Chapter 31-Wednesday, 7:39PM

Parsley had been sent to pick up the chief. He drove Unit 12 toward the station as his chief punched in Truman’s number. The phone rang twice before the asparagus picked up.

“Hello.”

“Tru, it’s me.”

“Herb? I thought you were still in the hospital.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m on my way to the station. What did you want? I saw you tried calling twice. Did you find anything?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly. The tech spoke hesitantly. Herb was puzzled.

“Well, what’d you find?” Herb demanded.

“I’d rather show you,” Truman said cryptically. “Come to the lab when you get here.”

“You can’t tell me now?”

“No, sir. I’d rather not.”

Less than five minutes later, Herb stormed through the door at headquarters. He headed straight for the lab. At the door he paused to punch in the code and pressed enter. The door swung wide.

“Truman!” the chief shouted. “What’s with holding out on me? I need info now!”

The tech began to reply, but was interrupted. It was Marge. “Celery salt and battery,” she said. “Fourth and Maple.”

Herb looked at the clock. 7:42pm. Too early, he thought.

Herb looked at Truman and jabbed his intercom. “All cars, Marge!” the chief shouted. “All cars.”

Herb ran by his office and snatched up Frond’s fax. He flipped to the last page as he sprinted out the door. He was halfway to his backup car before his order had been relayed.

“All cars. Fourth and Maple.” The dispatch went out. “All cars.”

Chapter 30-Wednesday, 7:23PM

Herb woke up with a start. The fog was gone. The pain somewhat diminished. He opened his eyes and shouted, “Get me a doctor! Now!”

Seconds later, Dr. Sparga appeared. “What is it?” the physician asked.

“I’m ready to leave,” Herb said tersely. “My pain is gone. I need to get to work.”

“Chief,” the doctor began. “I don’t think that would be wise in your condition.”

“My condition?” Herb shouted. “I’m fine. I’ll sign whatever papers I have to sign. Release you of all liability. Whatever it takes. I’m leaving.”

“But sir,” Sparga interjected.

“Don’t but sir me,” Herb growled. “Get the paperwork and get me out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

The fury in Herb’s eyes sent the doctor scurrying. Minutes later, he was back with a half dozen forms. “You understand that you are being released against my better judgment,” Sparga said as Herb scribbled on the fourth dotted line.

“I understand very clearly,” Herb snapped. “I also understand that there are killers on the loose and I’ve got to stop them before they strike again.”

The chief slapped the pen down on the clipboard. All six forms signed. “Now, were are my clothes?”

“They’re in the closet,” the doctor said. “Along with your phone. The fire department found it while cleaning up the scene. They dropped it by about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thanks, doc,” Herb said. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad patient. Maybe next time I can stay for awhile.”

With that Herb turned and walked out the door. He was a bit shaky on his feet, but he’d make it.

Chapter 29-Wednesday, 3:36PM

The noises around Herb puzzled him as he came to. There should have been street sounds, the wind blowing, outside noises. What he heard was monitors beeping, hushed voices, every once in a while a garbled intercom message. Where was he?

The chief attempted to open his eyes. Bright lights made him shut them again, shut them tight. The throbbing in his head. He groaned.

“Sir?” A voice nearby. “Chief? Can you hear me?”

Herb heard the voice. He tried to form a response, but no words would come together to make a sentence. All he could manage on such short notice was another moan.

“Doctor!” It was the voice again. The word spoken brought everything back to Herb. He’d been in an accident. His phone was gone. He had work to do and he was, he surmised, in the hospital.

He tried opening his eyes again. This time the pain was more bearable, the light less daunting. A figure came into focus, then another. The first he recognized right off. It was Linda, a worried look spread across her face. The second, a tall asparagus, looked familiar, but Herb, as fuzzy as his brain was, couldn’t quite place him.

“Hello, Herb.” The asparagus spoke with a thick, Hungarian accent. “I’m Dr. Sparga. Do you know where you are?”

Herb looked around. The words came slowly, but they came. “I’m in a hospital room.”

“Yes, yes. That’s good,” Dr. Sparga said. “Do you know why you are here?”

Herb nodded. “I was in an accident. I was just coming into town when I was hit.”

“That’s right,” the doctor affirmed. “Your car rolled several times and came to rest upside down in Mayor Redman Park. That’s what the StalkAid folks said. Your injuries fit that scenario.”

“I need to get out of here.” Herb stumbled over his words, but he got them out. “I have to stop those stalkers.”

“Chief.” It was Linda. “Everyone’s working overtime on that case. You don’t have to worry about it. You just rest. Get better.”

