CHAPTER 1

MONDAY 6.30AM

The sound of the sirens seemed a long way off as he ran in the opposite direction, away from the noise, the cars, the smell of blood and the dead. He had no idea of where he was going or what he was going to do, his need was just to get away.

He was breathless and had a stitch in his side which made it all the more difficult to think. As he rounded a corner he stopped, backed against a solid stone wall and hunched over, fingers pressed to his ribs trying to force air back into his lungs whilst he figured out what to do next.

He needed to get as far away as possible but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be spotted wearing the clothes he had on. The writing on the blue overall stood out a mile and he felt exposed. There was also the inconvenient wetness forming in his shoe from the wound on his calf and it made his sneakers slip and squelch faintly every time he took a step. Studying the situation he realised that was the least of his problems and if it hadn’t been for the blood he may never have escaped at all.

The police were fools and didn’t seem to understand his needs, he wasn’t a criminal – just someone with very definite tastes, he shouldn’t be locked up – he should be given a congregation.

With his breathing more in check he pushed himself off the wall and started walking; he deliberately slowed his pace so as not to attract attention. The world should be waking up soon, people getting ready to go to work, taking kids to school or deciding what to cook for breakfast. Normal people with boring normal lives. He hated every one of them. If anyone stopped him he would kill them.

When he saw no one he started jogging, only slowing down if someone came into view and then he kept his head down, his long brown hair and stubble hiding most of his features from public gaze.

After half an hour or so of aimless wandering and with the sirens far behind him but not so far that he felt he was safe, he came across a small group of untidy shops; a grocers of the type that sold few things at inflated prices to the locals who found it too difficult to drive the bigger malls. A Hawaiian tattoo parlour that looked hideously out of place in the neighbourhood, a small post shop, a paper booth that doubled as a cleaners and a fish bar selling battered food from owners who, the man thought to himself, probably had unclean hands. The post shop and fish bar were closed although the part of the cleaner’s shop selling papers seemed to be opening up now in readiness for the rush of locals seeking morning news with their cornflakes. The stranger had no real sense of the time but knew it was too early for most shops to be open and as a consequence there was little activity anywhere in sight barring the small Chinese man pulling the shutter up to the paper kiosk.

The man thought wistfully of his own shop back home in Illinois. His stock was tobacco and other smokes – not always legal ones but no one ever questioned that and his special customers made sure he was never bothered by the police. In fact had it not been for the unfortunate incident with the garbage he had buried in his back yard the cops wouldn’t have even have pissed on him if he was on fire. Now he was a hunted man and it felt all so unfair so unpleasant..

He moved out of sight of the shop owner and into an empty telephone booth noticing as he did so that vandals had rendered the phone inoperable. He hunched into the corner to view the scene from relative safety whilst he waited for inspiration to strike.

It didn’t take long.

He hadn’t realised before but the corner grocery store appeared to be open and there was some activity inside. He waited patiently like the predator he was.

Perhaps he could hold up the store and get some cash – he needed money to get out of the islands. Maybe steal a car from the parking lot he saw out back. He noticed in the dull light of the interior someone waving goodbye to one of the assistants. It was a woman and she exited the shopl, two large brown bags of shopping in her arms. She was small and blonde. He couldn’t tell from a distance if she was young or old but what caught his eye was that she was wearing the prettiest outfit of a blouse and full skirt. She was crisp, clean and very neat. The shirt was a pale butter colour and the skirt had large white flowers on a canary yellow background and peeking out from underneath was an out-of-fashion white cotton petticoat. Even her belt and scarf matched. She wore a straw hat to shade her head from the sun and as she turned towards the parking lot with her skirt flouncing around her legs she looked like a milkmaid from one of those television advertisements for dairy produce or Doris Day.

Perhaps his day was looking up after all.

He carefully stepped out of the booth and checked for anyone watching before heading at a fast pace into the car park to follow her.

The woman placed a bag of groceries on the ground and with the other tucked under one arm was fumbling with the car key, trying to insert it into the lock.

He seemingly came out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind placing one hand straight over her mouth in case she screamed. Instantly she froze in shock from the assault, and as her hands came up to grab his hand in an attempt to ward of the attack, she dropped the rest of her shopping. The woman started struggling but was pushed against the car door – her body pressed between the metal and her attacker with the full force of his sinewy body. He was a big man and a five-foot-something woman was no match for him. As he continued to push her he reached with his other hand into the belt of the overalls where he had made a pocket-like slit in the material and fished out something that barely glinted in the morning sun.

He relished the feeling of her body moving against his and wanted to prolong the excitement but realised he had bigger goals than this woman so swiftly, quietly and without mercy, he slit her throat with the small scalpel blade in his hand. The woman had no time to cry out, blood spurted from the wound in her neck and along the top and sides of the car as he continued to hold her there whilst her life drained away. He kept her in that position with her neck pulled back to let the blood flow out easily, her struggles weakened until he felt her die, her last breath accompanied by a gurgle as the life bubbled from her ….

“Que será, será little darling” he said before allowing the now lifeless woman to drop to the ground.

He was confident no one had heard or seen the murder and he felt elated, alive and energised like nothing he had felt in months. He dragged the woman’s body away from the door and quickly scooped up the provisions that had scattered around the car then together with the other brown bag he shoved them into the leg space of the back seat. He picked up her hat and popped it on his head at a jaunty angle.

Breathing heavily from a combination of exertion and excitement, the killer lifted the woman’s body onto the back seat - sliding her across it and smearing the covering with fresh blood. He banged the door shut and trapped the edge of the flowery yellow skirt in it. His fingers brushed the delicate material and he re-opened the door gently to release the dress, treating it as though it were a living thing.

Almost as an afterthought he looked at the amount of blood on the sedan’s paintwork and realised he would need to get rid of it in case it was noticed. The scarlet was so sharp against the stark white. Taking the scalpel he had just used on the woman’s flesh, he pulled up her skirt and sliced a large section of her petticoat off before returning the scalpel to its home. He gaily wiped off the red liquid as casually as if he were washing a car. Grisly handiwork done he picked up the keys from the ground, dumped the soiled cloth into the car, got into the driver’s seat and drove off.

The killer started to whistle a song happily to himself as he pulled out of the car park and turned right onto the open road, away from his third murder scene of the day.

Doris Day would have been horrified.

He hadn’t even thought about the possibility that the woman he had killed had carried a purse, a purse that in the struggle had got kicked under the car and out of sight. As the car pulled away the exposed tanned leather looked out of place on the grey concrete surrounded by a shadow of fresh blood like a solitary boulder in a shiny rock pool.

MONDAY 7.10am


The breeze had a cool edge to it but the new morning sunshine warmed the man standing on the lanai. Every now and then the keen bite of the wind cut through the warmth and raised goosebumps on his naked flesh causing him to shudder involuntarily.

Undeterred, he stood with his hands on the balustrade, fingers gripping the wood, his boyish face turned to soak up the heat as the sun rose further in a crystal blue sky. He closed his eyes against the glare and sighed deeply - chest rising and falling.

Perspiration trickled gently down his lightly tanned torso stopping every now and then to negotiate a muscle or a swell slowly continuing its doomed path down the length of the man’s body to meet the top of his loose blue shorts before disappearing from sight. The occasional drip made its slick way to the decking beneath him and onto his bare feet.

