All characters and places in this series are fictional.  Any resemblance they bear to actual people or places is purely coincidental.

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“All right, everybody, settle down.”  It was a rare occasion that Sgt. Eddie Presser had to say anything to quiet his squad at the beginning of roll call.  They all had enough respect for him that they usually got seated and quiet as soon as he approached the podium.  This afternoon was different only because there were two unexpected guests in the squad room and the talk about that distracted Eddie’s squad from his approach.

Once the squad was seated and quiet, Eddie continued.  “I’d like to introduce you to Lt. Andrea DeSalis,” he indicated the female officer standing to his left, “and Sgt. Jake MacGregor,” he added indicated the officer next to Lt. DeSalis.  “They’re from the child crimes unit and are here to brief us about two recent homicides they’re investigating.”  With that he stepped away from the podium, surrendering it to Lt. DeSalis.

“Good afternoon,” she started.  “I’m Lt. DeSalis but you can call me ‘Andi.’ I’m here to brief you on two homicides we’re investigating.” As she spoke, Sgt. MacGregor handed out information sheets to each squad member.  “My partner, Sgt. MacGregor, usually just called ‘Mac,’ is distributing our fact sheets for the two crimes.  The information on them is for official use only.  Do not share the information with anyone outside the agency.”  Mac finished distributing the sheets and everyone glanced at them as Andi continued her briefing.

“The two juvenile victims you see named on the sheets were kidnapped, molested and then killed, both within the past three weeks.  According to the office of the medical examiner, they weren’t killed until approximately five to seven days after they were kidnapped.  That time frame is when the killer, or killers – we don’t know both crimes were committed by the same person – molested them. The first victim was kidnapped off the street on his way home from school.  The second was taken from a mall parking lot.  The second victim was nine years old and his parents thought he was in school.  He was apparently playing hookie with some friends and the group of them were playing hide and seek in the mall lot.”  She paused to breath before continuing. “We’re investigating any links between the two but they went to different schools and didn’t have any social or developmental organizations in common. They went to different churches and weren’t on any of the same boys club teams. So far we’ve found no connection between them.”  She paused again and sighed as if she was bothered by the rest of what she had to say.

“As if these crimes aren’t bad enough, they investigation is being complicated by reported sightings of ‘weird clowns.’  It appears that Oceanside has joined the national trend and the agency, as you all well know, is getting nine one one calls about clowns in the woods, clowns at parks, clowns in shopping malls, etc. Hell, one lady called in a clown sighting at, of all places, the county fair.  Thanks to the way people are reacting and all the hype this is getting on social media, we’re getting calls from tipsters trying to credit the clowns with the kidnappings.” Once again that pause for breath and a sigh. “Obviously we have no evidentiary connection between the clowns and the crimes.  That said, we can’t rule it out either.  So… as goofy as this may sound, if you see any clowns out and about and not associated with any obvious activity that would require their presence, stop them and check them out.  The Chief’s office is considering this pro-active policing to help calm the hype.”  She looked up and asked, “Any questions?”

Several of the officers on the squad were tempted to ask smart-ass questions about the clowns, but the news about the two kidnapped, molested and murdered children squashed that.  Getting no questions, Lt. DeSalis said, “Thanks for your time and attention.  Any help you can offer us is appreciated.”  With that, she stepped away from the podium, surrendering it back to Sgt. Presser.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s keep this in mind as we patrol.  There’s no law against dressing up as a clown and walking around.  It may seem stupid or silly to us, but if that’s someone’s idea of a good time, they’re free to do it.  When you stop a clown… geez I feel stupid just having to include this in roll call… if you stop a clown, be courteous and respectful. Remember, we have no reasonable suspicion or probable cause to treat them in any way beyond a law abiding citizen.”  He paused and looked around, meeting every squad member’s eyes, just like he did at the beginning of every shift.  “Stay alert, stay alive.”

The squad knew that was Eddie’s closing and stood to file out.  Max and his partner, Sean, headed out to their patrol car and gave it an inventory before going out on patrol.  The cruisers were shared so they never knew for sure what they’d find in the trunk or glove compartment.  Max made a habit of searching/inspecting the back seat – which served as the prisoner transport compartment – before every shift.  They also checked all the lights to make sure everything worked, as well as checking the oil and the tire pressure all the way around. Most of the other squad members did the same and then another evening shift in Oceanside was underway.