What she said would’ve made sense to anyone but Herb. He was a stubborn man.

“No,” he said. “I need to be at the station.” He tried to sit up. The pain hit him again, full force, and he dropped back to his pillow. “I have to help.”

He was obviously not in any condition to offer the help he so desperately wanted to give. Frustrated, he closed his eyes again.

“What did you call about, Linda?” Herb asked in a weak voice. “I saw I’d missed a call from you and two from Tru before my phone sailed out the window.”

The chief heard Linda responding to his question, but the blackness was returning. Her words made no sense. Something about Sally and a file. He passed out trying to make out what it meant.

Chapter 28–Wednesday, 10:32AM

Herb was just passing the “Welcome to Garden City” sign when he noticed sunlight. The clouds that had shrouded the sky for days were disappearing. Normally, the warmth of the sun on his ribs would’ve pleased him. Today it reminded Herb that a clear, moonlit night was only hours away.

Herb suddenly remembered his cell phone. He’d been lost in thought on the way back from the Bean home and forgotten it. He reached down to pick it up as he pulled up to the stop light at 9th and Santa Fe. No baby carrots today, he mused, opening the phone. He’d missed three calls. Truman had called not two minutes after he’d stepped through Mrs. Bean’s door. He’d called again ten minutes later. The third call was from the station’s main phone bank. Linda, he assumed.

The light turned green. Herb dropped the phone into his lap and eased into the intersection. No need to call back now. He’d be at the station in...

Herb saw the truck just before it hit him. He tried accelerating, but it was too late. The impact spun the chief’s car around. The momentum threw the vehicle into the curb and it went airborne, rolling over and over. Glass and debris flew everywhere. Herb caught a glimpse of his phone flying out the window. He needed that phone. The calls he’d just put off seemed suddenly more urgent. Urgent or not, they would not be made. Herb’s world faded to black.

Chapter 27–Wednesday, 9:00AM

Herb pulled up near the Beans’ back porch. Their farm, about twenty miles outside the Garden City limits, was a quaint place. The nearest neighbors were three miles to the east. Herb had only been in String’s home once before. The Beans were quiet folks, stayed mostly to themselves. String seldom attended department parties. His wife had never stepped foot in her husband’s workplace. Not once.

Herb shut off the car. Pulling his cell phone from his coat pocket, he dropped it in the console. He hated to do it, afraid he might miss an important call, but he’d be tempted to answer it if it rang while he was inside. He’d already taken a long time to make contact. No need to add insult to injury.

Stepping from the car, Herb walked slowly to the house. Almost as soon as he knocked on the back door, it opened. Mrs. Bean, a slender woman with french cut clothing, did not smile when Herb greeted her. “May I come in?” he asked when she said nothing.

“I guess,” she said, pushing the storm door toward him.

Herb removed his hat as he stepped into the rustic kitchen. A delicious odor hit his nose. “Smells good,” he offered. “Mud pies?”

“Yes,” she answered. “The neighbors brought them by ten minutes ago. They’ve been so kind. Most everyone has been,” she said, eyeing her husband’s boss. “Some folks have been here two or three times.”

Herb swallowed. “That’s kind of them,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

A tear ran down the woman’s face. Herb felt like such a heel. He should’ve come earlier.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you’ve been busy.” She was softening. “Have a seat please.”

Herb pulled up a chair at the smallish table. It’s legs screeched across the linoleum floor. As he settled in, String’s widow asked, “Have you made any progress on this case?”

“A little,” Herb said candidly. “We’ve got more unanswered questions than answered ones, but we’re getting closer. I can feel it in my ribs.”

“That’s good,” Mrs. Bean said quietly, wiping her eyes.

“We’re going to catch your husband’s killer, ma’am,” Herb promised. “We’re doing everything we can.”

String’s widow sniffled. “I know you are,” she said. Standing she smiled. “Would you like a slice of pie.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Herb said. The doctor had told him to cut back on baked dirt products.

“Oh, please, won’t you,” Mrs. Bean pled. “I’d enjoy the company and Mrs. Pumpkin’s mud pies are the best in the county.”

Herb knew he couldn’t say no. “Alright,” he said. “A small piece.”

The piece of mud pie set before him a minute later was the biggest he’d ever been served. Mrs. Bean sat down opposite him and watched in silence as he ate. When he finished, she offered another slice. Herb patted his middle, “Oh, no,” he said. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

He smiled. “I really should be going,” he insisted softly. He rose, picking up his hat and coat as he did so.