He raised one hand and ran it through damp, tightly curled hair. His whole body showed evidence of recent exertion and he glowed in the morning air.

A noise from inside broke the reverie and a voice heavy with romance asked “Danny, are you coming back to bed?’

Reluctant to give up his soul searching but knowing he had a different kind of bliss awaiting him in the bedroom he looked back through the lanai doors to call gently to the woman with whom he had shared a bed last night “Just give me a moment Lizzie.”

A sleepy note of agreement came back to his ears “Mmnn.” said his lover before tucking a feather pillow further under her head and retreating back to slumber and dreams of the night before.

Dan Williams, law enforcement officer and Five-0’s second in command sighed again and stretched his arms over his head easing the tension in the muscles of his back, revelling in both the coolness of the breeze and the warmth kissing his skin.

Squinting from the light, he took one last look back at the view across the rough patch of grass in front of the cottage to the stretch of golden beach and the sea beyond with its foamy waves waxing and waning. He turned and glanced at the sleeping form inside; Danny smiled remembering their lovemaking but he felt bad about their relationship too.

Dan found it hard to get closer to women than a few dates before the damage from his past self-sabotaged any relationship he was in. Part of his problem was the depth of feeling he had for anyone who shared his life. Never the kind of guy for one-night stands he chose his partners carefully, almost to a formula, and found himself falling hopelessly in love with every one of them. If he didn’t he could never bring himself to sleep with them. But even though his body ached for a partner, his mind screamed at him not to go there again; not to risk getting close and losing them…again….like Jane.

Even now, after a lengthy courtship and half a dozen intimate dates with the beautiful brunette lying beyond the doors he could feel the pain of his loss start again and the need to get away; to release himself from the weight of responsibility he would feel if he brought her into his life. What if she was taken from him as Jane had been?

He felt guilty immediately for thinking that. Here he was standing in the Hawaiian sunshine having made love to a wonderful woman who cared about him deeply, as he did her, and he was already contemplating dumping her. Dumping was probably not the the most appropriate word but Danny knew, in his heart, he would unconsciously start pushing her away and somehow he felt today was that day. The job, Steve McGarrett, his life in Five-0, those would be the excuses – again. It all seemed so inevitable that part of him wondered why he fought it so hard.

Stumbling a little from sun blindness and trying not to disturb her, he padded around the bed and took a good look at the curvaceous body lying before him, barely concealed by the cotton. He lifted the sheets and climbed back into the space he had so recently vacated.

Danny leaned over and gently pushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead as he studied her perfect skin, still feeling ashamed of himself. Opening her eyes, the woman turned as she felt his weight dip the mattress and brought one arm up to lie on Dan’s sun-warmed chest whilst she spooned her naked body into his.

Her interest in sleep waning, one delicate hand dipped under the covers and traced a path from his chest to his belly button, stroking him from thigh to hip. Danny moaned breathlessly and bringing his lips to hers, kissed her fully and passionately whilst she continued her ministrations. When she flicked her tongue delicately across his nipple he knew he was lost.

His lover clasped his back and pulled him to her, hands slipping up and down the damp muscles as they flexed beneath her fingers. Danny’s back arched and dipped eagerly; moulding to the waves of her passion like the surf caressing a beach.

“Danny, I love you..” she murmured.

…and all the while his mind screamed `guilty’


MONDAY 7.48AM


In the Five-O offices at the Iolani Palace Steve McGarrett paced the length of his room, fingers twirling a pencil to such great effect that the two detectives with him; Kono Kalakaua and Chin Ho Kelly, could not keep their eyes off the writing implement as if hypnotised.

Kono shifted his bulk uneasily in the chair, the hot leather making his trousers stick.

“Gentleman,” the Five-0 boss said as he continued pacing, “we have a potentially volatile situation here. Two officers are dead and a dangerous escaped criminal on our island with no leads at present as to where he might be.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face the men before parking one hip on the side of his large wooden desk.

Still brandishing the pencil like a weapon he continued, “Chin bring us up to speed on the situation, tell us what happened this morning.”

The oriental detective dragged his gaze from the writing implement and replied, “Not good Steve. As you know we got a call this morning at around 6.40am from the boys downtown, they sounded real panicked; said a killer was on the loose and that they needed our help. Dispatch passed it to me and I drove down to Aliamanu Park and met the officer there who was more than a little shaken up.” Chin paused and his face paled as if remembering something awful.

“It’s okay Chin, even if it’s unpleasant we need to know details.”

“Sure Steve.” Regaining his composure he continued, “When I got there the place was crawling with HPD but it was chaotic. Appears someone missed us out of the loop on this and they sure paid for it!

Lieutenant Franks finally took charge at the scene so I spoke to him. Apparently there were two police cars transporting a prisoner; the lead and a backup. The officers in the vehicle following were badly shaken but not hurt however it was the guys in the lead car, the one carrying the prisoner, who were most seriously involved. Both dead.”

Chin paused, reflecting again on what he had heard. “Something happened in that car to make it crash Steve, both collided and the lead one spun out and hit a phone pole, busting the radiator. The other squad car was badly damaged but managed to stay on the road. The HPD officer driving the lead car had been killed by the prisoner so we assume that was how he lost control. The other officer was then forced out of the car with a blade to his throat.”

McGarrett was confused. “Hold it, back up Chin. How did a high security prisoner get hold of a knife?”

“They don’t know Steve. Somehow the escapee had secreted a knife upon his person. They have no idea how he did it - he was strip searched after capture and just before they set off for the airport. At this stage we just know he has a weapon.”

“Did he take the officer’s guns?” Steve said, concerned.

“That’s the funny part, he didn’t even touch them!”

“Who is this guy?” McGarrett asked.

“Roger Cooke – seriously bad dude. Name ring any bells?”

Kono beat Steve to it. The big Hawaiian sat forward in his chair. “Sure I know him. He’s the guy that killed those men in Illinois isn’t he? One sick haole!”

Steve agreed “He was convicted of the murder of eight men and one woman as I recall. They suspected more bodies but never found any. I don’t remember the whole case but I’d remember his face anywhere; his mugshot was in the papers for months.” He added “He was supposed to be awaiting re-trial on the mainland, something about new evidence coming to light I believe. What’s he doing here on our rock Chin?”

“No idea, still waiting to hear. All Franks told me was he had escaped to Honolulu, means unknown, then was recaptured here before he even got past immigration. After an overnight at Halawa they were taking him back to the airport for a 9am flight out.

The cavalcade arrived at the prison about 6am to pick Cooke up and get the papers signed over. It took a while but everything went smoothly; no hint of any trouble until just before the crash.” Chin continued “The guys were supposed to turn the prisoner over to someone from the Illinois SPD who was arriving this morning to accompany Cooke back to the mainland with an armed escort.”

“Right, so how did the other officer die?”

Chin shook his head “When I spoke to the others they said after their car crashed they got out, pulled their guns and approached the transport then noticed a struggle going on. From what they could see the driver appeared to be seriously injured, or dead, and they believe the other officer hit the windshield. They think he was dazed which is how Cooke overwhelmed him.”

Steve was genuinely shocked “Are you telling me that HPD allowed a murderer to be transported in an ordinary squad car without even a mesh shielding the officers!?” He sat down in his chair with a heavy thump, amazed at what he was hearing.

Chin and Kono looked at each other. Kono slowly shook his head at their stupidity.

