Victim 18 post 31

Tuesday finds Wren up early cooking breakfast and packing lunch for Norman. She wakes him about half way through cooking so he will have time to dress and he joins her just about in time for it to be done.

“So what are your plans for today?”

“Well after I see you off to work I’ll get in my morning run then, a little surveillance on a second shift night watchman and off to work.”

“Surveillance? No, no I don’t want to know. The less I know about your other job the better I can plead denial if it comes to it. By the way, that reminds me. I left the Sunday paper on the sofa where I was looking through it. I found an article that might interest you.”

Wren walks into the living room and picks up the paper and the headline of an article immediately catches her attention.

“The Predator strikes again! After a painstaking investigation police have determined that the most likely candidate for the three car explosions on Friday were most likely caused by the Predator. All three cars were owned by men fitting the general description of the other victims of the Predator. A fourth victim was shot to death at point blank range in his own living room of his third floor apartment in the thirty-eight hundred block of Mc Causland. Investigators can not find any means of forcible entry nor do they understand how the predator left the building. They are speculating that the victim knew the perpetrator and allowed them entry.”

“Interesting article.”

“How did you get in there?”

“The same way I left, through the balcony door. Now you need to be heading off to work and trust me you don’t want any more details.”

Wren sees Norman off to work then starts into her normal routine. When she is ready for work she hops on her bike and heads over to pay a reconnaissance visit to a Jimmy Thatcher on Ravenscroft. His house is a fairly typical single story ranch except that the windows are all black. The garage door is closed and there are no cars in the driveway. She makes her mental notes and heads on over to work. After work she goes out of her way to drive past his house again. This time it’s close to midnight and she sees him pulling into his garage. The garage door closes even before Wren gets near enough to see him but she knows the address is right. After all, coming home at midnight would fit with a second shift night watchman.

Wren heads for home pulling into the driveway at twelve thirty in the morning. She’s surprised to see the living room light on and Norman watching out of the window.

“Why are you so late?”

“Just went a little out of my way to check on something, that’s all.”

“Is there any other way for you to do your work or am I going to be up late worrying about whether you're coming home or not all the time?”

“I’ll see what I can do about that for you. But I’ve got good news for you sleepyhead, I took the rest of the week off work. “

“Why?”

“My period started and it’s just too hard to deal with while at work.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked.”

Norman wakes up early to the scent of cooking bacon before Wren gets a chance to wake him herself. He comes into the kitchen while her back is to turned toward him as she studies the screen of the laptop.

“Wren do you ever sleep?”

“Occasionally, why?”

“It’s just that you got home after midnight and here you are cooking bacon and biscuits at six-thirty. Plus your mind seems preoccupied by something on your computer screen.”

“I’m studying the list, it’s getting thinner, thank heavens. I’m tired of being up late killing people and what you said this morning made me realize it isn’t fair to you either. I just want to get on with my life.”

“How many are left?”

“Seven. But of them this is one of the tough ones, Jimmy Thatcher, night watchman, drives a nineteen eighty-nine Ford Ranger, lives at 6925 Ravenscroft Dr. Now my question is, how do you catch a night watchman off his guard?”

“He’d have to be asleep I guess.”

“But, that would mean a daylight hit which I can’t risk.”

“That’s where you were last night isn’t it?”

“Yeah he gets home about mid-night.”

“Couldn’t it be done like that Edwards guy?”

“I may have to but that carries a lot of risks.”

“How so?”

“You start eating and I’ll show you some evidence of what I mean.”

Wren leaves Norman to fill his plate and walks back to the laundry room. When she gets there to bring back the denim she had hung to dry and it’s gone. Now hanging in its place is a black latex catsuit. She looks at it in wonder it has no shine yet, as it has not been polished, but it would cover every inch of her. It has a full hood, fingered gloves, and feet all in one piece. When she turns to leave the room to ask Norman about it there he is.

“You ran into some problems with Adam Edwards didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?”

“To a lawyer, blood stains on clothing, even black clothing are pretty evident. So since you intend to act like a superhero, I felt you should look like one and, since you have already expressed a love of black latex the choice was pretty easy. You will find there is nothing hanging loose to grab or catch. It is blood proof, reasonably acid proof, as flexible as you—I think, silent and prevents most of your DNA from turning up at a crime scene. In the closet you will also find a pair of all black rock climbing shoes. They have super sticky rubber soles for added traction for times like, when you're climbing up balconies for instance. I also found you a new backpack in black fleece so it is as silent as you.”

“Norman, I don't know what to say. I never expected you to help me with any of this. I never intended for you to get involved. Because, I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“By asking you to marry me I involved myself. You knew I had figured out who the predator is and yet I still asked you. Now for both our sakes I will give you the support I can, so you can make it back alive from each of your excursions. Now let me help you into your superhero suit so we can figure out how to deal with your weapons.”

“But don’t you have to go to work today?”

“I don’t have anything pressing at the moment and Sheila can handle the office. I told her I may be late today due to wedding plans.”

They get Wren into her new suit and adjust it so the openings for her nose are lined up and she can see out of the eye openings. Then with some effort they zip her up into a perfectly smooth, and heavily defined silhouette of Wren. She puts on the shoes and finds Norman to be right; they are super sticky. She leads Norman down into the basement like a silent shadow to where she keeps her guns hidden. At the bottom of the stairs she reaches down and twists a surface mounted electrical outlet and the wooden plank wall on the opposite side of the basement pops open.

“Wren, what is all this about?”

“Great granddad, and his son’s were rum runners, bootleggers, and worked for the Irish mafia during prohibition. This is where they hid anything that they needed to hide. It seemed the logical place to hide my guns. Then if anyone ever did put two and two together they wouldn’t find the weapons. No weapons, no evidence, no way to convict.”

“I’m afraid there are still ways to convict even without the weapons.”

“I know, but it’s harder.”

They head on into the subterranean store room and Wren walks over to a large wine cask. She steps up beside it and thumps the bung hole on top. The front of the cask pops open and there on the floor of the cask are her guns. She slips the shoulder holster over her right shoulder and fastens it in place then picks up the jacket gun and attaches it.

“What is that?”

“A Congolese jacket gun. Come on out back I’ll show you how it works.”