Every Breath You Take

By Jay Zendrowski

St. Patrick’s Day is generally a quiet affair in the conservative university town of London, Ontario. For Detective Tee Pepper and his partner, Rupert Wallace, the assignment to locate a missing coed takes a quick turn when the young girl’s murdered body is found—all signs pointing to the work of a serial killer.
In a case like they’ve never had before, a series of clues that seem to be directed towards them lead the two detectives deeper and deeper into the twisted psyche of a clever opponent—a cold-blooded killer intent on testing them.
Pepper and Wallace use all their ingenuity as they probe deeper into the sick mind of their taunting adversary, discovering a shocking subculture they never knew existed in their quiet city. Can they solve the riddles and put an end to the killing spree before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Zendrowski
• Release date: Dec 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780993683640

Book preview

PART ONE

THE LEXICON OF LOVE

ABC

Chapter 1

The first punch caught him square in the jaw, rocking him backwards. The second punch landed just a split second later, the fist jabbing deep into his gut, the air coming out of him in a high-pitched whoosh, like a balloon letting go. His legs turned to mush and he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping like an asthma victim as he fought to get air. He saw the feet of his assailant approaching him, but couldn’t move—all he could think about was trying to get one more breath.

Come on, Pepper, I didn’t hit you that hard.

Pepper looked up, taking the offered hand held out by his opponent. He was pulled to his feet as the air slowly filtered back into his lungs, at least allowing him to stand without falling over. He stood there wheezing like an old man at a cheerleader convention, trying to look like he had the right stuff—but failing miserably.

I told you to keep practicing, Pepper. That was a pretty poor effort today. You hit that mat pretty hard. It looked like you were saying your prayers. Pepper knew how close to the truth that statement actually was. Think about that the next time you let your guard down.

Pepper watched as Elizabeth Chin turned away from him and peeled off her sparring gloves. Her lean muscular body had hardly broken a sweat during the lesson, while Pepper felt like he’d been standing under a shower.

Pepper knew the 29-year old Chin was an expert in Jeet Kune Do, commonly known as JKD, a type of Chinese Kung Fu brought to fame by the legendary Bruce Lee. He’d been bugging her for months to give him lessons, and she’d finally relented. This was their third lesson, and after each of the first two, she’d given him some exercises to do at home. It was obvious from his dismal showing that she wasn’t happy with his progress.

Chin stood five feet seven inches tall and tipped the scales at a svelte 118 pounds, nearly all muscle. He was envious of the toned midsection that she had no problem showing off in her tight-fitting sports tops and stretchy yoga pants. She was tight as a whip, and her punches stung like one too. Pepper knew if he had a body like Chin, he’d show it off as well. At six feet, 180 pounds, and being in pretty good shape, he should have been able to take her easily, but he knew there was no way—she could kick his ass from here to next Tuesday any day of the week.

Elizabeth Chin had been at the top of her class in the police college. Her choice of career had not met with the approval of her parents. Her whole life had been spent working hard on her grades in an effort to please them. When she’d completed university, the decision to enter the police college had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do—almost as hard as facing her parents and informing them of her decision. They had chosen a career in medicine for her, and it had caused a major rift when she went against their wishes and chose police work. Now, a number of years later, they were finally starting to come around. It had been ingrained in her for all those years to please her parents, and she still went about her job with that pressure constantly needling her subconscious. She took her job very seriously. Her organizational skills made her the envy of her colleagues in the squad room. She was a quick learner, sucking up knowledge from the other detectives like a sponge. She was very precise and by-the-book, but she did have a playful, cynical side, her sharp tongue occasionally throwing out a stinging barb, usually directed at one of her fellow squad members.

With her gloves off, she faced him, hands on her hips, her dark eyes focused on his. Believe it or not, Scot, you’re actually getting better, she said, the glimpse of a smile crossing her face.

Hearing his real name made Pepper pause. The only people who called him Scot anymore were his parents, and his grandmother. Ever since Scott Montgomery had transferred to his school in the sixth grade, Pepper’s name had changed. In order to differentiate between the two, his teacher, Mr. Hutchinson, had started referring to him as ‘One-T Scot’. This had initially pissed Pepper off, since he’d been there first. His classmates immediately picked up the moniker, first shortening it to ‘One-T’, and then within a year, it was just ‘Tee’. That had been his handle ever since.