Mrs. Bean followed him to the door. As he stepped out on the porch, Herb turned back. “I really am sorry for your loss Mrs. Bean. String was a great man, an asset to the department.”

The woman bit her lip. “Thanks,” she whispered, then quickly turned and closed the door.

A tear fell from Herb’s left eye as he walked to the car.

Chapter 26–Wednesday, 7:03AM

Herb entered the station. Most of the day shift wouldn’t be there for fifteen minutes. The night shift guys were busy filling out paper work on the night’s calls.

The chief walked straight to his office and, pulling door shut and sat at his desk. He pulled out his yellow pad.

He was busily scribbling two hours later when a knock at his door startled him.

“Come in,” he shouted. “It’s unlocked.”

Linda opened the door. “Frond on line 2, sir,” she said.

Where was Marge? Herb wondered. She should’ve just put the call through.

Linda turned to leave, but Herb stopped her. “Hold on, Linda,” he said, reaching for the phone. “I need you to do something for me.” He paused. “I’ll come to your office when I’m done with Frond.”

“Yes, sir,” Linda said. She turned and walked away.

“Yeah,” Herb said, picking up the handset. “What did Sally find?”

“Nothing, Herb.” The shrink said nothing more.

“Nothing?” Herb wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

Frond was quick to explain. “She got here early and I put her to work on it right away. She’s checked everywhere.”

“Do we have any back up?” Herb asked. “Microfiche or something?”

“We do,” the psych confirmed. “Sally’s got a call in to someone at the microfiche center.”

“Okay,” Herb said. “Call me if they find anything.”

“You know I will, Herb.” Frond’s voice was soft.

Herb was taken aback by the polite tone. He stammered his thanks and hung up.

Seconds later, he stepped out of his office and headed for Linda’s. He walked through the door without knocking.

“I need the duty records for every day there was a chopping,” he blurted out. “I need them now.”

Linda looked up. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she promised. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Her words jogged his memory. Truman hadn’t called back about the VBI’s cell trace. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:22am. “Thanks,” he said to Linda. “I’ll be in the lab.” With that, the chief turned and walked out.

“Hey!” Marge shouted from her desk as Herb passed through the lobby. “Quick question.”

Herb stopped. “What is it, Marge?”

The eggplant spoke quickly. “Gone to String’s place?” she asked.

Herb smacked his forehead. He’d been so focused on everything else that he’d forgotten to phone his officer’s bereaved wife.

“I’ll call,” Herb said.

“No!” Marge insisted. “Go.”

“Okay,” Herb said. “I’ll go in a...”

“Go now!” His dispatcher was angry. Herb could tell by the reddish rings around her eyes. Marge was not one to be trifled with when she was mad.

“I’ll grab my coat,” Herb said, and walked to his office.

He was in and out in seconds. Pulling on his stalking cap as he walked past Marge’s desk, he spoke quickly. “Make sure Linda and Truman know where I am,” he instructed. “They’re working on things for me.”

“Will do,” Marge said pleasantly enough.

Herb exited the building.

Chapter 25–Wednesday, 6:15AM

Herb was wide awake. The clock on the wall opposite his couch read 6:15am. He could just see it in the dim morning light. Between the paint fumes and the loose ends he was trying to tie together in his mind, the chief hadn’t slept much. He’d dreamed of creepy vegetables and rhubarb gangsters.

He stumbled to the compost room. Flipping on the light he wondered again at its undisturbed state. Why had the previous day’s intruder left this room alone? Herb shook his head, chasing the cobwebs from his mind. He stepped into the sprinkler.

Herb finished up his morning routine a half hour later. He never took that long, but the cold water on his leaves had felt so refreshing.

Walking to the kitchen, Herb flipped on the undercounter TV set. GFOX came on. Tony Snowpea sat behind the news desk, a concerned look on his face. “In Garden City yesterday, another murder. An officer at GCPD, working late on the still unsolved serial choppings, was shot and killed.” A picture of String filled the screen. Herb wilted. The bean’s smiling face was too much for him. “Officer String,” Snowpea continued, “will be sorely missed by his friends and family. Mayor Redman, in a written statement, vowed to bring his murderer to justice. The chief of police was unavailable for comment.”

Herb jumped up and snapped off the set, anger once again replacing his sorrow. He stalked to the fridge and pulled out an energy drink – PhotoSynthesize, his favorite. He normally wouldn’t down one this early in the morning, but he felt the need.

Can in hand, the chief walked to the front door. He closed the door behind himself, jiggling the knob twice to be sure it was locked.