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Once on the street, the units in Eddie’s squad were diligent in their patrols.  Eddie, as the squad sergeant, liked knowing he didn’t have to micro-manage or constantly check up on them.  Even the laziest team on his squad answered their calls quickly and generated an acceptable level of paperwork.

Unit 1095 – Max Breaklin and Sean Davidson – were both military veterans with combat experience and had proven to be effective officers on the street.  Max was recently back to full duty after recovering from two gunshot wounds he received when someone – someone that still hadn’t been identified or caught – had attacked the local gang, The Breakers.

Unit 1096 – The squad’s “twin towers of terror” – Mike Rakkie and Kyle Drummond. Both were six feet five inches tall.  Mike topped out over 300 pounds and was strong beyond belief.  Kyle was in the 260 pound range and was almost as strong.  For as big as they were and as aggressive as their personalities were, they were both men who would prefer to talk a suspect into handcuffs.  If talking didn’t work, they had no problem with Option B either. Still, they were both professional even if they were jokesters.

Unit 1097 – Sam Nichlaus and Dave Brick – Sam had previously been Max’s partner, was another service veteran with combat experience and seemed to be appropriately aggressive about doing the job.  Dave was the senior of the two and, although he did the job well, he was also perfectly content to have a shift of no calls, no traffic stops and no citizen interaction.  Eddie got the impression that Dave needed a vacation and had it on his list of things to talk to individuals about.

Unit 1098 – Pete Jerstopholus and Bill Herstal – Pete was a third generation officer and a widower.  His wife had died young from cancer but Eddie knew that he was dating again and seemed to have gotten past grieving for his wife.  He was a good officer although the influence of his family sometimes seemed to contradict the agency’s policies and protocols.  It hadn’t been a big deal yet, but Eddie wondered if the young man wouldn’t be better off – professionally speaking – in a larger agency. His father and grandfather had both been county officers.  Was the city big enough for Pete?  Bill had gone to the academy with Eddie but hadn’t progressed past the rank of Corporal.  He hadn’t even tested for it.  Eddie knew that Bill was comfortable where he was, but the lack of motivation for advancement concerned him.  Bill did the job and did it well, but Eddie worried about the example being set for the younger guys. That was another private conversation to be had.

In Unit 1095, Max and Sean were discussing the clown sightings and the child murders.  “I just don’t get it,” said Max as he drove the patrol unit in no particular pattern.  “Why would anyone dress up like a clown just to walk around and stir the bucket. Don’t they realize that it might get them hurt?”

“Maybe that’s the thrill,” replied Sean.  Max looked over at him, the unspoken question obvious on his face, so Sean explained what he meant.  “Maybe the risk of getting braced or having someone chase them or whatever… maybe the potential for conflict is what excites them.”

“It’s going to excite them right into an ass-kicking or worse,” observed Max.  Sean just nodded his head in reply. “Especially with these kidnappings and murders going on,” continued Max. “Some parent is going to take umbrage with the fact some clown is too close to some kids or someone’s property… and the clown is going to get gun-faced or snatched.”  He paused a minute to think. “Hell, if it was my kid and I saw a clown near or on my property, for sure and certain there’d be no doubt about my ‘sighting.’ He’d be on the ground with my boot on his back waiting for some officers to come have a talk with him and how stupid he was.”

“There’s the law suit waiting to happen,” said Sean.  “These literal clowns might be hoping for someone to put their hands on ‘em… just so they can have someone charged with assault and sue them for the liability of it.”

“Maybe…” agreed Max, continuing to drive.

“Beach 131,” squawked the radio.  “Beach 131 in foot pursuit of snatch-and-grab suspect 2^nd street toward Coastal.” There was a pause and then, “Suspect is a number two male, about six feet tall, carrying a woman’s bag, wearing a white tank top over tan shorts.”

“All units in the area,” said the dispatcher, “Beach 131 has one running…” and she finished out the information.  Max had already turned his cruiser that way and Sean had activated the emergency equipment.  Beach 131 was Jessica Porter, or JP for short; Max’s fiancé.  Max and Sean were less than two blocks away on Coastal Highway.  Coastal Highway was about two blocks off the boardwalk.  Given the delays for communications and different travel speeds, Max figured they could get to 2^nd Ave. and Coastal Highway about the same time as JP’s chase suspect.