“I thought the same boss,” Chin said. “Seems to me negligence is the least of their worries. Someone’s going to pay for this with their badge.”

“Damn straight, I’ll see to it! Two people have already paid with their lives! I’ll make sure every one of those involved in such a stupid, incompetent plan gets precisely what they deserve. God help them if anyone from the general public gets hurt because of this! Go on Chin.”

“So at that point the officers said they weren’t sure if Cooke had a gun so they stayed a safe distance away and appealed to him to come out with his hands up. He had the other officer, Officer Johnson, by the hair and forced him out of the car where he used him as a human shield”

“Wasn’t he handcuffed either or did they do something right?” McGarrett said sarcastically.

“He was handcuffed but not behind his back apparently and he held a blade to Johnson’s throat. One of the other guys said it seem small like some kind of razor blade but he wasn’t sure, all he knew was their fellow policeman was in trouble. One slip of that knife and he was dead.

Cooke called for them to put their weapons down and they complied, raising their hands and backing off further. They said he seemed mad, kept laughing and whistling.

Because of the hostage they didn’t see any other option than to let the prisoner go. Once he’d dragged Johnson off behind some bushes they retrieved their guns and gave chase. By the time they caught up the young officer was lying on the ground bleeding. They tried to help him but he bled out from a throat wound. Cooke’s cuffs were beside the body and no sign of the prisoner. That’s when they called it in.”

Steve was shocked at the senseless waste of life, all through incompetence.

“Both officers were married Steve and Johnson was only twenty-three!” Chin was genuinely affected by what he had seen that morning. “That blade really tore up Officer Keeley’s neck. I’ve never seen so much blood.”

Kono felt sick as he pictured it.

McGarrett got up from the chair and put a sympathetic hand on the detective’s shoulder.

“I’d hate to be the one to break the news to those guy’s widows!” Chin shook his head.

“Don’t worry my friend you won’t have to but get Che Fong and Doc Bergman to check those officers’ wounds would you? We must know how he’s armed.”

“Should we get Danny back in on this one boss? Seems like we could do with the extra help.”

“Yeah Kono, tell Danno I’m sorry to break up his long weekend but we need all hands on deck for this one. I don’t know what he is doing can you find him?”

Kono grinned bringing a much needed lightness back into the conversation. “Think I have a pretty good idea what he was up to!”

“Girls?” Steve asked and smiled knowingly before retreating back to the pile of papers on his desk. “Chin I also want you to get everyone that was involved this morning in my office wiki wiki. We need statements and tell HPD we’re taking over this investigation. They’ve lost the right to any privileges the way it’s been handled so far. Make sure all free units are despatched to cover the area the prisoner escaped. Start a grid search and put Cooke’s description on an APB. Kono?”

“Yes boss?”

“Get down to the airport, see if that marshall or agent has arrived from Illinois and if so bring him back here. We need more intel. on this Cooke guy before we go further..” Steve added “On your way out please send Jenny in, oh and don’t forget to tell Danny to put his suit on before he comes to work!”

They laughed and opened the door to leave just as Steve’s secretary, Jenny Sherman stepped past them and into the room. Kono didn’t bother to relay McGarrett’s request to her, seemed her normal sixth-sense was working anyway.

“Sorry Steve, there’s a gentleman to see you, a Doctor Woodfield wanting to speak to you about the case.”

“Okay love, send him in. Oh and Jenny”

“Yes Steve?”

“Mahalo for coming in so early on a Monday morning, I appreciate your help. Any chance of a coffee?”

Jenny smiled, happy that the head of Five-0 had time to worry about his staff “No problem – on both counts.” She said and turned to usher a tall, slender man into the room.

He was a a sombre-looking individual dressed in a faded black suit, blue shirt and a burnt orange patterned tie. His long face was freckled and his light brown hair - worn slightly long - retreated back in a receding hairline. Topping off the effect were fashionable sideburns and cold, steely blue-grey eyes. Woodfield’s handshake was firm as McGarrett promptly asked, “What can I do for you Mr..?”

“Woodfield” he finished for him “ Doctor Anthony Woodfield but call me Tony.” He smiled at the Five-0 chief and looked as though he expected to be offered a seat but McGarrett simply replied “Doctor Woodfield, what brings you to my office so early? I’ll tell you now, if you’re a reporter,” he pointed to the door Woodfield had come through “there is the door.”

Woodfield gave a slight grimace, he’d heard what Hawaii’s state unit chief could be like. “No, you misunderstand,” he said with conviction, “I’m a criminal psychologist and I’ve come to give you some strong advice.”

-----


CHAPTER TWO
MONDAY 8.03am



She was gone and Danny thought he was late. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking through a dream; whether a result of the night’s exertions or the unconscious knowledge of things to come he wasn’t sure but he was unable to clear his head.

Standing in the shower at his girlfriend’s apartment he put both hands on the tiled wall and let the warm water wash his naked body. Wet soap tumbled to the floor and he stared at it as it disappeared, never to be seen again. He wished his thoughts could drain away so easily.

It was enough that he knew his mind so well as to know what the future between himself and Lizzie would be without him compounding his guilt by staying with her. Even a cop gets lonely, he thought scoffingly. But what about commitment? The word made him cringe. In his mind he was committed – to Steve McGarrett, to Five-O and police work.

Switching off the taps Danny opened the door and stepped out of the shower, water dripping in his eyes as he fumbled for a towel. Finding one he wrapped it about his waist and quickly went about shaving and dressing for work before his boss sent someone round to find him. It was only then he recalled he had one more day off. A rare treat that had completely slipped his mind. Treading back out of his work pants he berated himself for being so empty-headed and put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt he had packed for the weekend. He decided to go for a run.

Danny eased his feet into some socks and sun loafers and popped into the small galley kitchen to fill the kettle. He hoped the exercise would help him shake off the alien feelings in time for a coffee and a nice relaxing day on the beach. He even thought of suprising Lizzie at work with lunch.

But still he felt guilty.

Setting up a mug and putting the water on to boil, Dan went back into the bedroom and locked his gun and ID away in Elizabeth’s gun cabinet under the bed before going out of the sliding doors. He had no key to the apartment so he left them unlocked, intending to be back shortly. The neighbourhood was generally quiet so he wasn’t concerned about leaving the place un-secured.

As his legs pounded along, the morning air was as delightful as it had been earlier that day and he felt happier and more contented, adrenalin helping to push most of the bad thoughts to the back of his mind. It was hard to run on the beach, the sand moving underfoot and straining his tendons so he headed towards the road and a nice, flat pavement.

Danny kept moving left, away from the beach house and through side streets. Picking up speed he revelled in the exercise and how good it felt to be away from the stresses of the office for one day, his first break in almost six months. Jogging back up to the main road and across to a crescent he figured to do one more turn before turning back, coffee forgotten with the exercise.

As Danny ran across the road he glimpsed a woman with her head under the bonnet of a car but took little notice of her. It was only when he rounded another corner he recalled the street was known for some doped up kids and car thieves and figured he ought to see if the woman needed help.

He berated himself for trying to take on the world’s pain and realised it was probably his anxiety over Lizzie that made him feel the need to be a knight in shining armour. Regardless, he was a cop and it was his duty to protect and serve.

Danny turned back into the road and called out to the woman from a distance, hand raised to shade his eyes from the sun, “Hey! Madam, are you okay there? Do you need help?’”