I’m getting better? You’re…you’re kidding? Pepper replied, his voice sounding raspy as he coughed to clear his lungs.

No, you actually did a few things right this time. She reached behind her head and came away with a hairband, shaking out her silky black tresses. But keep doing those exercises I showed you, and until then, remember what I said. She looked at him questioningly.

I know, I know—take the bad guys out at the knees.

That’s right. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Now, I’m gonna hit the showers. She smiled as she looked at his sweat-soaked t-shirt. It looks like you need one too. I’ll see you up in the squad room.

Yeah…yeah, Pepper replied, undoing his gloves as he watched Chin walk away. He spoke up, Chin.

She stopped and turned, one eyebrow arching up.

Thanks, I really appreciate you taking the time to do this.

No problem, Pepper. A cute smile turned up the corners of her mouth. What else am I gonna do at six in the morning?

They shared a laugh as she turned and entered the woman’s locker room, Pepper heading into the men’s right behind her. Pepper checked out his scruffy face in the mirror, deciding to give the razor a pass. It wasn’t like he was gonna hear anybody complain about being kissed by sandpaper anytime soon. He was going through a dry spell. With his less-than-movie-star features and dark wavy hair often in need of a comb or trim, it surprised Pepper when women found him attractive. Although he thought his cheekbones were too prominent and his chin a little too abrupt, more than one woman had complimented him on his warm brown eyes and playful smile, even to this day making him blush like a schoolboy on his first date. But not lately.

Pepper knew exactly what Chin meant about having free time first thing in the morning—they were almost the only two detectives in the department that weren’t married—well, to be more exact—the only two who had never been married. There were plenty who had been married, but currently weren’t. A job in law enforcement didn’t exactly get stellar reviews when it came to statistics on successful marriages. While most cops had to deal with their families, or kids they shared custody of, Chin and Pepper were free to come in and use the cop-shop gym early in the morning, and usually had the place to themselves.

At 33 years old, Pepper had been close to walking down the aisle a couple of times, but it had never seemed quite right. One woman had been scared to be a policeman’s wife--the other had ended up showing some interesting character traits that made him afraid to be her husband.

Pepper showered and dressed, then took the stairs from the basement to the second floor, entering the detectives’ squad room as some of the others started filtering in. He poured himself a coffee, taking it to his desk and turning on his computer. The squad room held about thirty detectives and took up a large area on the second floor, with the inspectors’ offices along one wall and a larger conference room at one end. Most of the desks were set up face to face, the detectives working mostly in pairs. The desks and chairs had shown a lot of wear, the only thing new being their computer systems. Budget cuts had hit the department hard. Even the coffee machine had been purchased following a collection from the members of staff.

Yo Tee, wasssuppp?

Pepper looked up and stared at his partner, Rupert Wallace, standing in front of his desk with his arm extended, offering up a fist bump. Pepper wondered if he’d taken a wrong turn on the way to the squad room and ended up in Oz. A fist bump? Are you kidding me?

No. My kid taught me, along with the ‘wasssuppp’. I thought I’d give it a try instead of the usual ‘how’s it goin’?’ Pretty cool, eh?

Your kid’s five years old. Five-year olds fist bump?

No, it was the four-year old that taught me.

Melissa? A four-year old girl taught you that?

Yeah. She’s well ahead of her time. I think she’s gonna be valedictorian one day—either that or the leader of a female gang that preys on the old and disabled.

With you as a father, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Wallace poured himself a coffee and sat at the desk opposite Pepper. They’d been partners for three years now, becoming closer than brothers—well, closer than brothers that actually liked each other. The first time they’d been formally introduced, Wallace had asked, What’s with the Scot with one ‘T’? The only Scot with one ‘T’ I know is Mel Gibson in Braveheart. When Wallace had said it, he had what Pepper came to know as his usual ‘hand in the cookie jar’ smile on his face—the lovable smart ass personified. Pepper had liked him from the get go.

Rupert Wallace was a year older than Pepper, small and wiry, that identical description fitting the glasses he always wore as well—small and wire-framed—that gave him the look of a hipster starving artist. He had a narrow face and receding hairline that Pepper never ceased to tease him about, and sported a neatly-trimmed moustache and goatee, which Pepper was sure he grew to make up for the deficiency up top. He was of English descent, with a dry sense of humour—almost gin-like. He was married, with two kids, and another one on the way. Despite his diminutive size, he was tough as grandpa’s homemade beef jerky, and loyal as a Queen’s knight. He was a terrier when working a case, and if they had been in the schoolyard picking sides for anything, Pepper knew he’d always make Wallace his first choice.

