look at these pictures and tell me if you recognize the area." Myron turned back to the map, and taking out a pen he carefully drew a large circle on the map. "If the time stamp on the pictures is accurate, we know when they were taken. We know when the person who took them killed himself inside this apartment. This circle represents the approximate distance a person could drive from this apartment, at that time of the day, in the time allotted."

Jason looked at the pictures, then at the map. He squinted his eyes as he visually searched inside the black circle. "There are six parks in your search area," he finally said. "I would say four of them have wooded areas large enough to be from these pictures."

Myron handed him the pen and Jason circled the four parks he mentioned. "Can you be any more specific?" Myron asked. "Is there anything in the pictures that makes you think of one particular place?"

Jason shook his head. "Not right off hand," he said. "Can I have a few minutes and take a closer look?"

"Sure, have a seat and let us know if you need anything," Myron said, then motioned for one of the uniformed officers to come over. "Get an air unit to do a careful fly over of each of these parks. Then get with dispatch and have some patrol units drive through each park as well. Let them know what we are dealing with and have them call in anything suspicious directly to this location."

Doug and Jennifer came up the stairs while the officer was writing down the name of each park. It was evident from Doug's expression he didn't have good news.

"No women reported missing in the last forty-eight hours," Doug said. "As far as I can tell, no one matching the woman in the pictures has been reported missing in the past seven to ten days. I left a couple of guys on it, but I don't think she is in the system yet."

"We are getting nowhere really fast," Myron said, checking his watch. "Jennifer, see if you can get a psychologist down here to watch the tape. Maybe they can tell us something about this guy's personality."

"Anything new?" Doug asked.

Myron shook his head. "If this guy was telling the truth and everything we need to find her is in the apartment, we sure are doing a lousy job of seeing it."

Myron had just finished speaking when a member of the crime scene team came out of the apartment. He carried several small evidence bags which he presented to Myron. "This is what we have so far, the trace evidence will take a little longer," he said.

"Thanks Eddie, at least I have something new to look at," Myron said. "Okay, Doug, let's see what we can find."

4 hours 57 minutes remaining

The number of items being brought out of the apartment were small. A rental receipt, a pencil drawing of a King Cobra, several credit cards, a dirt covered shovel, the forty-five, and the video camera. None seemed to hold any immediate promise. Myron looked at the rental receipt through the clear plastic bag.

"He rented a tank of oxygen this morning from North Hills Medical Rental," Myron said. "Did they remember anything unusual about our man?"

"They gave me a general description that matches our dead guy. He said he needed the tank for his sick mother," Doug answered. "He came in alone, and none of them noticed what he was driving."

"Could they tell you how long the oxygen would last an average person?"

"Best guess, ten hours."

Myron placed a red push pin on the map where the rental shop was located. "He used his credit card to pay for the rental and deposit. There are no other credit card transactions within the last twenty-four hours."

"What do you make of the drawing?" Doug asked.

Myron picked up the plastic bag which held the drawing of a cobra. The image showed the snake emerging from a basket. In the foreground was another object, much like a tube, but it was difficult to make out. The detail of the drawing was quite good and obviously took a bit of time. Myron felt this fact alone made it important.

"Maybe our guy likes snakes," Myron said, continuing to study the picture.

"What is that in the foreground?" Doug asked, pointed to the dark object.

"It's a flute," Myron said. "The drawing is from the viewpoint of the snake charmer playing the flute, or whatever it is they play."

"Okay, I'll buy that. Any idea what it means?"

"Not really," Myron said softly. "Did you know cobra's are deaf, they can't hear a thing. The music the charmer plays is just for the audience. The snake is only following the movement of the flute, not the music."

"So, in our man's troubled little mind, are we the snake, or the charmer?"

"I would guess we are the snake. Reacting to what he shows us, but deaf to what is really going on," Myron said, then shrugged. "I'm not sure any of this is moving us forward though. What else do you have?"

"I sent a sample of the dirt from the shovel over to the crime lab. Pete promised to have it back within an hour," Doug said. "Other than the camera and the gun, we don't have much else to go on."

Myron picked up the bag holding the automatic. He looked closely at the weapon, then turned his attention to the clip which had been removed. "Did the tech empty the clip?"

Doug shook his head. "Nope, was empty when we took it out. Apparently he only had the one bullet in the chamber. Guess he didn't plan on missing."

"Everything we need to find her is in this room," Myron said softly, speaking more to himself. "Either he was lying, or we are missing something important."

"I think he was just messing with us," Doug said. "Why the hell would he care if we save the girl after he killed himself?"

"Maybe, but we can't assume that."

Myron had just finished speaking when Tim approached. "The police Chaplin is here," he said.

