A few minutes pass. The only sounds are Colin's sobs and the killer's breathing, which gets faster and faster.
'That's right. Yeah. Good.'
As he nears climax, he places the base of the plastic bottle he's been holding against the top of the woman's head. He puts the barrel of the 9mm into the bottle opening.
'That's it!'
His hips spasm, and at the same moment he fires into the bottle, the slug shooting straight through her forehead, embedding itself in the sofa.
The bottle traps most of the noise, and the sound is no louder than a hand clap.
Colin's head snaps up, staring as his mother falls away.
'Don't look so surprised, Colin. You know you can't trust cops.'
He tosses aside the bottle, now filled with swirling white smoke. Then he picks up a sofa cushion and shoves it into Colin's face, jamming the gun into the fabric.
Four shots. Colin goes slack.
Condom still on, the killer zips up his pants, picks up the plastic bottle, and leaves the apartment. There's no one in the hallway, and no one outside.
His headache, happily, is gone.
The cop hops into his car and checks his watch. He's on his lunch break, and has already used up fifty-five minutes.
He speeds back to the station. After ten blocks, the condom goes out the window. A few blocks later, so does the soda bottle.
On his way back to the district house, the killer stops in front of the Wabash Bridge and pulls over to the curb. Palming the gun, he gets out and walks over to the Chicago River.
No one gives him a second glance as he drops the gun into the greenish water.
When he arrives back at the station, he doesn't see Benedict's Camaro in the parking lot. He's beaten them back.
The cop parks and walks into the building, wondering whom he hates more, Jack or that fat piece-of-shit Herb.
He climbs the stairs, heading for Benedict's office. His plan, such as it is, is deceptively simple.
He'll keep killing women and leaving various things belonging to Jack and Herb at the crime scenes.
Eventually, they might get close to figuring it out. When that time comes, he'll kill them both, making it look like they've killed each other.
Then he'll solve these current murders himself, framing his mortician friend Derrick Rushlo.
Sadly, Derrick won't make it to trial.
Simple. Effective. And so much fun.
The killer makes sure no one notices as he slips into Herb's office.
He's looking for something, anything, that Herb will recognize when he sees it on the next victim. A tie clip, a wrist watch, a picture of his ugly wife . . .
'Here we are.'
In Herb's desk drawer, he finds a library card. Without hesitating, he picks it up.
'May I help you, Officer?'
His head snaps around. Benedict is walking into the office, holding a large coffee. One of his eyebrows is raised in silent inquiry.
'Hi, Detective Benedict. I was dropping these off for you.'
In one smooth motion he slips the library card into his chest pocket and removes a small bottle of pills. He hands it to Benedict.
'Non-aspirin pain reliever?' Herb reads.
'Remember that bottle I borrowed last month?'
'Oh, yeah. Thanks.' Benedict slaps him on the shoulder, like they're best buddies.
'Well, back to work,' he says. 'TOSAP.'
'That's what we get paid for.' Herb chuckles. 'To Serve and Protect.'
Too bad there's no one to protect you from me, old man.
Leaving Herb's office, he bumps into Jack, causing her to spill some coffee.
'Good afternoon, Officer.'
'Good afternoon, Lieutenant.'
Bitch.
Well, if things go as planned, Herb and Jack won't be around to irritate him for much longer.