Blue Velvet was on last night, Wallace said, looking at Pepper over his computer screen.

Please tell me you’re not going to bring in that Dennis Hopper oxygen mask thing on Halloween again this year.

That was the coolest costume ever. That geezer at the old age home never even noticed I’d nicked his tank until I brought it back. And hey, you have to admit, Candy-Coloured Clown—a classic.

Well, you’re right, you can’t beat Roy Orbison. Pepper pondered on the pure brilliance of the human voice, manifested in the voice of one sun-glassed Texan.

Pepper, Wallace. They both turned and nodded in reciprocation as fellow detective Ian McTavish greeted them as he walked past. His square-jawed preppy face and highland swagger announced his presence. Pepper had known McTavish since university. The two of them had actually taken a few of the same classes together and had a couple of mutual friends. But they’d never really hung out. They got along fine in the office, and Pepper knew McTavish was a damn good cop, but he also knew he wouldn’t be inviting McTavish over for Thanksgiving dinner anytime soon. From Pepper’s standpoint, McTavish was wound a little too tight—almost the polar opposite of Wallace.

McTavish was divorced, his wife having left him about three years ago. They’d been married less than a year when she moved back to her home town of Montreal. McTavish had taken a six-week leave of absence immediately following the break-up, and after his return to work, it always seemed like he had a chip on his shoulder. He worked well with the other squad members most of the time, but he had a short fuse and never let anybody get too close. The rest of the detectives mostly knew enough to give him a wide berth.

Pepper watched as McTavish slid into the seat at his desk opposite Chin, the two of them being partners for the last year since Chin had made the grade and McTavish’s previous partner had retired. Since Chin had been his partner, she had gotten closer than most, but she was still wary sometimes when it came to dealing with his moods, which were known to fluctuate without warning. These little ‘episodes’ of McTavish’s were few and far between these days, and it was the consensus of the other detectives that it was due to Chin’s calm manner and subtle influence.

Pepper looked at Chin, now decked out in a grey pantsuit with a navy blouse. Her hair was pulled back in the usual ponytail, and she’d put on a touch of makeup after their lesson. He had to admit the girl cleaned up pretty well—even if she could kick his ass.

You know what I like about Scottish John, Wallace said, using the nickname he’d laid on McTavish since the first day he’d met him.

The fact that he has hair?

Ha-ha, very funny. At least I’m saving money on shampoo.

All right. I give up.

His shoes. He’s always got great shoes. Look at those shoes. How much do you think those cost?

Pepper took a quick glance in McTavish’s direction, noticing what looked like a pretty fancy pair of brown leather shoes. When it came to his wardrobe, McTavish never seemed to be hurting for cash. From the flamboyant pocket squares that he often wore, down to his colourful socks and expensive shoes, every piece of attire was perfectly coordinated and looked pricey. His stylishly coiffed hair and neatly trimmed fingernails gave evidence of his fastidious approach to his personal hygiene. He was the office dandy, and obviously envied by Wallace.

You know, Rupe, I have no idea how much those shoes cost, and I don’t really care.

I bet they’re a couple hundred bucks. Look at them, they’ve got to be Italian. Yeah, a couple hundred bucks, easy.

You’re probably right, and Michelle would kill you if you paid that much for a single pair of shoes. Pepper paused as Wallace screwed up his face in disappointment. Pepper decided to cheer his pal up. Okay, are you ready for a question or two?

Sure, buddy—fire away, Wallace replied. He rolled his neck about his shoulders and pressed his fingers out, cracking his knuckles as he readied himself.

All right. Which guitarist was supposed to play on ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ but couldn’t because he was sick?

Once they were partnered together, it hadn’t taken long for Pepper and Wallace to find out they shared a mutual interest in ‘80s New Wave music. They often tested each other with trivia questions or shared little-known facts when it came to that genre. Pepper had found a kindred spirit in Wallace, made even more interesting by the fact that Wallace had an eidetic memory, his recall abilities of anything ‘80s New Wave-related simply astounding. Pepper knew if they ever had a ‘New Wave’ version of Jeopardy, Wallace could wipe the board clean.