"Chaplin, what the hell do we need a Chaplin for?" Myron asked, turning to see a young woman entering the apartment.

She wore a pair of snug blue jeans and white blouse. Myron put her age at near thirty and as far from what he expected from a police Chaplin as possible. With short dirty blonde hair, a slim waste, more than adequate breasts, and very shapely hips Myron could not imagine her being described as anything other than stunning. She also had a charming smile she flashed at Myron as she extended her hand.

"Stephanie Walsh," she said. "I know, why did they send a Chaplin? I also have a degree in physiology and everyone else is busy, so the captain thought I might be able to help."

Myron shook her hand and noticed the softness of her skin and the firmness of her grip. "We need all the help we can get," he said. "I have to be honest, the video you need to see isn't for the weak or timid."

"I think I will be fine," Stephanie answered.

Myron found himself wishing they were not working on a case with such a tight time line as he found the woman before him to be more than somewhat intriguing. "We'll get it set up."

Tim began preparing the camera as Myron turned to Jason who was busy examining the soil samples from the shovel. "Please, tell me you have something?"

Jason shook his head. "Nothing definite, that's for sure," he answered. "This soil looks very sandy. If I had to guess, and it would be strictly a guess, I would say it came from somewhere close to the river. Maybe a lowlands area prone to flooding."

"Any of our target points match that criteria," Myron asked, turning back to the map.

Jason stepped forward and examined the parks and wooded areas designated as search targets. After several moments he took out a marker and circled three of the targets. "I would make those my priorities."

Myron's phone rang before he could issue any new orders. He immediately recognized Pete's voice from the crime lab. "Myron, we did a quick down and dirty on your soil sample. No Pun intended," Pete said. "You can tell it has a high content of sand, but we might have something else for you."

"I hope it's good, we're running out of time."

"There is an unusually high level of sulfur in the sample as well as nitrates from decaying vegetation."

"The pictures show she is buried in a wooded area," Myron said.

"Not my point. The level of decaying particles is much higher than normal," Pete explained. "If we had more time I could maybe narrow it down some for you, but the gravesite is someplace unique. I just can't say where that is right now."

"Okay, thanks Pete. Let me know the second you have anything new," Myron said.

He turned back to Stephanie when he heard the voice on the tape giving the final instructions. A moment later he could hear the gunshot. He watched as Stephanie starred at the screen without flinching or blinking an eye. Yes, he told himself, this was certainly not your normal Chaplin.

"What do you think?" Myron asked.

Stephanie remained silent for several moments before she answered. "Very odd. He is pleading with us to save the girl, even though he buried her and has the power to save her," she said. "And the last part, about not letting all this be for nothing. That doesn't fit."

"I agree, but is there anything on the tape or in what he said that tells us anything about where he buried her?"

She shook her head. "Not that just jumps out at me, no," she answered. "I don't know if it will help you find the girl, but there is more to this guy than meets the eye. He buried the girl, but he wants her to be found. Why? What is his motive for any of his actions?"

"All good questions. Questions that will have to wait until after we find the girl," Myron said.

"Do you mind if I stick around for a little while?" Stephanie asked as she pressed the rewind button.

"Be my guest, and don't be shy about sharing any thoughts or theories you might have."

1 Hour 24 minutes remaining

The mood in the hallway could best be described as, tense. With each passing minute the frustration level grew. Despite their continued best efforts, no new information had been discovered. Myron leaned against the banister and starred at the oversized map of the city. He remained confident the girl had to be buried within the perimeter he had established. Thus far, the helicopters and cruising ground units had been unable to spot anything unusual or suspect. They needed a break, and they needed it to come quickly.

"Let's go over this again," Myron said. "We have four prime targets and two secondary targets within over search area. We need to identify the most likely of the targets and concentrate all our manpower on a ground search. Jason, you're the expert. What can you tell us about our targets."

Jason stood and walked to the map. It was obvious Jason did not feel comfortable speaking in front of people. "Okay, we have Reagan Park and MLK Park. Both of these are just playgrounds with a softball field or two, no real wooden areas that match the photos," he said. "We have Alsop Park down here on the river. It has three hiking trails, a campground, playground, soccer fields, and I'd say about twenty acres of woodlands. To the best of my knowledge, it never floods. We have Deaver Park down at the lock and damn. There are some hiking trails, a bicycle course, playground, and a hell of a lot of woods all along the ridge overlooking the river. The last two sites are both well away from the river or any other water. Pine Acres and Woodrow Park both have a lot of wooded areas, as well as pavilions and playgrounds. Woodrow even has a place where you can rent horses by the hour."

"If is was your life on the line, where would you want us to send our search teams?" Myron asked.