In reply she turned her head slightly, long brown hair hiding her face as she looked at the man at the end of the road. She appraised him. He was a young sturdy looking male with short-cropped curly hair that seemed to absorb the sunlight like gold glinting off a ring. She also noticed underneath his shorts strong legs and a chest that filled out the red t-shirt he was wearing very nicely indeed. She just knew he had beautiful eyes, blue probably if the sun hurt them like that. Smiling she waved a beckoning hand.

To be a policeman is by nature to be suspicious, but with the light in his eyes Dan noticed nothing out of the ordinary about the scene until he was within a short distance of the car. Then he noticed the woman had rather hairy legs, one of which was covered in what looked like blood. His cop senses prickled.

He regretted leaving the house without his piece or badge, feeling naked without the paraphernalia of his job. A cop is never off duty. As Danny weighed up the scene he contemplated making an excuse and going for back up but if he did so he risked losing the suspect.

With the long hair he was still unsure if it was a man or woman and took a couple of unobtrusive steps back before cautiously asking the person what happened. He was no nearer to her than ten relatively safe feet away when suddenly, with a ferocity and speed that Danny could never have predicted, the `woman’ swung round, a wicked-looking tyre iron in `her’ hand and she rushed him. Danny had no time to think let alone react as the shock of her attack forced him back apace before she bludgeoned him, the blow hitting his right cheek with a force that could have taken his head off.

Danny went down so fast he registered almost nothing, legs collapsing awkwardly under his body. His first impression was that of pitch black eyes in a sea of yellow smothering him, then pure agony. The only other thing he saw before blacking out was yellow shoes dancing before his eyes, then a red haze and finally - nothing.

Cooke, now dressed in his first victim’s clothing, pounced on Danny, anxious to get back into the safety of the car. He heaved the unconscious man up into the back seat and with some difficulty managed to slide his dead weight across the bloody cream leather. A nice strong young man Cooke thought to himself happily.

Cooke eased the bonnet down quietly and, as was his habit, checked to see he hadn’t left any evidence in plain sight before getting in the car. In his eagerness to be on his way he pressed the accelerator too hard and tires squealed in the suburban peace.

On the side street by the corner where Danny first spied his assailant, stood a house that you would be forgiven for thinking was abandoned. Crusty white paint had peeled off the clap board and bare wood was rotting underneath, finger-sized splinters broken here and there added to the squalid appearance. Not one window pane was intact and the shredded grey nets behind them bore signs of pollution where broken gaps met the incoming dust. The house was far from abandoned though, it was the residence of four kids whose squat was the closest thing they had to home and today, behind one of those gaps in the curtains, a young haole named Mack stared out at the place where he had just witnessed what he thought was a kidnapping barely moments before.

Mack didn’t know if he wanted to do anything about it or whether, given his run-ins with the fuzz on and off, he would decide not to play the good citizen and just shut the hell up. Someone, somewhere was bound to notice the person was missing. It wasn’t his job to help the cops – was it? Besides from what Mack could tell the force of the blow that felled the guy may have already killed him and he wasn’t about to get involved in murder. Or maybe the man killed the woman? With what he had been smoking that morning he was entirely too confused to be sure of anything.

Mack went back to rolling his next joint and decided he might just ignore the whole thing. But he doubted he would ever forget that yellow skirt.

***

After leaving McGarrett’s office Kono headed straight for Danny’s desk. The woman he was looking for wasn’t in the Rollerdex so he opted to try the diary, just in case Dan had her number there. Jenny, seeing Kono in Danny’s office and fiercely protective of her two main men, waltzed in to check what Kono was up to.

“Can I help you with something Kono?” She asked in a very business-like manner

He immediately closed the diary on the desk and blushed under his olive complexion, the action in itself appearing to confirm his guilt. “Hey Jenny, I’m just…er…Steve told me to find Danno and I needed to see where he’s been this weekend so we can ring him to tell him to get back here wiki-wiki.”

Jenny wasn’t quite sure if she believed Kono but proved more than helpful. “He was with his girlfriend Lizzie at the weekend, I believe they were staying at her place.’

“Great, mahalo. I thought he might have been. I don’t suppose..” he left the enquiry unfinished and looked hopeful.

Reading his mind, Jenny walked to her desk and retrieved Elizabeth’s phone number for him.

Kono looked down at the piece of paper, surprised. “How come you’ve got her number?”

“Because, unlike some people,” she said – poking a nail polished finger into Kono’s large girth - “Danny knows how important it is to stay in touch in case anything happens at work – holiday or no holiday!”

He ignored the implied criticism and asked to use her phone rather than walk back to his own desk.

***

Back at the beach house Lizzie’s phone rang and rang with no one to answer.

In the empty kitchen the water in the kettle was boiling.

Kono hung up the phone and shook his head “Well golden boy ain’t in touch now. You don’t have an address for this wahine by any chance do you?”

Jenny, one of the best secretaries McGarrett ever had, produced an address within seconds.

“Here you go, Elizabeth Grant’s address but mind how you go now – she and Danny are going steady, if you know what I mean!.”

Kono chuckled “Trust me, I know Danny and I ain’t about to bust in on him and no chick without knocking first, he’d killed me!”

***

Elizabeth Grant’s apartment was on the beach road near Waikiki and Kalakua drove there expecting to find Williams lazily sunning himself on the lanai. When he knocked there was no answer and the front door was closed so he walked around the back of the property and called out before testing the balconydoors. He was surprised to find them open and went inside. What he didn’t expect to find was the place deserted, the back unlocked, a kettle about to burn itself dry and Danny’s clothes strewn around the bedroom but no sign of Danny or the woman.

Kono walked back to his car to call into the office and let them know he couldn’t find Danny but that he’d keep looking. As he was about to make his report his stomach lurched. It could have been the lack of breakfast or perhaps the still vivid picture he had conjured up in his mind from the briefing this morning but seeing the place empty and all of his friend’s clothes there Kono inexplicably began to worry.

He searched up and down the beach for just about as long as he could cope with sand filling his shoes and seagulls screeching overhead; he even asked a few early sun worshippers if they’d seen Dan. No one of them had.

Eventually Kono gave up and returned to his car to continue on to the airport to see if the marshall had arrived from the mainland before McGarrett blew him out.

After ten minutes driving he’d already figured Danny would turn up.

8.45am
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Roger Cooke, serial killer, sadist and kidnapper loved the feel of women’s clothing; not the way that legendary director Ed Wood did with his fluffy cardigans, just the simple pleasure of letting his hands wander over a woman’s attire without her screaming at him which, up until now at the ripe old age of forty-five, was all the intimate contact he’d ever had with the fairer sex. Of course there was forced intimacy with women, but even then he wasn’t quite sure that was all it was cracked up to be.

His escape momentarily forgotten after taking possession of his latest prize, he felt the desperate need to satisfy the seductive feeling of power once more. He had been deprived of his own brand of enjoyment for so long within the dull walls of prison that he could hardly think straight.

Cooke found himself on Diamond Head Road and, eager to get a proper look at the body lying on the back seat of his stolen car. He picked up speed; oblivious of the risk and heading to? - he knew not where.

Glancing back occasionally to ensure Danny hadn’t regained consciousness, Cooke spied a concrete factory driveway that looked to be unused. Pulling slowly onto the premises he rolled up to the gated entrance and parked under the skeleton of a long-dead tree.