Too easy, Wallace replied, waving his hand dismissively, the Edge.

The Edge was supposed to play on that? Chin asked from her desk a short distance away.

Yeah, he was sick and had to pull out, Wallace replied. It would have been great to hear that distinctive guitar of his on that song.

Okay, here’s another one that’s pretty easy, but I’m gonna toss it out there anyways, Pepper said. What’s Sting’s real name?

Even I know that, McTavish piped in, without even taking his eyes off his computer screen. Gordon Summers.

Wallace and Pepper looked at each other and Wallace made a sour face before leaning forward and whispering across the desk, Close, but no cigar—rookie mistake. Both of them knew that Sting’s actual last name was Sumner—with an ‘n’—not Summers.

You nailed it, Ian, Pepper said out loud as he gave Wallace a knowing wink.

Pepper! Wallace! The Inspector’s voice caused both men to spin around. Heavyset and grim, with a pale face that belied his Italian ancestry, Peter Caruso crooked his arm at them and disappeared back into his office. His bum hip made him waddle like a penguin.

The two detectives got to their feet and made their way to the boss’ office. The Inspector dropped his six-three frame into his desk chair, the pasta he’d had for dinner last night made the chair squeak in protest. With a head like a cue-ball, his tobacco-coloured eyes stared out at them from behind fashionable black-framed glasses. His salt and pepper goatee and moustache gave him a professorial look that suited him—his acute mind sharp as a tack. He was a veteran cop and had made his way up the ranks by demonstrating a keen intellect and superior leadership skills. The detectives working under him respected him and trusted him. Now Inspector Caruso sat with his elbows on his desk. He reached up and scratched at the side of his beard, a dart of sunlight pierced through the window and glinted off the crystal of his expensive-looking watch. He had a watch fetish, and Pepper wouldn’t have been surprised to see the Inspector open his jacket and show off his prized collection, like a thief hawking his wares.

I’ve got a missing person’s case I need you two to look into. This young girl’s been gone from her home for over twenty-four hours.

How old is she? Wallace said.

The Inspector looked down at the papers on his desk. Her name’s Yvonne Redmond. Student at Western. Five feet five inches, 112 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, lives at home with her parents. She was last seen two nights ago wearing a blue sweater, denim skirt, brown leather jacket, and brown cowboy boots. She’s 19.

Pepper and Wallace exchanged a look. Both of them knew what the other one was thinking. How many 19-year olds took off every day for more than twenty-four hours? More than Pepper had dollars in the bank—that was for sure.

Uh, she’s 19 and been gone twenty-four hours. Is there something special about this situation that it’s being assigned to us and not the regular beat cops? Pepper asked.

Two reasons. One—she’s the daughter of City Councillor Redmond.

Pepper saw the grimace on Wallace’s face as he nodded at the same time he did. And the other reason?

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day today.

Pepper’s eyebrows arched up questioningly, like a McDonalds’ logo.

It was Wallace who spoke first, even before the Inspector had a chance. Because all of our guys are out patrolling the streets around the university and college. Our boys want to make sure it’s safe for our cherished leaders of tomorrow to get drunk and puke on their own shoes. Right, Inspector?

London, Ontario, was a city of about four hundred thousand. It was known as ‘The Forest City’, the streets and subdivisions lined with trees of every variety. Numerous parks were scattered around the city, many of them abutting the various branches of the Thames River that flowed through the city from one end to the other. London was smack-dab between the larger cities of Detroit and Toronto—two hours away from each. Rail lines went right through the centre of town, while a major highway bordered it on the south side, making it a perfect drop-off spot for drug suppliers working between the two major metropolitan centres. It was known to be a quiet, desirable city to live in—not too small—but not too big. It had a reputation as a conservative white-bread town known for its medical facilities, insurance businesses, and educational institutions—a reputation the politicians and civic leaders were eager to foster and cultivate. The consistently increasing size of the police department was something that was kept as quiet as possible, at least until budget time. The increase in the drug trade and violent crimes was continuously on the rise as the city grew, bringing with it the typical problems usually associated with larger urban centres. As crime continued to escalate in the seemingly conventional neighborhoods of white picket fences and shade-lined streets, the police budget increased year by year, as did the number of officers and detectives. But as the police Chief liked to remind everyone, there never seemed to be enough officers to keep up with the demand.