Their timing was almost perfect.  Max slowed the cruiser down as they approached the intersection and the suspect literally ran into the side of the patrol vehicle. Max had just put the vehicle in park and was opening the door to get out when he heard a second impact and looked over to see that JP had run into the suspect just as the suspect was effectively bouncing off the side of the patrol car.  A small voice in the back of Max’s head wondered if there’d be damage to the side of the car that he’d have to write up, but that was negligible. The main concern, in his mind, was helping JP get the bad guy into handcuffs.  Since she and the suspect were both on Sean’s side of the car, he got to her first to help. Max had to come around the car and there wasn’t any place for him to help.  The suspect was on the ground with JP’s knee in his back and both JP and Sean holding his forearms as JP snapped the handcuffs onto his wrists.

After the suspect had been stood up, Sean searched him and double locked the handcuffs.  Other than his identification and the stolen bag, the man didn’t have anything else on him; no keys, no wallet, no debit cards, no nothing.  JP asked Max and Sean to transport the suspect to central processing, saying she’d meet them there to take custody and do the paperwork.  They agreed and, before JP walked away, Max and JP shared a look that was publicly appropriate but said what was on both their minds.  Things like, “It’s good to see you; be near you, etc. I’m looking forward to when we’re both off work later,” and more.

As JP walked back up toward the boardwalk, Max got behind the wheel of the patrol vehicle once again.  Sean keyed up the radio as Max put the vehicle in drive.  “Unit 1095.”

“Go ahead, 1095,” replied the dispatcher.

“Hold us out on a prisoner transport for Beach 131. Transport only, one number two male, starting mileage…”

And then he turned the still keyed up microphone so it was pointed at Max who said, “five three two six nine.”

“Ten four, 1095,” repied the dispatcher.

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At his desk in the Homicide Investigations section of Oceanside PD, Lt. Richard “Dick” Coleman was reviewing files on an investigation he was sharing with the Coast Guard.  To be brutally honest about it, he was simply supporting them in their investigation, but since one of the bodies had washed up on his beach – that of Oceanside, Virginia – he still considered it his case; at least that one body. As he looked at the pictures and re-examined the dates of disappearances as they were correlated to the dates when bodies were found or washed up, the phone rang.  He picked up the receiver and said, “Oceanside Homicide, Detective Coleman. How can I help you?”

“Coleman, Griggs,” said the voice on the other end.  Lieutenant James Griggs was an agent for the Coast Guard’s Criminal Investigative Service, CGCIS.  He was the investigator handling the homicides that Coleman was coordinating with.

“What can I do for you today, Lieutenant?” asked Coleman.

“I’ve got some information for you,” said Griggs.  He paused a minute, knowing that Coleman was most likely grabbing a pen or pencil and the closest note pad.

“Go,” said Coleman.

“First off, we found a yacht called ‘Different Flavors’ drifting off the coast of New Jersey.  We don’t currently have any connection to the bodies that have been found up and down the east coast but there were the remains of two bodies aboard, both badly dismembered. Second, it appears as if parts of the victims had been cooked in the galley and consumed by whoever else was on board.  Third, the yacht’s dingy is missing and we’re hoping it shows up because we’re assuming that’s how whoever did the two murders got off the boat and finally, we found an assortment of clothing on board that obviously weren’t for the two dead men. The clothing is an assortment of male and female and a large variation of sizes.”  He stopped and listened to Coleman writing, knowing that the detective was digesting everything that was said as he wrote down the notes.

When he finished writing, Coleman looked over the notes and asked, “So is there any indication that the clothing might belong to the victims we’ve found afloat or washed up?”

“We’re working on that,” replied Griggs.  “I was hoping you could help us out with another chore while we have our agents check on the clothing.”

“Sure,” said Coleman. “What do you need?”

“I need you to check the marinas in your area and see if ‘Different Flavors’ had been docked at any of them recently. We’re trying to track its travel up and down the coast. The wife of the registered owner told us that he and his best friend took an annual trip up and down the coast and that they were overdue to get home. The remains of the two bodies on the yacht match the descriptions we have of the owner and his friend, but we’re waiting for the M.E. to confirm dental records before we consider it a positive I.D.”

“Sure,” replied Coleman, “I can do that. We have about ten marinas but some of them won’t accommodate a boat that’s very big.  I assume since you said ‘yacht’ this is a larger vessel.”

