Page 1 of Saved By the Lieutenant

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AMANDA

My eyes are tired,my entire body is drained, but I push through it. I need to push through it.

I read the autopsy report— something I hacked into earlier this evening. Something that could have me in a lot of trouble if found out, but I had to know. I had to find out if what I've been dreading, fearing, and worrying about is true. In the past three months, six women have been murdered. All of them have been brutally murdered, their deaths have been so similar that when the reports hit my desk, a chill went through me with every single detail. The killer isn't just killing here in Philadelphia but is clever enough to spread their spree throughout Pennsylvania. With the multiple police departments in the state, it would be hard for them to find the connection.

I have and I've tried to contact one of my friends within the police department but he's currently on vacation with his family. The other is completely ignoring my calls. After my last exposé on the shocking way that the police handled the case with the serial stalker, I'm currently persona non-grata at the local PD. No one is going to listen to me unless I have some solidproof. Hence why I’m in my office at almost midnight reading over the autopsy of the latest woman murdered.

It started off with prostitutes and homeless women. Four of the six victims were women who could disappear and wouldn't have many people or any at all look for them. They're usually the safe bets for these sick individuals to start out their sprees. The last two victims were a mother of two and a newly married woman. All women are in their mid to late twenties, brunette, with green eyes. These are not the only similarities that these women have in common. Their deaths are almost the exact replicas of one another. Each woman had a horrifying death, they were beaten, strangled, and stabbed to death. Each of the victims were stabbed five times in their torso.

The latest victim, Monica Michaels, returned from her honeymoon ten days ago. Two days ago, a call was made to the Bristol PD out of Bucks County where Dominic Michaels called about his missing wife as it hadn't been twenty-four hours since she'd gone missing, there wasn't much that Bristol PD could do. It was twelve hours later that Monica's body was uncovered by two people out running who stumbled across her while out running. It took another twelve hours for the news of her death to hit our newsroom. The moment I heard, I got a sickening feeling in my gut.

As a journalist, someone who's worked my entire career being a crime journalist, I've learned that my gut is rarely ever wrong. I've seen some horrific cases, I've won awards for my reports and articles. But with this case, it's gotten to me. I can see the pattern, I can see that the killer has a type, but with the last case I did, I pissed off a lot of law enforcement and any calls I’ve made have been unanswered. I needed solid proof and I had hoped that I was wrong, and prayed that Monica's death wouldn't be connected to what I truly believe is a serial killer. But the autopsy doesn't lie.

Damn it.

I reach for my cell and call my boss. Gerald Levi is the editor in chief of The Metropolitan Gazette. “You should be at home,” he drawls as he answers his cell. “Why are you calling me, Amanda?”

“Ger,” I say softly. “Monica’s autopsy results are in and it's just like the other five.”

Silence spreads between us. I’ve kept him updated the entire way through my investigation. I needed to vent to someone, to have someone let me know that I’m not imagining things. Gerald is a straight shooter, and he’d have no qualms telling me that I was wrong, but he didn’t. in fact, he made me dig deeper, uncover their lives, something that I'm still in the midst of doing. The first four victims are a lot harder to track down, but I won't stop until I have everything I need. These women need justice and I’m not stopping until they have it.

“Fuck,” he snaps. “I'll make the call in the morning. The cops aren’t going to ignore this now, not anymore. Go home Amanda, get some rest, tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

I sigh. “Okay, I'm going to reach out to Peter once again, hopefully he’ll answer this time.” I know that calling Callum Dawkins is not going to help me, he’s on vacation. Peter, however, is my friend, or was. He’s not answered my calls in a week.

“He damn well better answer. I’m sick to my back teeth of those assholes ignoring you. Not once have you ever been wrong with your information. They’re seriously lacking memory of who’s helped them solve many cases. Just because you reported about a serial stalker that they fucked up on, doesn't mean they can black ball you. No, you call that asshole and demand that he listen to you. If not, then tomorrow, I’m going to rein holy hell on all of them.”

A small smile plays on my lips. Gerald is extremely protective of me, and I know that he feels my frustration and hurt over this situation. He’ll do whatever he can to help.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him.

“No, you’ll call me once you’re home. There’s a killer on the loose, Mandy, I’ll not have you be his next victim. You call me the moment you’re home. Hell, text me when you’re leaving and your ass better be leaving in minutes.”

He’s grumpy but I know it’s due to his protectiveness. Not to mention that all six victims look so similar to me. Green eyes and brunette.

“I will,” I assure him. “I won’t be long.” I end the call and take a deep breath. Steadying myself for what’s to come.

I scroll through my contacts until I reach Detective Peter Otali’s name. I hit call and place my cell to my ear, listening to it ring over and over again.

“Now isn’t a good time,” he grinds out.

“I’ve been calling you for the past week and a half,” I hiss. “I’ve uncovered something, Peter,” I say, my body shaking with anger and fear. I need him to listen to me, these victims need him to listen to me.

“What’s going on Amanda?” He’s alert and finally, fucking finally listening to me.

“There’s a serial killer on the loose in Pennsylvania. Six women, all brunettes, green eyes and in their mid to late twenties. All women have been brutally beaten, strangled, and stabbed to death. The first victim was in Pittsburg, then Harrison, then Scranton. The fourth was here in Philly, but the last two haven't been in bigger cities, Peter. One was in Dauphin and the other in Bristol. The killer is smart, killing in different cities and counties within the state.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “Right, where are you now?”

“At the office,” I reply, feeling lighter than I did earlier.

“Every piece of evidence you have, I’m going to need.”

“Um,” I say hesitantly. “It may not all be legal.”

Silence once again. “Right,” he clips. “You give me what you can that is legal and steer me in the direction of what isn’t, so I can get it legally.”

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