After Wallace had made the observation about the street cops being out in force, Pepper nodded, remembering that after last year’s debacle on St. Patrick’s Day, the politicians had promised the community they’d be cracking down on student shenanigans. The population of the city swelled by around thirty thousand during the fall and winter school terms when the students arrived to attend both a well-respected university, Western, and a bursting-at-the-seams community college, Fanshawe.

The students at the two academic facilities seemed to relish the challenge of outdoing each other when it came to partying. Numerous St. Patrick’s Day bashes the previous year ended up spilling onto the streets, which resulted in a riot, with the police finally having to use tear gas to subdue the hordes of drunken youth who set fire to overturned cars and battled police. This year, they were making sure that wasn’t going to happen.

That’s right, Inspector Caruso said. With everybody else busy, you two are stuck with this one. He held up a piece of paper. One of this girl’s friends, an Ashley Devers, says they were at a party together two nights ago near the university. The usual Western party—tons of people, underage drinking, blah blah blah. She thinks Ms. Redmond—Yvonne—may have left with a player on the Mustangs football team. She thinks his name is Rico, but she’s not sure. Right now, it’s the only lead we’ve got. He paused as he handed the piece of paper with the girl’s information and photo to Wallace. I know what you’re thinking—she’ll probably turn up at home later today. She probably will, but in the meantime, I’ve got the councillor and his buddy the mayor chewing on my ass to do something. So see if this…this Rico—or whatever his name is—knows where she is.

The two detectives turned to go. Pepper, Wallace. They were at the door before the Inspector’s voice brought them up short. They turned, the expression on the Inspector’s face as serious as a heart attack. Find this girl.

Chapter 2

The two detectives grabbed their badges and clipped their holsters onto their belts, standard procedure when going out of the office. They slipped on their sports jackets, and then scrambled down the two flights of stairs to the underground parking garage, Pepper sliding behind the wheel of their unmarked car. Pepper manoeuvered the car up the ramp and onto William Street. He turned right, heading towards the university.

Arcs of sunlight shot across the windshield, a teasing harbinger of the first day of spring tickling at the calendar. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful crisp St. Patrick’s Day, with mothers zipping up their kid’s coats before sending them off to school, while university and college students immersed themselves in green body paint, washing out their mouths with festively dyed beer.

So how’s Michelle doing? Not much longer now, right? Pepper asked.

About eight more weeks. She’s good. Big as a house, cranky, doesn’t know what she wants from one minute to the next, eats everything in sight, wants to burn all her pregnancy clothes, pees about a hundred times a day—so yeah, she’s good.

Has she got that hormone emotional thing going too?

The exasperated look on Wallace’s face said it all. Hormone emotional thing? Don’t get me started on that. You know, for the life of me, I don’t think I can remember the last time I did something right, according to her. I’ll come home one day, she’s nutbar angry with me, over something like the fact that I folded towels the wrong way. And then the next day, she’s crying with happiness because she heard some song that reminded her of when we were dating. I’m telling you, man, I can’t keep up. I think I need a daily scorecard to know where she’s at on that hormone scale. Pepper laughed, the distraught look on Wallace’s face too priceless for words.

Oh, you go ahead and laugh, buddy—it’ll happen to you one day. Just you wait and see. Wallace paused, the late-pregnancy phase that had become his life making him cranky and miserable. And talk about hormones, it must be nuts to be a woman. It’s not just the mood swings. Her body temperature’s like a frickin’ pizza oven. Seriously, you could probably toast marshmallows on her. So not only does she walk around outside with her coat wide open, but every night, she throws the covers off—and I’m the one that wakes up freezing.

Suck it up, buttercup, Pepper replied, grinning from ear to ear. I think you better be happy you’re getting at least some sleep now. That’s gonna change in about two months.

I know, I know, Wallace replied, the winsome smile of the happy father-to-be on his face. I’m looking forward to it, actually. We wanted three, and this will be it. He paused as they crossed Oxford Street, the traffic light at this time of day. He turned to Pepper. So how are those kung fu lessons going with Chin? You had another one today, right?

Yeah, I’m still sore from where she hit me. Pepper rubbed his jaw, happy that the police department had a good dental plan. It’s Jeet Kune Do that she’s actually teaching me, which is a type of kung fu.

