On The Line

I just realised that maybe an explanation is in order.

This story is finished. I'll try to post three or four chapters every day until it is done. It's the first story in a trilogy, and I'm currently writing the second book called "On The Edge" (which is half-way done, as well). So - do not worry, this story isn't really a WIP, even though the storyline will continue in books two and three. :)

Prologue



Edward St. John was tired. No, scratch that. He wasn’t plain tired. He was bone deep weary and so tired that he didn’t think he could pack enough sleep in forty-eight  hours to catch up on what he had lost in the past month. But even though he was tired, he was also content. They had finally gotten the fuck-up who had sliced open three women, had removed their hearts and eaten them raw. He had been about to slice open the fourth one when Edward’s work finally paid off and they had found him.



In his forties, not over five feet tall, overweight and balding, Stanley Granger wasn’t a person anyone would remember. He was the kind of guy that disappeared in a crowd, the kind of man you saw and instantly forgot.



Not the three women, though.



He had taken them, drugged them and brought them to his mother’s cabin in the woods where nobody could hear their screams.



There had been no traces, no similarities, no mistakes. Until Edward had looked at the evidence they’d gathered so far and had seen what nobody could. It was his special skill, but also his very own personal nightmare.



And it had led him where he was today.



Edward sighed and rubbed his eyes that felt gritty as if he’d been taking a walk through the desert.



God, he was tired.



He heaved himself up from the sofa he’d been sitting on for the past ten minutes with a groan that seemed to come from the depth of his soul and, shedding his clothes on the way, made his way to the bathroom where he stepped under the shower and just let the water beat down on him.



When he came out he felt, if not more alive, at least more like himself again. Whoever that was, Edward thought with a wry chuckle. He shook his head over his own maudlin thoughts while he found a clean pair of sweat pants and a dark shirt.



He had just pulled it over his head when the phone rang. He stared at it and considered letting it go to voice mail for a moment, then decided against it and snatched up the receiver.



“St. John.”



“Edward St. John?”



The voice was female and familiar even thought he couldn’t place it.



“Yes?”



“This is Karen Hamilton.” The woman laughed, “Which will tell you nothing, because it’s my married name. We last met when I was still Karen Kramer.”



Karen Kramer.



Shit.



“Karen.”



Even if he had tried he wouldn’t have managed to put enthusiasm in his voice. It wasn’t in him. Not tonight. And certainly not for Karen Kramer. Hamilton. He wondered who the poor schmuck was who had gotten saddled with her.



“Wow. I can feel the love,” she said, her voice dry. “Unfortunately I can’t be picky and I would apologize for the late hour but I’m in a hurry. Kind of, anyway.”



“A hurry.”



Now that sounded ominous. And not promising when he thought about the forty-eight hours of uninterrupted sleep he had been planning to treat himself with. Unfortunately losing sleep came with the job description.



“Edward.” Karen paused and he could just imagine her gnawing her lip. “We’re in the middle of a case and it’s going nowhere. I talked to my Lieutenant and he agreed to bring in outside help.” Another pause, then a deep breath. “And your name popped up in my head.”



Great. Couldn’t another name have popped up in her undeniably pretty head?



“Imagine that,” he said, and didn’t try to hide his annoyance. Why bother anyway? She had to know that he didn’t really want to work with her again. Not after what had happened the last time. Sure, they had saved the life of a six-year old girl. They had not saved her mother, though. They had been too late and Edward was not sure he would ever forgive himself for that.



“Yes, well.” Karen sounded just as weary as he felt. “Could you come to the precinct tomorrow? Around ten?”



Ten? Edward checked his watch and let out a sigh. He could put in ten hours – maybe, if nightmares wouldn’t haunt him. And maybe feel marginally functional tomorrow.



“What is it about?” he asked, already knowing it had to be bad.



“We’ve had five dead bodies in the past three weeks. All of them strangled with a thin rope. All of them raped. Of course with a condom. All of them blonds. All of them in their early twenties. And we’re getting nowhere.”



“Why me?”



Sure, he was good. His skills had been called exceptional at one point. But Edward still saw it as a valid question.



“Because you’re a smart guy. Because your special skills are needed and because I really liked working with you.”



He had liked working with her, too. It didn’t change the fact that he wished they had never met. It wasn’t logical. Maybe it was even stupid, but he couldn’t help it. If that made him an idiot – so be it.



“And also,” Karen was saying, “because you’re one of the very few people I trust with this case.”



Edward felt himself frown. “Why? What’s so special about this case?”



“The dead bodies? They’re all male. And all were openly gay. And you can’t imagine the load of crap I’ve had thrown at me since I took this on. The stupid prejudice, the asshole comments. Cops aren’t exactly famous for their open minded view of the world.”



Big shock. “You can’t imagine how much of a surprise that isn’t.”



“Yeah, smarty pants. Try working with it day in day out and then we’re talking.”



“So you called me because I’m gay.”



“In part, yeah.”



“Okay.” He could live with that.



“And because of all the other things I told you before.” Her voice softened. “I like working with you, Edward. And to tell you the truth, this new partner I have to work with – I’m not saying he’s stupid. He isn’t. He’s smart and tough, but he’s also an asshole when it comes to gay people. He’s stepped on so many toes, people have stopped talking with us. It’s not helping.”



“And you think my special gay aura will open the doors that have been closing on you?”



“A girl can always hope,” she said, sighing. “Look. I need to know if I can count on you. Will you help me? Will you help solve this case and bring justice for those murdered boys nobody else really cares about?”



to be continued …