“Yeah.” His voice shaky.
“Don’t shoot to wound, shoot to kill.”
“I thought the whole goal of being a cop was to apprehend the killer?”
“It is, but we need to face reality here, most serial killers don’t intend to come quietly. It usually ends in a chase and a bloodbath, or they commit suicide by cop. So get your head right for that possible outcome.”
His breath trembles as he nods. “I will, Devi.”
I smirk at him. “You’ll be alright. Just stay frosty and watch our six.”
Chapter 4
We arrive just outside the Earth Wind Colony out in the sticks. The Colony is a place where hippies come to make their home so they can hide their pot usage. On the way here, my captain got us approval for a search warrant of the premises. Flicking my cigarette out the window, I step out of the car.
The bleakness of the rain sends a grim reminder of my partner’s death slithering through my mind like serpents. An image appears in my head of me holding his lifeless body and screaming in rage. The static of the radio on Jason’s belt snaps me back to the present. I open the trunk and pull my Mossberg Cruiser 12 gauge off the weapon rack. Jason puts on his TAC vest and loads his shotgun and cocks it, sending one into the breach. I slip on my vest. “Stay on my six, Jason.”
“Right behind you.”
I head into the woods with my partner at my side. We try our best to be quiet in the thicket, but it's hard when dead leaves crunch beneath your feet. These woodlands remind me of the raid at the cult compound on the outskirts of Miami. It was beautiful and quiet like this just before the shit hit the fan. Let’s hope this is not history repeating itself. The hippies sit around a giant bonfire, smoking marijuana and sipping beers some are making out rather intensely.
God, I feel like such an asshole right now.
The aroma of the weed makes this place seem like heaven, paradise, a place where I can get so fucked up and lost I can forget who I am.
I switch the radio to channel 4, the channel the Sheriff told us they’d be on. I lift up my Walkie. “Hit it!” Deputies in full tactical gear storm from the woods, armed with M4s and shotguns with flashlight mounts, ordering all of them to get on the ground. The officers slam the reluctant ones to the ground. “Come on, Jason. Let’s get this over with.” We exit the tree line and walk into the camp. By this time, the deputies have all of them on their knees restrained with zip ties and lined up.
I stand in front of them, letting the weapon hang. “Good evening, folks. I am sorry to interrupt your little party here, but my partner and I need your help locating someone. We are looking for a man named Christopher Godfrey. He goes by the alias CG He is wanted for questioning for several murders, and we suspect he may be the Moonlight Killer you’ve heard about.” I get no responses from any of them. They leave me standing in awkward silence, making me feel like an asshole. “This man has killed five people! You got a good thing going here. I like this, so why fowl it up with a psychopath like Godfrey?”
The baked out asshats continue to exercise their right to remain silent, just gawking at me with their glassy stoned eyes, some of them are giggling. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, I guess we can haul your asses in and talk to you one by one.”
A lady’s voice pierces the awkward silence. I turn directly to the curly-haired young blonde wearing a grass-stained tank top and cargo shorts. “CG died, Officer.”
I walk over to her, crossing my arms “How and when?”
“He took a hit of heroin, a bad hit, and he overdosed.” Her voice shakes.
“How long ago?”
“Long before the Moonlight Killer was even a thing.” She points to the end of the edge of the camp. “His shack is over there near the tree line.”
Damn it! It looks like he’s not the killer either. Another dead end, another night wasted, dancing in the rain.
“Thanks for finally speaking up.” Jason and I head over to his shack, I try the door, and it’s locked. I kick in the rickety wooden door, and switch on my flashlight, illuminating the shed. This place has a lot of anti-oil corp propaganda, but nothing that suggests he’s the killer we’re looking for, or in cahoots with Moonlight. The killer we’re looking for is a religious nut. This one is the opposite of religious. He has a poster pinned to his wall that that reads, Death to Capitalism in big red letters. And lastly, a book by Karl Marx. It’s settled, he’s not our suspect.
“Devi, check this shit out.” His voice fearful.
My light shines over where Jason is standing. The torch reveals an AK47 with a drum mag hanging on the wall above a military-style cot.
As much of a radical as he was, a simple questioning could’ve turned into a bloodbath in seconds.
“Good thing he’s dead. A lot of people could’ve died here today.”
He shudders and stares at the floor. “Yeah. In Palestine, I saw firsthand how much damage these things can do.” Again, a smart move to get his family out of there.
“This guy is not our killer. We wasted our time here.”
A crease forms in his forehead. “So, that’s it, then?”
“Well, this tree fucker isn’t our suspect. He looks like the kind of guy who would’ve hated the Moonlight Killer judging by his choice of decor. Dead or alive, Godfrey was a wasted trip, and the fact he’s dead
