12th and Holman

  Thursday

  Prior to sunset

  Detective Mackey reaches the abandoned shopping mall in record time. He observes everything around him with due diligence, climbing cautiously from his car. He spots the patrol car of Officer Francine Melbourne--the police officer he's been ordered to assist. Alarm bells immediately begin to go off in the detective's head.

  Officer Melbourne's squad car sits empty, the front driver's side door wide open. Deep creases form on Detective Mackey's brow, and he draws his sidearm from its holster. Every well-trained police officer knows to always shut their car door. Lest, a thief or bad actor drive away with their patrol vehicle. If Officer Melbourne somehow left her door open, it must have been for a pretty damn good reason. Or, because she had no choice.

  James closes and locks his own vehicle. He inches forward, weapon drawn and jaw clenched. Something about this scene isn't quite right. A metallic clatter draws Detective Mackey's attention upward. His eyes settle on the fifth floor balcony of a large department store. He catches sight of a woman dressed in a flowing tan trenchcoat. The woman realizes James has spotted her and darts away from the open balcony.

  "Looks like a food court of some kind," Mackey muses. "Fifth floor...Ninth window from the right. Okay. Let's see who we have here."

  Racing into the department building, James takes the stairs two at a time. No way, he is trusting the elevator. If trenchcoat lady wishes to escape, she will have to go past him to do it. Good luck with that.

  The sun has begun to set, casting long eerie shadows along the poorly lit hallways. Many of the building's dusty windows are shattered and broken, allowing James a glimpse of the nearby skyline. Not a bad view. If you can abide the construction and the noise pollution.

  James climbs higher and higher up the winding staircase, scanning every open doorway. The detective stops running once he reaches the fifth floor. No woman in a trenchcoat managed to pass him on the stairs. Not so much as a sight or a sound. Where has she gone? Did she slip away before he'd made it inside?

  James enters the abandoned food court he'd glimpsed from below. A more than unpleasant sight greets him inside. Swinging from a large beam, above an overturned table, is Officer Francine Melbourne. The woman's jet black hair hangs down over her face. Even without seeing her face, James is quite certain the cop is dead. Melbourne's usually tan skin has an ashen appearance, and both arms hang limply at her sides. How long has she been like this? It couldn't have been for long.

  Detective Mackey solemnly approaches the hanging police officer, his comrade in arms, and examines her still form. The tan trenchcoat she wears is of particular interest. Was it Officer Melbourne he'd glimpsed at the window?

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  Footfalls in the hallway behind him. No. A trick. James whirls in the direction of the staircase from which he ascended.

  "Hey! Stop!" Detective Mackey barks.

  Bursting into the hall, James watches as another trenchcoat clad woman races up to the seventh floor. Confusion plays across the detective's face. Trenchcoat Lady isn't trying to get away. So what the hell is she doing?

  The detective gives chase. He is tempted to fire a warning shot. However, every fired weapon requires an incident report--and a possible visit from Internal Affairs. Why risk unnecessary paperwork? James settles for using only his outdoor voice.

  "Stop! Police! Stop right now!"

  The fleeing woman does not heed Detective Mackey's warning. She continues to race up the staircase. James knows that eventually she will run out of floors to hide on. The department store only has eleven floors. What will she do then?

  Reaching the door leading to the roof, the woman opens it with her shoulder and lunges outside. Mackey is less than ten seconds behind her. The door nearly shuts in his face but James rams it open like a freight train. Trenchcoat woman stands at the roof's edge, the last rays of sunlight being cast at her back. James stops running when he is only a few feet away from the unknown woman. He raises one hand, signalling a desire to end the chase. However, the detective also allows her to see the weapon in his other hand. This isn't a game.

  "Ma'am, I want you to get down on the ground...Roof. Lie flat and put your hands where I can see them."

  The woman nervously shakes her head and takes a backward step. James' breath catches in his throat. She isn't very far from the edge. Another couple of steps and she may go over. The way her chest is rising and falling, she is obviously very winded and possibly afraid. Of him? Or the consequences of her actions? Did she kill Officer Melbourne?

  Trenchcoat woman shakes her head a second time. She raises both hands, allowing James to see the duct tape around her wrists. Closing the distance between them, James notices the tape over the woman's mouth as well. Not duct tape, but the tan-colored kind used for painting and crafts. And over the tape, a thin layer of lipstick, creating the illusion of pouty lips. It would appear he has found their hostage.

  "Ma'am...Everything is gonna be okay," James says, trying to shake the sense of familiarity settling into his consciousness. He feels as if he has seen this woman before. "Ma'am...I need you to slowly walk towards me. Nice and slow."

  The woman shakes her head a third time, peering cautiously around. At this point, there is no doubt in the detective's mind that trenchcoat woman is in mortal danger. He needs to get her off of the damned roof. And quick.

  "Ma'am...You'll be okay. I'm here to help. Just...Walk towards me."

  The woman hesitates, and then moves as if to comply. A loud shot splits the evening silence. Red blood explodes from the back of the young trenchcoat woman's head. She tumbles backward and off of the roof. James' eyes widen and he rushes to the building edge. He peers over just in time to see the young woman's body crash through a construction canopy on the side of the building. Beneath the canopy, water flows turbulently from the nearby river. James curses aloud. He watches as a tan dot, which was once a beautiful young woman, flows further and further away from the crime scene.

  The angry detective pivots and glances around, expecting to be gunned down. No hail of bullets follows the single deadly shot. Only one building in the area could have afforded the killer the needed vantage shot? Detective Mackey stares in that direction with a wrathful glare.