Diary Entry 3/18/98                                                                         Steve Stackhouse

3/18/98 -

The NYPD finally figured out what I had deduced almost a week ago. All those local killings... have been done by the same person. The MO is pretty much the same - bludgeoning someone to death. Whoever did it was horribly strong - the forensic people suspect Mastiff, which makes me immediately suspicious. Has he figured out who gave him trouble a couple of months back? Wouldn't be too hard. Given his casual attitude towards human life, I'm switching apartments for a few days. You can't ever be too certain.

A couple of the photos of last night's victim made it into the Times today. Not exactly what the police wanted, I don't think. His head looked like a melon that had been dropped from the top of the World Trade Center. Needless to say, there was a huge outcry on the call-in radio programs for "something to be done". Me, I've been doing everything I can, but there's only so much ground one person can cover in a night. Haven't seen any of New York's other caped lunatics hanging around, though, so I guess they're busy in other parts of town. Too many crazies spoil the broth.

Well, the police apparently did decide to do something. Got called in late this morning to talk with an officer named Thomas Hewes who has been assigned to the investigation. Since I've "dealt" with him before, they wanted me along to "identify" him should we run across him. Right. You need someone to identify Mastiff. I get to bell the cat today, I guess, since the chief thinks it's a good idea. Lucky me.

Well, that was a collossal waste of time. Officer Hewes investigative technique makes up in brute force what it lacks in subtlety. We spent the entire afternoon and a couple of hours in the evening going from door to door in the residential areas near the UN interrogating everyone about anything they may have seen or heard in the past few nights. My part? Knock on the doors and see if I get attacked, then write a report on the investigation. Times like this that I love my job.

3/19/98 -

Well, the door to door search continues today. As you can imagine, I'm really looking forward to this. Was too tired to go out last night on patrol, thank God there weren't any more killings. I'd probably have taken a swing at Hewes myself if that had happened.

There's an old saying that is to the effect that you always find what you're not looking for. Well, I guess that's what happened today. Okay, David, details...

Just after lunch we moved on to the next apartment building, an old brownstone perhaps a half-dozen blocks away from where I live and only a half-block away from the last murder scene. Genius. I'd been wondering all afternoon yesterday why we hadn't come over here to begin with, and really hadn't gotten an answer, just a lecture on 'backing up your partner'. This I need? Mr. Hewes would fit in perfectly with the FBI if he got his brain tucked.

We had worked our way up to the second floor when I felt the faintest pricking at the back of my neck. Sometimes, fate just throws you a curveball I guess. I was just about to knock on the forty-seventh door of the day when the next one down opens. Hewes' expression was beautiful for the half-second I got to see it, sort of a triumphant glow mixed with astonishment. "Wayward! Freeze!" he shouted, grabbing his gun from its holster while his voice echoed through the arched hallway.

I keep up with the papers... and the police case files. Wayward was the name they were using for someone who had been involved in a jewelry store robbery not all that far back, and he did resemble the artist's composite that I had seen. Now normally, with a police officer holding a gun on the man I wouldn't interfere, but... there was something about him. The way he carried himself. The subtle shift of his stance. The athletic build of someone who took good care of his body. The lack of change in his expression at the shout. This was not someone who was at all worried about a gun being levelled at him, and my own nerves were jangling on end, screaming a warning. Plus, I was closer to him than Hewes was.

All this flashed through my mind in a heartbeat. Looking back, what made my decision was a fairly simple thing. He clenched his fist, not in a normal way, but as though holding a weapon. An odd reaction, and an odd thing to notice but there you are.

Reflexes took over at that point, and I dropped into a quick footsweep. To my amazement, it actually connected. He clearly saw it coming and began to jump over it, a simple and obvious counter, but at the last second allowed himself to be knocked down. It was a simple thing to immobilize him then, and he offered no resistance. Still, I could sense the rage peeling off of him. Not that of a streetpunk or a civilian feeling put upon by a police officer. He was angry at the two of us for having the nerve to even exist, to dare to challenge him. And behind it all was the cockiness, that "You'll never pin it on me"-type of expression that you always see in the first reel.

Hewes called a car in and departed for the rest of the afternoon to interrogate his new friend. Don't envy him that job, he's welcome to it. As for me, I got to finish off the apartment building and then get some sleep. Maybe I'll actually be able to do the next target some good tonight.