He sat still for a moment, savouring the warm tingle rushing through his body. It was always the same before his game began. Anticipation is always better than realisation his momma always said, but to Roger the realisation had been just as good, if not better.

He got out and stretched his legs, releasing the knots in his leg muscles and slipped the shoes off to flatten his cramped feet. One calf was painful from a wound and he was careful to avoid the damage there. The woman he’d murdered had particularly small feet and even these slight heels were killing his arches and rubbing the skin off his achilles tendon. Cooke made a mental note to check that kind of detail for the next time round.

He set about surveying the factory, running his eyes over everything in the hope of finding a gap in the fence to use to his advantage; seeing none he returned to the car disappointed.

Eager to put his hands to work he opened the back door of the vehicle and unceremoniously dragged Danny out, dumping him on the concrete to view him properly like a butcher examining a cut of meat.

One side of Danny’s body was coated in the young woman’s blood and it was a sticky mess along his face and clothing. The other side was just as messed up, this time with his own blood that had oozed from a nasty looking cut on the man’s cheek where the tyre iron smacked him. The bleeding had pretty much slowed to a stop but the cheek was swollen and turning purple from the bruising; Cooke thought it looked particularly tender; if not broken. He was delighted.

The plan to satisfy his habit had worked just as it always had in the past; just as he knew it would again when he first spied the man calling out to him, this one was perfect for him. Not too young or old he had, underneath the swelling and blood, a handsome but youthful face, full lips and a shock of curly hair that seemed almost fair in the light. Not Adonis but close enough.

Danny was wearing a tight red t-shirt and cut off denim shorts. His body was trim and although not over muscled he was toned which meant he took care of himself; careful to balance his physique so his arms didn’t look more muscular than his legs. Perhaps he’s a tennis player? Cooke thought to himself. Nice ass too.

“I’ll bet the ladies love you!” He chuckled looking down at the unresponsive Dan.

With the point of his ladies’ shoe Cooke kicked Danny hard in the ribs to see if he would respond or if he was playing possum. Nothing – out cold. Just as he hoped. For the moment at least.

Cooke knelt beside the injured man and ran his hands up and down the inert body, searching everywhere in case of anything hidden or that he could use to his advantage. Nothing; no wallet and no identification. As he searched he stopped now and then to admire the smooth skin around Danny’s naked legs and even stroked one finger along the inside of a thigh. Nice, almost a shame to mark it. He thought excitedly. He peeled back a closed eye lid and stared into bright blue eyes. Killer to victim.

He got up and from the glove compartment Cooke retrieved the nylons he had peeled off the dead woman’s body before dumping her in nothing but her underwear. He hoped she wouldn’t be found for a while in order to aid his escape but he was fairly sure that in his haste he’d done a poor job of hiding her body from view.

He pulled Danny’s knees up to his chest in a foetal position, eliciting an involuntary moan of pain from the injured man and tied the nylons around his wrists and down to his ankles so tightly he was almost cutting off the circulation. Now his victim wouldn’t be able to straighten properly or get his arms up to tackle him from behind.

Puffing with the exertion Cooke lifted Dan and placed the now trussed detective in the back of the car like a pig at a lua. He took another look at the factory but there was no way he could use it as his hideout, he couldn’t get in.

Roger was frustrated that he couldn’t start the game - yet.

>>>>>>

A short while later and prompted by the pain messages filtering through to his brain Danny started to come round. His vision was fuzzy with a red haze in his right eye that he thought was blood. His head and face throbbed and the movement of the car made him nauseous. Dan had no idea what happened to him or where he was; the last thing he remembered was someone rushing towards him and then nothing -just shadows and pain.

He deduced he was in the back of a moving car and felt, before he saw, that his hands and legs were tied with something that appeared to be women’s nylons. Someone was whistling. The driver?

Hearing the creak of leather in the back of the car Cooke looked in the rear view mirror and spied his victim now awake and struggling to sit up.

“Hello and welcome to Hell!” he said welcomingly.

`Who are you?’ Danny ventured somewhat groggily.

“Don’t you know?’ The driver seemed genuinely surprised.

Definitely a man’s voice. Williams thought about announcing himself as a police officer but wasn’t sure how helpful that would be in his present predicament. For all he knew the man would kill him because he was a cop.

Dan shook his head, careful to avoid sudden movement, “No, I haven’t a clue. Why did you kidnap me?” He tried to sound calm but his heart was beating loudly in his ears and his voice was weak. He couldn’t see much of the man driving, just the long brown hair that had fooled him and the back of his head.

Cooke looked over his shoulder affording Danny a marginally better look at his attacker. “My we are curious aren’t we? All in good time my friend.” The man offered, then added, somewhat hurt, “Do you really not know me? I thought everyone knew me?” Without waiting for an answer he shrugged and turned his attention back to driving.

Danny’s attempts to sit up failed, there was no way he could overpower his kidnapper they way he was hog-tied. “Look I still don’t know who you are so why don’t you tell me what I’m doing here and what you want with me?”

Cooke was silent.

Dan suddenly noticed the dark red stickiness on the seat he was lying on and felt sick as he identified it, he knew it wasn’t his blood as nothing but his head registered pain but he was lying in the stuff. Very wrong place, wrong time Danno, Great! He thought to himself.

Blood, too much for someone to still be alive and a man wearing women’s clothing!? Danny wondered if the car was stolen and aside from using female clothes as a disguise, he was very concerned that the blood he was soaked in might belong to the previous owner of the garments.

A voice from the front cut into his thoughts. “I’ve just been shopping---I needed some supplies!” The man said almost to himself and went back to whistling; it was a film tune that Danny recognised but he couldn’t place it for the moment.

Not fazed by the lack of answers, the cop in him demanded “What Shopping?” he could see the bags of groceries on the floor but that answer seemed way too simplistic for the situation he was in somehow.

“Sure shopping - and you’re the supplies!’ The man stated gleefully and laughed as though it was the most amusing thing in the world. He carried on whistling gaily like he was out for a summer jaunt to the beach.

Danny had no idea what he meant by that last comment but his mind started working on possible scenarios; people who had grudges against himself; McGarrett; Five-O. He could come up with a hundred possible names but no one who fit the description of the man driving and even then he doubted that such a bizarre set up could have been for his benefit. It was too random. There would have been no way that any of his or McGarrett’s enemies would know where Danny would be that morning. His run had been a spur of the moment thing.

That left only one possibility - like he said before – wrong place, wrong time. Danny being picked up could simply have been fate.

I’m just along for the ride, it could have been any poor sucker; but that sucker was me, he thought and was suddenly very scared.

With difficulty Dan looked back over his head to the door latch behind him and to the one in front of his legs and tried to figure out if there was any way he could push the handle down. Rolling out of a car whilst bound hand and foot as the vehicle sped at thirty or more miles an hour wasn’t his idea of fun but the alternative possible futures that presented themselves to his imagination weren’t all that nice either. As he moved his head vertigo assaulted him, the ceiling of the car spun in circles before coming back to centre and the blood in his eye stung his retina so much that he would have killed to rub it with the back of his hand. For all he knew the retina was actually detached already. More good news for a Monday morning, he thought pessimistically.