Jeet Kune Do, kung fu, whatever. Wallace waved his hand in the air dismissively. The question is, are you learning anything, or are you just there to scope her out in her workout gear? With a mischievous smile on his face, he flicked his eyebrows up and down rapidly like a silent movie comedian.

Very funny. Chin and I get along great, but it’s nothing more than that. Besides, she’s dating an architect or something.

An architect? I thought it was a dentist?

Whoever it is, it’s somebody who makes a lot more money than us. Besides, if I did date her, I’d be afraid to do something wrong in case she hit me. Man, that girl can pack a punch.

Well, Tee, you better find yourself a girl—soon. I’m leaving you in the dust when it comes to the family and kid thing, buddy.

Oh yes, the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the three a.m. feedings, the cranky wife. Man, I really do envy you.

Wallace laughed and then held up his index finger, pointing it at Pepper. But you know, you forgot to mention that feeling when you’ve had a rough day at work, and when you come home, that little one jumps into your arms and squeezes you like she never wants to let go. Or watching the look on their face the first time they score a goal. Or just watching them sleep—I tell you buddy, when they’re sleeping and look like little angels, everything else that they did that day that ticked you off just seems to melt away—there’s nothing like it.

Pepper smiled back at his friend, knowing how happy he really was, and envying him for it. He’d seen how Wallace was with his wife and kids, and he had to admit he was a little jealous. Sure, there were times when Pepper enjoyed his freedom, but by no means did he live, or even want, the carefree playboy lifestyle. That wasn’t his style—he wasn’t a ‘player’. Pepper knew that if he met the right girl, he’d be quite happy to settle down. But finding the right girl—now that was a problem.

Hey, you said the things that your kids did to tick you off just seems to melt away. That reminds me—what was on the B-side of Modern English’s, ‘I Melt With You’?

Are you talking about the seven inch or the twelve inch release?

The twelve inch, of course.

Too easy. ‘Life in the Gladhouse’, and..., Wallace replied, purposely stretching out his answer, ‘Someone’s Calling’. Both songs were on the B-side. Pepper nodded, clearly impressed.

Okay, I’ve got one for you, Wallace continued. Best U2 album, ‘Boy’, or ‘The Joshua Tree’?

I’ve gotta go with ‘Boy’. You know, the youthful energy, the pure rawness of their sound on that first album, Edge’s distinctive guitar and the power of Bono’s voice, you can’t beat it.

But what about ‘Where the Streets Have No Name’? You’ve got to admit, that song is something special.

Agreed. ‘Streets’ isn’t just a song, it’s an anthem. Pepper paused as Wallace nodded in agreement. But overall, I’ve gotta go with ‘Boy’.

I have to admit I’m with you on that one, Wallace said as he turned to the paperwork in his lap. She’s a cute young thing. Pepper flicked his eyes over as Wallace held up Yvonne Redmond’s photo. It looked like a high school yearbook picture, the pretty blonde girl all peaches and cream, with a big slice of apple pie on the side. It reminded Pepper of a girl he dated when he was about the same age. He prayed the Redmond girl still looked like that, hopefully just passed out drunk and too afraid to go home.

A minute or two later they were at the university, and made their way into the athletic director’s office.

Is Coach Romanuk available? Wallace asked a young kid sitting behind the desk as Pepper looked around the room, the walls adorned with a parade of plaques and team photos from numerous sports, evidence of the Mustangs’ winning heritage.

I’m not sure— The kid had a cocky tone to his voice, which Wallace shut down in a hurry by flashing his badge. Uh yes. His office is right over here. The kid made a grand apologetic gesture as he got up and led them to an office at the back of the room, all gangly arms and legs.

Coach Romanuk? Pepper said as he tapped on the frame of the open door.

Yes? The football coach said as he sat forward at his desk. His computer in the background showed what looked like game film.

I’m Detective Pepper, and this is Detective Wallace. They quickly flashed their badges, which the coach seemed to purposely ignore. He looked cagy and rattled, his eyes buggy, and he blinked a lot. Pepper wondered if he spent every moment not on the field in front of his TV or computer watching film, always trying to land the next boy wonder. If he looked this strung out early in the morning, Pepper wondered what he looked like at the end of the day.

Who is it this time? the coach asked, looking from one detective to the other, his blinking eyes making them feel on edge, like he was taking their picture with every blink, more game film for him to study later.

Who’s what? Pepper asked, confused by the coach’s response.

