DAY TWENTY

By now the media furor about the shootings had tapered off to nothing.  The day passed without a single story about it in print or on the air.  The media can only sustain a frenzy for a short time without new fuel and with three weeks since the shootings there was little to report.  Everything they knew had been reported, re-reported and analyzed.  The only story the day before was a small one on page nine.

The department, sans three officers was getting back to normal.  The assignments reverted to the normal ones.  None of the leads turned up anything.  There were arrests as the result of the investigation but like Jeff Zirkle, they turned up people who were not involved in these shootings.  There was no progress on solving the shootings and with no more shootings everyone hoped it was over.  The papers were even calling the long period without an additional shooting as an indication it was over.  Few who knew anything about mass shootings thought this was the end.  The layoff was not unusual for a criminal.  And a resumption was almost certain. Serial killers never quit till they are caught.

The three women were scheduled for a preliminary fitting to prepare them for their new legs.  The inspections of their stumps showed they still had too much edema.  They were told that they were not ready for the fitting but they should now be taking the pylon off in the evening and wrapping their stumps for the night.  The shop did give them a pylon with a hinge that could be released when sitting.  They no longer had to sit with the pylon pointing out straight.   Their appointments were rescheduled and they went home.

NIGHT TWENTY EIGHT

It was 2224, a little more then an hour and a half to the end of the shift.  Jan King had a new partner.  Deb Stough was an officer with nearly four years on the force.  They were about to head back toward the station when they spotted an abandoned car along King Street.  They pulled up behind it and requested a plate check.  The license number came up stolen.  Both got out of the unit and took the proper positions to inspect the car.  Deb stopped near the front passenger door and shone her flashlight in the car.  She called out, “It’s empty,” to Jan just as a rifle crack echoed up the street.