"To the right place," Jason answered.

"And that would be?"

"My best guess would be Deaver. It has the most woods, and the roughest terrain. I think it would be by far the easiest place to hide a gravesite."

"Okay, now is the time for objections or counter opinions," Myron said. "We only get one shot at this, so we have to be right."

"One in four chance of being right, assuming the girl is in fact buried in one of the areas we have identified," Doug said.

"I know, not the best situation, but I don't see a lot of choices here," Myron said.

"I agree, Deaver Park is our best bet," Tim answered.

"I say Deaver," Jennifer said, but with very little enthusiasm.

"Okay, let's get search and rescue down there and make sure they have their dogs with them. Let them know the time line, and I want each of you to head up a search team. Look at the lay of the land, match it up to the pictures if you can. The goal is to cover as much ground as possible in the next hour and ten minutes," Myron said. "I'll coordinate the search from here. Get moving. Jason, can you get me a detailed map of Deaver park?"

"Give me a few minutes," Jason said, hurrying away.

"That's about all we have left," Myron whispered.

51 Minutes remaining

The search units were slow to get organized as nearly a hundred people converged on Deaver Park. Myron knew the search was a act of desperation, he just saw no other options available to them. He now studied the map of Deaver Park he had posted next to the city map. Only Jason and Stephanie remained with him. The others had joined the search and would be their eyes in the field. Myron had already marked off sections of the park which were too steep and hilly to match the landscape in the pictures. There were ten search units, each attempting to cover an impossible amount of area in a very short time.

Myron rubbed his eyes, waiting for any report of progress from the searchers. "We're not going to make it," he said softly.

Stephanie gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've done all you can," she said. "All we can do now is pray."

Myron looked at her eyes and could see her genuine concern. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to share in her optimism. "I'm not a church going person," he said, immediately wishing he had said something else, or nothing at all.

"Going to church doesn't have anything to do with praying," Stephanie said.

"Please don't take this personally, but I would rather stick with proven methods," Myron said.

Stephanie smiled. "Several studies have shown a significant percentage of hospital patients get well faster when they are prayed for, even when the patient doesn't know they are being prayed for. You don't have to understand it, and you don't have to be a church goer, but you should never underestimate the power of prayer."

Myron could see this Chaplin was not one to surrender a point easily, at least not one she believed in. "I will be certain to keep that in mind."

The minutes continued to slip past at a unbelievably slow pace. The search teams continued their efforts, but it was painfully clear they were going to cover only a small portion of the search area before time ran out. They were relying on luck, and little more. Myron paced the hallway as Stephanie studied the map. Turning to make another round, Myron thought he saw something in Stephanie's body language. He wasn't certain what he had seen, or if he were just admiring her form, but his instincts told him there was something there.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Stephanie glanced at him, then turned back to the map. "The parks are all colored green," she said, pointing to each of the search areas. "But there are other wooded areas that are just as public."

"Such as?" Myron asked, joining her at the map.

"There are four golf courses within the search area," Stephanie said. "Have you eliminated all of them?"

"No, I wasn't thinking of them as having wooded areas, at least not like the ones in the pictures," Myron said, mentally kicking himself. "What about it Jason, did you think about the golf courses?"

It was obvious by his expression he had not. He quickly walked to the map and evaluated the new information. "Okay, only two have dense woods around them, the others are all wide open and surrounded by city streets."

"Which two?"

Jason pointed to the two course. "You have Elder Park up here, and over here you have North Hills. I would think..."

"Wait a damn minute," Myron said, snatching up one of the evidence bags. "He rented the oxygen at North Hills Medical Rental. He left the receipt for us to find. It was the only thing he purchased with his credit card, so he was sure we would focus on it."

Myron looked at the receipt inside the bag, his mind racing. "On the tape, he said we wouldn't get any mulligans."

"What is a mulligan?" Stephanie asked.

"It's a golfing term. It's when you take a second shot that you don't count on your score card," Myron said. "She's buried at North Hills golf course. It looks like maybe your prayer was answered. Jason, call the grounds keeper out there, find out where they dump the grass clippings and that type of thing."

"The high level of deteriorating vegetation in the dirt sample?" Stephanie asked. Making it more of a statement.

"Exactly, and groundskeepers will sometimes put sulfur on the grass to adjust the coloration," Myron said, frantically punching in numbers on his cell phone. "We've got to get the search teams over there."

A moment later Jason had the groundskeeper on the line. He quickly explained the situation and the information they needed. "They dump everything in a wooded area off the eighth hole," he reported.

"Have them start a search, our other units are on the way," Myron said. "I'm going out there.

"Mind if I ride along?" Stephanie asked.