“Yeah,” replied Griggs.  “Over fifty feet.”

“That’ll limit it,” said Coleman.  “I’ll check around and let you know.”

“Thanks,” replied Griggs.  “We get the positive I.D. or any other info, I’ll be sure to share.”

With that, both men hung up and went back to their duties.  Coleman’s, he was thankful, involved going out into the decent end-of-summer / beginning-of-fall weather to talk to a few marina owners or managers.  He was all too aware that this was that one thing that might break the case open.

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Relatively new Oceanside police officer Kevin Murphy was enjoying dinner and a couple of beers with his brothers at their favorite local pub.  For sure he wasn’t with ALL of his brothers – there were seven Murphy boys in the family – but Kevin and three of his brothers had managed to get together this particular evening.

“So, why Oceanside?” asked Kevin’s older brother Jerry. “I thought you liked working for the county?”

Kevin shook his head, sipped his beer and then answered. “I didn’t mind the county but I was starting to feel like I wasn’t really doing much good.  I felt like I was just running from one call to the next and never really able to do anything proactive.  I felt like, if I was going to make a change, I’d better do it before too much longer.”

Jerry nodded his head. His brother was right.  Kevin was 32 years old and in another few years it would have been completely impractical to even consider switching agencies, especially if you thought about the implications for retirement.  Jerry was the oldest of the Murphy brothers; twenty years older than Jerry who was the youngest.  They were spaced roughly three years apart.  Present at this small gathering was their brother Reginald, more commonly known as Reggie; a 46 year old retired Master Chief Petty Officer from the Navy, and Lawrence, whom no one called Larry, the black sheep of the family.  Lawrence had been in the Army but was dishonorably discharged and had done prison time for several crimes including armed robbery as well as Breaking and Entering.  He was out on parole and under the supervision of Jerry.  Jerry was a retired Oceanside police officer but still did some work with the agency as a firearms instructor.  It was something he and Kevin had in common.  They’d been to the same instructor schools and had even both gone to the same sniper school.  During his time with Oceanside PD, Jerry had been a detective in both Internal Affairs and Homicide and had taught at the academy for a couple years in the middle.

“Well, you’re stuck with the switch now,” chimed in Reggie.  “I hope they treat you right.”

“With our history in the city,” said Jerry, “the agency will treat him fine.”  He was referring to the fact that the Murphy family was one of the oldest family lines in the city.  In fact, when Oceanside had been founded in the early 1800s, Ernest Murphy had been the first Mayor.  He was an ancestor of the current Murphy families living in and around the city now. The Murphy family owned various business and worked in different fields, but in the past couple generations, it seemed like there was always a Murphy on the police department.  Kevin was the newest, as he had just recently transferred over from the local county police department.

While the other three brothers chatted, Lawrence sat quietly.  He loved his brothers but it bothered him that he felt so separated from them. He had no common interests with them.  Being a convict, he felt like they merely tolerated his presence.  He ate and drank his one allowed beer (because Jerry was such a jerk) and listened to them talk… and stewed.

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Tracy didn’t look like someone who had swum to shore in the ocean surf, had showered on a beachfront deck and changed her clothes under a wrapped-around towel.  She looked at petite and sprightly and cute as most people thought her to be. She also didn’t look like someone who had recently killed, dismembered, cooked and partially eaten two men after spending a long weekend sexually partying with them.

Since she spent so much time living on or near the beach she had learned to keep a water proof bag inside her duffle. It kept her things dry even when she had to scuttle a small dingy and swim to shore.  Thanks to her time on board ‘Different Flavors,’ and the richness of her two latest victims, she had almost ten thousand dollars in cash in her bag.  She figured it was enough to live on for a month or so while she enjoyed life, searched out new partying partners and figured out what her schedule was for heading farther north.

The hotel in New Jersey’s Atlantic City was a plush one.  The room rate was $200 per night but she negotiated with them and accepted the reduced AAA rate, saving her about $1200 over the length of the month long stay she anticipated.  After she had checked in and dropped her bag in her room, she went down to the casino floor.  There she ordered her first drink of the evening, bought a cigar and wandered slowly to watch people.  She saw several men checking her out and she checked them out as well.  They were both looking for a victim of sorts…  but Tracy was looking for a victim of different sorts.  Her interest was terminal after she was done playing with them.  And she was sure the month ahead would give her plenty of acceptable targets.

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