Play To Kill aka Shoot To Thrill

'Hell, yes!' Gino snapped. 'Christ, are there any parents out there anymore, or is it the hot new trend to let wolves and the Web raise your kids? If one of my spawn did something like that, I'd hog-tie 'em, smear 'em with honey, and throw 'em on a fire ant hill.'

'You would not,' Magozzi said.

'Well, maybe not my kids, but one of my neighbors' kids did that…'

'It's not just kids,' Tommy said. 'A few other nutters have been busted. Point is, the copycats aren't in the same league technology-wise as our murderer… or murderers. They're not using anonymity software, and they're not running through foreign servers, so it's a no-brainer to trace them. But the really bad guys are seriously dialed-in.'

'What I'd like to know is how the media got all this information,' Magozzi said.

Tommy shrugged. Who were the insiders on all of this shit, besides Monkeewrench, the Feds, and us? I'm thinking it's gotta be one of the hackers the FBI brought in, long on info and short on cash. I mean, the Feds have been using hackers forever, and most of them are straight-up dope when they get the call, either because there's money involved, or a commuted sentence. But it's always dicey when you get criminals to help you catch other criminals. So, you guys want to see more coverage, or do you want to see what I dug up on that list of vies you gave me yesterday?'

Gino asked, 'Anything in there we're going to like?'

'Well, it's not exactly an earthquake, but there are a couple of things that are kind of interesting'

Magozzi looked at Tommy. 'Shoot.'

'I'll give you guys all the paper on this so you can take a closer look for yourself, but here's the short version -

Minnesota is the common denominator for six of the victims. And five of those six have criminal records right here in the Land of Lakes. What's that do for you?'

Gino made a sock face. 'Makes me want to move to Iowa.'

'Which vies have the sheets?' Magozzi wanted to know.

Tommy consulted a handwritten piece of scrap paper that looked like it was written in Aramaic. 'Elmore Sweet in Cleveland – and by the way, you guys were right about him being the same weasel from Ely. Justice is finally served.'

'Awesome,' Gino said, pumping his fist.

Tommy continued deciphering his notes. 'Then your North Shore guy, Austin, Chicago, and L.A. Your river bride is the sixth Minnesota link, but he-she-whatever didn't have a record, just a lifetime resident of our fair state.'

'All men.'

Yep. The two women have no records and no Minnesota connection.'

'So what kind of crimes are we looking at?' Gino asked.

'Well, basically, you've got a Greatest Hits list of dirty deeds: the two pedophiles – Elmore Sweet and your North Shore hole in one; vehicular manslaughter, a nasty domestic, and a drive-by that popped a five-year-old girl asleep in her bed.'

Gino had that gleam in his eye that always terrified Magozzi, because it was usually the precursor to some spectacularly whacked theory. 'Bad men,' he pointed out. 'Bad, dead men, specifically targeted, who all had their own victims at one point. I know what this is. Couldn't be more clear.'

Magozzi and Tommy didn't even bother to ask, because they knew Gino would march out his latest and greatest without encouragement.

'We're looking at a bunch of vigilante killings, guys. It's the only thing that makes sense. And let's face it. We've been getting more and more of those lately.'

Tommy thought about that, tipping his head back and forth to shake the memories out of his brain. 'All those old people killing each other.'

'Exactly. And let's not forget our little snowman fiasco just last winter…'

'All right, all right,' Magozzi said irritably. 'So we've had some vigilante killings. They've always been around, just like any other motive for murder. But that's not what's happening here.'

Gino folded his arms over his chest. 'I got two words for you. Charles Bronson.'

'Who's Charles Bronson?' Tommy asked.

'Are you kidding me? Mr. Vigilante is who he is, or was. He might be dead, I'm not sure. Anyway, it's an old movie. Thugs kill his family, he loads up and off he goes, popping people right and left. That was a seriously popular movie, and you know why? Because sometimes the justice system lets people down, and until we stop letting pedophiles and murderers walk, we're going to have Charles Bronsons out there.'

Magozzi rolled his eyes. 'Damnit, Gino, I don't care how many vigilantes are out there, these are not revenge killings.'

'Why not?'

'First off, it's too risky, because there's a past personal connection. Second, revenge killers are focused on eliminating whoever they're pissed at, not in showing off trophies.'

'Maybe they all found each other on the Web and egged each other on, like Chelsea said.'

Magozzi shook his head. 'If you're out to avenge the death of a loved one, you're not going to pre-advertise on the Web. You want the guy dead. Why take the chance that someone can find out ahead of time and stop you? Vigilantes are on a holy mission; what's happening here is some kind of sick game-playing.'

Gino thought about that for a minute, then stuck his lips out as far as they would go. 'Well, gee, Leo, thanks a whole hell of a lot. There you go, popping a real pretty fantasy bubble once again, trashing one of my more brilliant theories. So if it's not pissed-off survivors, and it's not a single killer, then the victims aren't going to have anything in common. So what the hell are we looking for?'

'Damned if I know. But we're going to keep looking until we find it.'

Gino turned his attention back to Tommy. 'Did you print out complete files on all the victims?'

'Hey, I'm your man, of course I did. Everything's in there.' He pointed to an enormous box sitting by his door.

Gino's jaw went slack. 'You've gotta be kidding me. That box is bigger than my first house.'

Chapter Twenty-two

Chief Elias Frost had been sitting in the corner of the tiny ICU cubicle since Marian had gotten out of surgery. The nurses had tried to kick him out; even a couple of well- intentioned doctors; but he was having none of that.

'She won't be able to talk,' the doctors told him.

You said she moved her hands.'

'That's correct. There's no paralysis.'

'Then maybe she can write.'

'Chief Frost, if she wakes up at all within the next forty- eight hours, it's going to be a miracle.'

'Then I'll wait for a miracle.'

He'd seen a few of those in ICU rooms just like this one over his twenty-odd years on the force. No reason he couldn't see another one. Especially this one.

Her last name was Brandemeyer, on loan from the useless piece of crap she'd married when marijuana and motorcycles were more of a magnet than a skinny kid who wanted to be a cop. She'd dumped the garbage when he started hitting her, but kept the name because there was a daughter. But he never did think of her with a last name. Just Marian. A single-name person, like Elvis or Cher.

No way in the world he could have recognized her face. It was all swollen and mottled from the surgery. But they had her hands outside the sheet, and he would have known them anywhere. Lord knows he should have; he'd held them often enough when they were an item in high school. Going steady is what they called it then, back when Medford only had one high school and everybody knew everybody else.

He looked at his watch and marked the thirteenth hour of his vigil. When he looked up again he had one of