***

Roger Cooke had no idea where he was going, he’d never been to Hawaii before and Oahu was a complete mystery to him. The man he was supposed to meet; the one who had engineered his escape from the mainland hadn’t contacted him since his arrest and until he had a chance to get the heat off him he couldn’t set up a meet. Sure he had helped get him the blade but that was all his contact seemed prepared to do.

Thinking about his victim Cooke knew he shouldn’t get sidetracked with this little detour of his but he couldn’t help himself. He needed a fix as badly as any heroine junkie and the young man in the back was the goods. Cooke resolved to give himself the day and then move on depending on how close the cops came.

He drove blindly from road to road, always in one general direction but with no real sense of where he would end up. He just knew he needed his fix bad; so bad he could taste it.

In the back of the car Danny relunctantly waited for an opportunity to present itself. Cars had thin walls and he figured he could tell from seeing buildings in the car window when he was in a more populated area. Until then it was pointless trying to attract attention to his plight by shouting himself hoarse, he would only provoke the man into doing something Dan knew he would regret.

Every now and then he spied the man looking at him. There was something bone-chilling about those dark eyes, like a bottomless pit. Cooke stared back at Danny from the rear view mirror as though he was waiting for something, or wanting something. It made Williams shudder.

Before long the car slowed down as they reached an intersection. Leaning up with difficulty Dan saw, to his intense relief and by sheer chance, a police car draw up to the same lights they were stopped at. Now or never. He lifted his legs up and banged his feet loudly on the door then started to yell for help at the top of his voice hoping to create enough noise for the cops to look at the car.

Cooke panicked, his victim wasn’t exactly the lamb to the slaughter he had hope for. Keeping one eye on the police car he quickly sought the tyre iron which he had dropped on the floor of the passenger seat next to him. He bent down and lifted it up, balancing its weight in one hand whilst trying to maintain his composure.

Danny was still bashing the door hoping maybe the hinges would give way. He opened his mouth to shout again at the top of his lungs but as he did so he saw a flash of something dark slice towards him. More pain and then blackness again.

Abruptly all sound ceased.

The sound of banging and someone yelling had indeed alerted one of the policemen in the patrol car next to the sedan Danny was trapped in. Curious about the noise he checked around him for the source before he finally figured it was coming from the car next to theirs.

He wound down the window.

Nothing, completely quiet save for the sound of the lulled engines and a few noisy birds overhead.

He looked at the woman driving to see if there was any sign of a problem and saw underneath a plain straw hat long hair blowing around her face from the air venting into the vehicle.

When the officer looked directly at him Cooke smiled shyly, just a sideways glance to avoid him seeing his profile and he gave a little feminine wave before mouthing the word `Children’ to the officer and smiling shyly again as though that was all the explanation that was required. He shrugged his shoulders daintily then pointed to the back seat before accelerating straight through the lights just as they turned green.

The other policeman asked of his partner “What’s the problem bruddah?”

“Oh nothing, thought I heard some noise was all. Kids. But that was one ugly dame brrrr!” He mock shivered and then laughed before the car moved on.

In the stolen vehicle ahead and now lying between the back and front seat where he had rolled, Danny was now bleeding from another blow, this time to his temple. In Cooke’s anger he determined to punish the man for what he did. Punish him badly.

As the white sedan moved away in front ot the patrol car the cops never noticed the smear of blood that remained on the side door or thought to themselves that the yells they heard were anything but kids misbehaving in the back of their strange mother’s car.

They never knew how close they came to saving a fellow officer from a fate worse than death.

***

Chapter 3


In Steve McGarrett’s office Tony Woodfield was just getting started.

“So what brings you to Five-O so early in the morning Doctor Woodfield?” said Steve, retracing his steps to sit behind his desk. “What kind of advice are you offering me?” He looked menacingly at the man who had just taken a seat without being offered one.

“It’s related to a case you are currently working on - the Roger Cooke case.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the psychologist but he gave nothing away, content to let Woodfield do all the talking. “Roger Cooke case?”

Woodfield looked confused “Why yes, Cooke; the killer who escaped this morning. Surely you must…?”

Steve cut him off “Are you working on this officially?”.

“Ah so you do know which case I’m talking about! Well actually I’m a volunteer…”

“Oh I see, you want to come forward and offer some advice to the police is that correct?” Steve was more than a little sarcastic. He didn’t have time for this.

“No, you don’t understand. I volunteered my services after Lieutenant Franks called me. He knows me from some of my previous cases. I…er..” he hesistated “I help out.”

Steve almost snorted. “You `help out’ on official police business?”

Woodfield sat up straighter in his chair and shifted uneasily, “Yes. I help the police put together criminal profiles. Surely you know about me?”

McGarrett shook his head and raised an eyebrow “No mister Woodfield. Until you walked in that door this morning” he said, pointing to it “I can assure you I had no idea who you were or even that Franks had someone helping him on important cases.” He made a mental note to lay into Franks on that one. “So let’s not beat about the bush shall we?” he added menacingly “What advice are you offering Five-O? Oh and please don’t expect me to give you information about the case, I’m still not convinced you aren’t a reporter coming in here under false pretences to sniff out a scoop.”

Tony Woodfield’s frank blue eyes stared straight into McGarrett’s and his voice rose as he countered “I don’t have to help you know. I don’t get paid for this – I merely advise the authorities on what some of these criminals are capable of and may I say I don’t appreciate your suspicion or tone of voice!”

Steve rose from his desk and pointed a very straight finger at Woodfield “And I don’t like a civilian coming in here taking up my precious time with some needy little story about being invaluable to the Law. Now get on with it or get out sir - I’m a very busy man.”

Woodfield calmed down “Okay, okay, truce? We seem to have gotten off on a bad footing.”

“You can say that again pal.” Steve grit his teeth and eased back into his chair.

The profiler held his hands up in surrender. “I hear the stories about you are true McGarrett…” but the sight of Steve’s clenched jaw stopped him from saying more on the subject.

Woodfield turned his attention to the attaché case he had in his lap. He opened it and took out a wedge of papers two inches thick and proffered them to Steve who accepted them without taking his eyes off the man in the seat.

Tony pointed to the papers.

“That is a thesis, of sorts. It’s a paper on the minds of serial murderers. Killers like Roger Cooke. I’ve been collaborating with Franks and the university as well as some of the best criminal psychologists on the mainland and in the UK to put together something which we hope will be of use to the police in trying to catch these particular criminals in the future. It’s called profiling. I er…I have information in there that might help you to catch your man; I’ve even interviewed him a couple of times.” He felt more comfortable now and was fluffing his feathers which irritated McGarrett no end. “Actually,” Woodfield said “aside from the investigators and lawyers on Cooke’s case back in Illinois the only other people who know more about him than I do are the FBI. “

Steve ignored his grandstanding and thumbed through the pages noting the long words and the screeds of reference material together with SOC photos and other documents. It all meant little to him unless he studied it but the photos appeared to be gruesome.

He dropped the papers onto his desk with a thud, causing Woodfield to wince at the noise. “I don’t have time to read all this so what’s the bottom line on the guy? If you really are here to help what can you tell us that might lead to his capture?”

Woodfield sensed that he was being brought into the case and was eager to set forward some of his theories and knowledge of the serial killer fraternity. He began. “Well, I believe you’re aware of his criminal history from the papers or what the Lieutenant said so I won’t bore you with elaborate details just set out what his personality is like. I don’t know how much you know about what makes a serial killer tick Mister McGarrett?”