"If you can keep up," Myron said, taking the stairs three at a time.

Once in the car, Stephanie pulled her seatbelt tight as Myron raced through the sparse traffic. The search teams were just minutes ahead of them as additional fire units had been dispatched to help with the search. They were not only racing the clock, but daylight as the sun began to creep behind the horizon. As Myron maneuvered through an intersection Doug Peters relayed information.

"They found the site," Doug said over the radio. "They say its about thirty yards behind the fourth green. There is an access road that will take you to within just a few yards. You need to come in off of Addison. The access road is on your left about five hundred feet past Wilmount."

Myron checked his watch. "We're three minutes away," he replyed. "Have them start digging, and make it fast."

"Already on it."

The unmarked car skidded to a stop just behind the search and rescue units. Myron quickly climbed out and ran toward Doug Peters who stood beside a pile of fresh dirt. Several men stood in the shallow grave and two firemen attended to a young blonde headed girl who sat on the edge of the grave. She was covered in dirt and appeared to be in mild shock, but she was alive, with no apparent injuries.

"How is she doing?" Myron asked, kneeling down beside her.

"We need to get her to the hospital to be checked out, but I think she'll be fine," the paramedic answered.

"Miss, my name is Myron Hawkes, we've been looking for you."

The woman managed a smile as she looked up at Myron. "I appreciate that," she said, her voice weak.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Robin Hunt," she answered. "Have you found my husband?"

Myron glanced at Doug and Tim, then looked back at the young woman. "Was your husband abducted with you?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "What are you telling me? You do know about him?"

"When and where were you abducted?" Myron asked, ignoring her question.

"He grabbed us at the airport," she said. "He had a gun and told us if we resisted he would shoot us both. What's going on? Where's my husband?"

"Mrs. Hunt, does you husband have any identifying marks, tattoos, scars, anything like that?" Stephanie asked, now stepping forward.

The woman seemed confused as she searched for an answer. "He a... he has a scar along his right bicep. He had surgery to repair a torn muscle. I don't understand, what is..."

"What are you thinking?" Myron asked.

Stephanie looked at the woman, then back at Myron. "I'm thinking we already have the husband."

Myron starred at the six inch scar that ran along the right bicep. His stomach twisted in knots as the coroner pulled the sheet back over the body. Stephanie stood across the room, close enough to monitor, without being in the way. Myron turned and walked past Tim and Doug.

"You said it looked like he was begging us to find her," Myron said. "Don't let it be for nothing. That's why there was only a single round in the gun."

"One bullet to kill himself after he told us how to find his wife," Stephanie said.

"Kidnap two people, bury one and have the other pretend to be the perp," Myron said. "The only way the husband could save his wife was to go along with the plan. The plan that required him to kill himself. The ultimate sacrifice."

"Ten to one he was standing in the hallway, listening to make certain the husband did everything the way he had been told," Myron said. "That's why the door was open slightly, so he could see and hear, but not be on the video."

"Then he called the police himself and sat back to watch the show," Stephanie said.

"We were so pre-occupied with finding the girl we didn't confirm who the dead guy was," Myron said. "He matched the general description of the man who rented the apartment, so we believed exactly what he wanted us to believe."

"We got a good description from the woman," Tim said. "He was about the same size and build of her husband. Similar facial characteristics, same beard, same receding hairline."

"Probably why he picked them," Myron said. "Wait at the airport until you see someone who looks something like yourself. Thousands of people to pick from, all he had to do was be patient."

"But why," Stephanie asked. "What did he gain from it? What was his motive?"

"To screw with us," Doug answered. "Some people get off on showing how superior they are."

"But you know who he is, you can catch him. Right?" Stephanie said.

"Since he used a phony ID to rent the apartment, we don't really know who he is. We have a good description and we should be able to put together a good sketch," Myron said. "We've got all points bulletins out statewide for anyone matching his description. Since kidnapping was involved, the FBI is looking for him, but nothing yet," Myron said. "He cleaned out his bank account last week, and didn't show up for his job this week. We've got fingerprints and DNA to put into the systems, so if he surfaces somewhere, all kinds of red flags will go up."

"You don't sound very optimistic," Stephanie said.

"This was a well planned crime," Doug said. "He showed a great deal of patience in picking his victims. He knows police procedures and something about forensics. He won't be easy to catch."

"I've got a bad feeling this was just an opening move," Myron said as he held up the drawing of the Cobra. "This guy likes to play games, and he likes to raise the stakes. Next time, I think we will be playing for much higher stakes."

"You're certain there will be a next time?" Stephanie asked.

Myron continued to stare at the drawing. "I don't think we've heard the last of this guy. Not by a long shot."