Which one of my players has done something wrong? That must be why you’re here, right?

We’re actually just following up on a missing person’s case, Coach. It’s probably nothing.

You don’t happen to recognize this girl at all, do you? Wallace interjected, showing the coach the picture of Yvonne Redmond.

The man studied the photo. No, he replied, his ruddy face swivelled back and forth on his wizened neck like a bobblehead as he looked from one detective to the other. Is she involved with one of my players?

We understand she may have left a party with a player on your team named Rico. Do you have a player with that name?

Before Wallace had even finished speaking, the coach had gone into full bobblehead mode, nodding up and down vigorously. Pepper wanted to reach out and put his hand on the coach’s head to stop him, the bobble feeling contagious, as if he wanted to start nodding back at the coach in agreement. Yes, Rico Bartolucci. He’s going to be starting for us at defensive end next year—he’s a great edge rusher. But I’m sure it’s not him. Good boy, good student, comes from a good family.

Pepper paused, wondering how well the coach really knew his players. So what’s he majoring in? Do you know where we can find him on campus right now?

The coach flushed red, old swivel head looking from Pepper to Wallace, and back again. Uh, I’m not quite sure. I think he’s recently switched majors.

Do you have any contact information for him? Where he’s living? E-mail address? Cell phone number? That kind of thing.

Uh, Jason will be able to give you what we’ve got. The coach leaned forward and yelled to the young man. Jason, give these officers any contact info we’ve got on Bartolucci.

Pepper and Wallace nodded their thanks to the coach and walked over to where the kid was pecking away at his computer. He looked at the screen and then moved his mouse, turning as the printer beside him spit out some paper. He took it and turned to Wallace, Here’s what we’ve got for Bartolucci. He’s staying in one of the highrises on Richmond Street. His e-mail and cell number are there too. Wallace nodded as he looked down at the address and other information printed on the sheet.

Thanks. Jason, right? Pepper said, putting his hands on the kid’s desk and leaning over him ominously.

Yes. It’s Jason.

Jason, you wouldn’t be thinking about calling Mr. Bartolucci to let him know we’re coming by, would you?

The young man flushed, confirming for Pepper what he’d suspected. Uh…I…uh, no.

That’s good. Pepper turned and nodded towards his partner. It would be a shame if Detective Wallace and I were to find out that someone had tampered with our investigation. And hey, Jason, our computer guys, they’re pretty good. It would be too bad if we felt we had to confiscate anyone’s computer or cell phone to see who they’ve been contacting, or even just what they’ve been looking at.

No sir. I mean yes sir. I mean, I understand, the kid responded, shaking his head from side to side, letting Pepper know he was one tinkle away from making a mess of himself at the thought of the cops taking his stuff.

Very good, Pepper replied, smiling down at the young man as he rapped his knuckles on the top of the desk. You’ve been very helpful. Hopefully we won’t be back. Setting one more firecracker under the guy wouldn’t hurt.

Okay, Wallace said once they were back in the car. Bartolucci’s in the second highrise north of the University gates. Apartment 1802.

Really? 1802?

Yes Tee, 1802. And you’re not taking the stairs.

Pepper had a phobia when it came to elevators. He didn’t know what had caused it originally, but he’d had it since he was a kid. It wasn’t exactly claustrophobia—he actually drove a Mini. No, it was something specific to elevators. It didn’t matter if he was going up one floor or fifty-one floors, the anxiety would hit him just the same. That was the main reason he always took the stairs when possible, and was happy that the police station had only two storeys and a basement.

It’ll be all right, Wallace continued as they pulled into an empty visitor’s parking spot in front of the apartment building. We’ve been through this before. You’ve been on an elevator thousands of times in your life and nothing bad has ever happened.

I’m sure it hasn’t been thousands, Pepper said as they made their way into the building, catching the door as a student left.

Well, hundreds then. Wallace walked over to the bank of elevators and pressed the ‘Up’ button, Pepper lagged purposely behind, stopping halfway across the lobby. His fingers tapped the side of his thigh.

Tee, listen to me. Relax. We’ll do it just like the last time—you’ll stand right at the front of the elevator and I’ll talk to you the whole way up. Just listen to my voice and you’ll be fine.

Pepper nodded as he chewed nervously at his bottom lip, like a cat clawing at a scratch post.

Okay, let’s go, Wallace said, motioning Pepper forward as the