“I’ve been around a bit.” Steve said pointedly, “But carry on, I’m intrigued to know what you think.”

Woodfield wasn’t sure if McGarrett was being serious or not but unperturbed he continued, “Well, there are different types of these criminals – there are those who like the quick kill er..the act-focused if you will; people on missions or that see things or hear voices telling them what to do. Then there are those who are more processed focussed – they like to kill slowly and methodically concentrating on details.”

Steve interrupted, “And which is Cooke?”

“Although these catergories are somewhat generalised, Cooke is most definitely the process kind. His victims suffered for days before the coup de grâce was delivered or they died of their wounds. In general these murderers are split into roughly four brackets,” the doctor started counting them off on his digits “you have the comfort hedonist who usually kills for personal gain, then there’s the killer who does it for the sexual thrill – lust orientated. There are those who do it purely for the euphoria – the excitement when a victim dies and finally,” he tapped his last finger, “you have Cooke’s type”

“Go on doctor, I’m just getting interested.” McGarrett said encouragingly.

Woodfield nodded “Yes indeed. Well, you see he is what they term a `power freak’; a sociopath who loves to dominate his victims, manipulating them and revelling in their misery and suffering. He mostly uses a sharp weapon to carve his victims up which earned him the nickname `Cutter’ in the papers. In fact he bought into his own PR so much he used to go ballistic in prison when someone called him by his real name. He stabbed a fellow prisoner with a piece of cutlery for that. Nasty business!”

Just then the intercom buzzed, “Excuse me.” McGarrett held his hand up for Woodfield to stop talking then pressed the button to answer, “Yes Jenny?”

“Boss someone from HPD phoned to say a woman’s purse has been found in a parking lot not too far away from where Cooke escaped.”

“Lost property? That’s not our jurisdiction. Why get Five-O involved?”

“Because of the blood Steve- lots of it!”

Steve sighed, so now it begins, he thought. “Thanks love, I’ll finish up here and talk to them. Let Chin and Kono know to get back right away. By the way, where’s Danno? Has he come in yet?”

“No sign of Danny, do you want me to try ringing him again?”

“Yeah, do that would you and as soon as he gets here send him in.”

“Will do.”

The intercom went dead .

McGarrett turned his attention back to Woodfield. “Well doctor what else have you got for me?”

Woodfield looked from the intercom and back to McGarrett “I don’t mean to sound presumptious but that sounds to me like Cooke may have killed someone.”

Steve shook his head bluntly “Unknown at the moment, could be anything- could be totally unrelated.”

“Well this may have some bearing on that – look at my report on Cooke’s only female victim and you will see that when she was found she had been murdered outright, unlike the men. As though Cooke didn’t care to toy with her like he did the others. However they did find her clothes in the closet at his apartment and from what they could tell he had worn them.”

“He wore her clothes?”

Woodfield nodded. “Precisely.”

Steve looked perplexed “You’ve got to be kidding me?! Is there any explanation for that? What did the psychiatrists have to say?”

The doctor shrugged, “Apparently they couldn’t find any explanation. Cooke openly admitted he likes to wear women’s clothes sometimes but they were convinced he isn’t a transvestite in the traditional sense of the word. It could be something in his background we failed to pick up, something related to his mother or a strong female figure perhaps or it could be something sexual. Perhaps he uses the clothes to lure his victims in. We’re just not sure.”

McGarrett was stunned; a sadistic murderer who steals and wears women’s outfits was someone he had no intention of allowing to roam free on his streets for longer than it took to catch him.

“So what is your advice?”

“My advice, Mister McGarrett, is for anyone to approach this man with extreme caution. I interviewed Roger when they arrested him and several times during his trial. He has no moral compass, he takes pleasure in the pain and humiliation of his victims. He picks young, attractive men out of choice but will not hesistate to kill anyone, male or female who crosses his path. From what Lieutenant Franks told me he is armed and, when armed, Cooke is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Do you have any idea what his next move might be?”

“He has been caught, sentenced and escaped. Now he is on the run again however in my opinion I don’t believe his first thoughts are to get away.”

McGarrett was confused, “I don’t understand you doctor, surely he will know there is a manhunt for him? Won’t he be looking for a way off the island?”

Woodfield shrugged, “That will be on his mind certainly,but from what I can tell of this man he has distinct needs; he craves power over another human like a drug and he’s been cold turkey for the past thirteen months throughout his imprisonment and trial. He may be seeking to overdose before he escapes - and that can only mean one thing.”

Steve nodded, understanding the implications of what the psychologist said. “Thank you, that is most helpful. Can I keep this report?” Woodfield agreed. “It seems like I have some reading to do. I want you to come back later and meet my Second –In-Command Dan Williams, he majored in criminal psychology before joining the force and may understand more about this than I do.”

“Dan Williams? The same Danno you were just talking about?” Woodfield enquired.

“Yes, he’s a Senior Detective with Five-O - do you know him?” Steve asked.

“Sure. Danny came to some lectures of mine, he is a bright young man. I had no idea he worked with you, I would be delighted to liaise with him. You’ve got a good one there Mister McGarrett, I knew Danny would go far.”

“Danno’s my best officer. I’ll tell him you’re on the case. If you are happy to advise us further please make yourself available and my apologies for the rough start.” He offered his hand for the doctor to shake and Woodfield accepted it before slipping Steve his calling card.

Woodfield smiled “I understand, and you’re most welcome. Contact me at any time. I just hope the woman whose purse they found isn’t one of Cooke’s victims. If he’s started killing again there’s no telling what he might do and to whom. If she’s missing Mister McGarrett I don’t fancy her chances much.”

“Neither do I from what you’ve said Doctor. Thank you again.”

Steve ushered the psychologist out and standing in the doorway allowed his mind to wander to the purse and the possibiity than someone had been injured or murdered by Cooke. He tensed.

Chin and the officers from HPD were just arriving for their de-brief. Steve could feel his temper flaring as he looked at them filing into the office. Firstly no one informed Five-O that a high security criminal was on the Island, secondly their completely irresponsible method of transporting the prisoner resulted in the deaths of two officers and then he found out that Franks had been dealing with a criminal psych, on confidential cases behind his back. Someone’s head was definitely for the block and McGarrett was going to deliver the blow.

He wondered again where Danny was, feeling like he needed his colleague’s advice and his friend’s comforting presence. It wasn’t like him not to coming running when called.

It was turning out to be a very strange and uncomfortable Monday.

***

Cooke turned onto the Kalanianaole Highway. The needle on the gas tank reassured him they still had plenty of places they could go, he could travel for miles but he couldn’t wait that long.

With Danny out cold Cooke wound his way through the streets with a burning desire to stop. He needed to alleviate the pressure and excitement building up inside him. He felt like a kid in a candy store – with so many ways to start eating so much good candy he didn’t know where to begin. Glancing in excitement over his shoulder at the helpless man lying on the floor of the vehicle, he lost concentration and failed to notice that the car was gaining on a cyclist. With a clang of tortured metal the fender grazed the back wheel of a bike and sent the cyclist tumbling sideways onto the sidewalk, shocked and grazed but otherwise unhurt.

Cooke swiftly brought the car back under control and cursed under his breath. One second of carelessness could have cost him his freedom.

From under the pedals of his dented bike. and nursing bruised knees and a scraped elbow, the man stared angrily at the tail lights of the white sedan. He made a mental note of the licence plate number, repeating it over and over until it sank into his memory. He was determined to report the driver for dangerous driving at the first possible opportunity.

Recovering from his lapse in concentration Cooke drove on, turning onto the next side road just in case the cyclist was watching his progress. After a while the number of sections with houses dwindled, the properties becoming less and less frequent until the road finally turned from tarmac to rough dirt track. It looked far more promising to him than the ones he had been driving around on for the last hour. The sun was still baking hot but the shade and the trees were soothing to the escaped killer. He liked the shadows, they were the times when he would sit in his room with his special cigarettes and a glass of bourbon to contemplate his collection of photos. Photos of young men in various states of undress, pain and decay. His quiet time before the evening’s fun with whoever, or whatever, he kept in his basement.

When time came for his trial everyone was amazed at what had taken place in his shop. They all said he was a quiet, unassuming tobacco seller who seemed a little strange but no crazed serial killer. But where he lived the street was mostly businesses and everyone went home around five leaving the road to the strays, the garbage floating in the wind - and him.

He conducted his pleasure below street level and no one heard a thing. Cooke needed that now – he had to go to ground. If he had a fix he would be ready to take on the cops, or the world and make good his escape.

With the vegetation and shade deepening, Cooke assumed he was driving through some kind of forest or park. He slowed the car right down and bumped it carefully along the dusty track.

After a good mile or so the road narrowed with a steep slope on the left hand side and Cooke saw what looked to be a dead end surrounded by a thicket of trees. He brought the car to a halt.

Pulling on the hand brake he sat back in the leather, closing his eyes for a moment to listen to the sound of bird song and cicadas before he got out of the car to stretch his legs. He hadn’t realised until now that he had been running on pure adrenalin and he craved some rest.

The air was warm and heavy with the smell of ginger and frangipane and another, sweeter honey-like aroma that pervaded the air. In the dapple light the floating particles of pollen were so large they could be seen waltzing with each other across the naked eye.

Cooke moved further down the old track while listening to the sound of the car radiator crackling as it cooled down and nature doing what it did best – simply being. He looked up over the treetops on the hillside and saw the ocean like a vast turquoise silk scarf swathed over the horizon beyond and heard the faint sound of waves crashing on the shore far below. It was peaceful and serene and perfect.

He shouted back to the car and its occupant “Hey I think we’ve found paradise! It’s lovely here! It’s beautiful, you should see it!”

Danny had been conscious for some time and heard the man shouting for joy. He didn’t know where they were but knew had to take the opportunity to try and escape whilst his kidnapper was distracted. Dismissing the pain in his head, Dan wriggled himself up from the leg space using his elbows and concentrated on finding a way to open the car door hoping he could do so before the man returned.

Trying to blink away the blood trickling into his eyes from the wound on his temple, he manoeuvered himself towards the exit. His hands barely reached the handle, fingers numb from lack of circulation but after one or two ineffectual and increasingly frantic attempts, his fingers finally flipped the latch down and he shouldered the door open. The heat hit him like a tidal wave and it took some time for him to orientate himself. Just then the door handle flicked back up with what seemed to him like a very loud click and Danny closed his eyes and stopped breathing, hoping to God that the man hadn’t heard it. Now or never Danny. He caterpillared out of the side door and straight into the unexpected undergrowth. When he hit the ground it knocked the air out of him but he kept rolling trying to get as far away from the car as he could.

The only way was down and down was a pretty steep slope.

Cooke was so busy taking in the air he hardly heard the breaking of the twigs as Danny gathered momentum and fell, that was until the detective hit the trunk of a tree and yelped inadvertently, unsure if he had broken ribs; then, like a preying mantis sensing its meal, Cooke turned his head in the direction of the sound.

Only the fight or flight instinct kept the Five-O officer going since everything in his body hurt. His vision was slightly impaired from the blow to his cheek and it was hard to gauge his progress. Every inch of his exposed, and not so exposed, body was scratched by twigs or abraded by rocks. He wriggled around the tree and rolled down again hoping that the movement would at the very least loosen his bonds. In reality Danny knew it was pretty hopeless. His best hope lay in someone being around and hearing the commotion, but even then he didn’t want another innocent person coming into contact with the madman he was fleeing. He knew the ocean was close by and that any second he could fall to his death over a cliff but perhaps that was preferable to what his kidnapper might have in mind.

Battered and bruised, his T-shirt ripped, Danny kept going until his movement slowed to an abrupt and painful stop. He was at the fence line of some old property and the ground was flat. The downward momentum had caused him to hit the fence with a wallop and his foot became entangled in sharp barbed wire.

Danny struggled to release his foot but it was no good, he couldn’t move either his arms or legs properly. The material on his shoes was hooked onto the barbs and he was held tight. Dan tried slipping off his shoe but it wasn’t co-operating and the sharp prongs dug into his socks and ankle even more. If that wasn’t bad enough, the whole fence rattled, giving away his position. Williams had no idea how close his assailant might be but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before he was found.

Above him Cooke had run back to the car and seen the door yawning open. He knew his man was out. Slamming the door shut he cursed himself for his stupidity but remained calm. The murderer peered over the embankment and began scanning the area for his victim amidst ferns, bushes, palm trees and wild flowers. Cook smiled, it wasn’t hard to follow him; Williams had crushed a path a six year old could track into the darker valley below.

Eyeing a more gentle slope than the one his victim had taken, Roger Cooke started down a half-hidden dirt track and followed the trussed man’s doomed progress with distaste. He winced at the blisters forming on his feet which made it hard to run.

Some way down he reached a natural plateau and Cooke saw a gate with a run-down pig shed and yard connected to a small hut that he figured belonged to a farmer. It looked to have been abandoned long ago and the whole thing was balanced precariously, jutting out over the cliff face and surrounded by weeds and vegetation. The fence and gate were wrapped with badly rusting barbed wire which, once upon a time, kept the doomed porkers from escaping.

Seeing the fence rattle Cooke edged his way along the weed-infested line, careful not to scare his quarry too much but eager to let him know he was on his way. He began to whistle his favourite song, `Que sera, sera’.

Dan stopped shock still. His blood went cold. The man was coming for him and Danny wanted no part of it.

Williams began struggling again, desperate to release himself from the wire holding him. His ankle now bled from where it had bitten into his tender flesh, adding to his discomfort.

When Danny saw the man coming towards him, he was terrified. Cooke’s ridiculous summer outfit was twirling around him as he whistled and he looked as though he were out picking mushrooms in the Land of Oz.

He is sick and I am truly in trouble. How will anyone find me? He brushed aside the thought and tried to concentrate on his training and formulate a plan, but try as he might he could come up with nothing in his background that had prepared him for the ludicrous situation he found himself in. No one told him how to deal with fruit loops.

With a potential murderer marching towards him he was helpless.

“Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not our to see. Que sera, sera, What will be will be,” Cooke had lapsed into singing as he moved closer and closer. Not a care in the world. It was downright sinister. Dan could see his soulless eyes staring at him as he sang and came closer and closer, the breeze swinging the skirt back and forth, back and forth, as Cooke put one hairy leg in front of the other.

As Cooke reached his victim he stood watching him struggle like a pinned butterfuly and smiled. It was