Chapter 24–Tuesday, 7:47PM

The courthouse was dark and the parking spaces plentiful when the chief pulled up at the back of the building. He stayed in the car waiting. At exactly 8:00pm, Monte exited, locking the door. Herb watched as he walked away to the south. Herb knew he’d catch the bus two blocks south. The tomato didn’t own a car. “I can ride the bus a thousand times a year for the price of a car and insurance,” he always said.

When Monte was out of sight, Herb stepped from his car and walked briskly to the now unguarded entrance. He pulled out his badge as he approached and waved it over the card reader. There would be a record of his entry for all who cared to read it, but few bothered checking the nighttime entry log and those who did would barely raise an eyebrow at the chief’s name.

Inside, Herb walked past the empty checkpoint and down the hall to Central. The office was dimly lit when Herb slipped through the door. The only bright lights came from Frond’s office. The chief walked straight to the shrink’s door and knocked on the frame.

The avocado looked up from his desk. He had a phone to his ear. “Come in, Herb,” he whispered covering the mic. “I’ll be with you in sec.”

Herb looked around the office as he waited. It was richly ornamented. Beautiful pictures of the hanging gardens of Babylon hung on either side of the dark mahogony book shelves. Herb knew they were the good doctor’s own shots, taken when he was on vacation two months earlier. Frond had spoken of little else for weeks after he returned. The chief scanned the book titles in the man’s library. Wilted and Worried by Dr. Filbert. Mentally Disturbed Herbs by Fernando Oregano. Psychotic Plants by Dr. Art Green Bean.

“Sorry about that,” Frond said as he hung up the phone.

Herb turned to face the psychologist. Frond picked up a bottle of Miracle Gro and took a swig, then stepped around his desk.

“Follow me,” he said walking past the chief and out the door. Herb jumped up and ran to catch up.

The avocado paused at a locked door, fumbling with a key. A second later, he pushed into the police file room. He walked directly to a cabinet near the front of the room. Pulling open the middle drawer, he pointed and spoke. “The file you’re looking for should be right here,” he said. “It’s not.”

“It’s gone!” Herb was shocked.

“Gone? Improbable,” Frond responded calmly. “Misplaced more likely. I checked the computer. The database says there’s a record here somewhere. It directed me here and I came up empty.”
Herb shook his head. “Why can’t anything be easy?” he fretted.

Frond ignored the question and went on. “Sally will be in tomorrow at 8:00am,” he said. “She’ll find it in a second.”

“Can’t you call her in now?” Herb was growing impatient. “I need this info.”

“Normally, I could,” the psychologist spoke stiffly. “But she’s been on vacation. Her plane doesn’t arrive until 10:25pm tonight.”

“Call her then,” Herb demanded.

“I will not!” The psychologist was clearly offended. “8:00am. You can wait.”

Herb turned and stormed from the room.

Chapter 23–Tuesday, 6:30PM

Herb had just seated himself at his desk when his intercom came to life. “Call, sir!” It was Marge. “Redman. Line 3.”

That quick? Herb smiled wryly. “Record it, Marge.”

“Will do,” came the quick reply.

Herb reached for the handset. “Mayor Redman, what can I do for you?” Herb did his best to sound sweet and carefree.

“You can let my investigators back into your station!” the mayor began.

“No, sir, I can’t.” Herb spoke quickly before the radish could butt in. “They were interfering with investigative work in my lab. We’ve got leads. Lots of them and we have less than twenty-four hours to put the puzzle together.”

“Twenty-four hours?” the mayor was obviously skeptical. “You’ve been working on this for six weeks or more and suddenly you think you can solve this case in a day?” His voice raised a decibel or two. “You are an idiot, Herb. A genuine, certifiable idiot.”

“Are you done, sir?” Herb asked.

“For now,” the mayor barely held his temper in check.

“Good,” Herb said. “Now listen to me, and listen carefully,” spoke softly, but with great intensity. “There’s a rhubarb in town, Mr. Mayor. Maybe more than one!” The chief paused to let the information sink in. “We have reason to believe that he or they are the choppers.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Goodbye, sir,” Herb said and hung up.

The sat still for a moment, savoring his victory. The mayor had been speechless. He laughed as he pulled out his yellow pad, the one he’d been doodling on. He needed to think. They were missing something he was sure of it.

He scribbled notes on the new evidence in the margin. CelMate. VP 6902. Rhubarb prints at the 1 Stop. Tire tracks leading away from the tree.

“Tire tracks,” he almost knocked the intercom off his desk in his haste. “Truman!” he shouted into the mic.

A second later, the tech answered. “Yes, sir. What is it?”

“You said you knew what kind of tires the caller’s car had.”

“Yes, they were...”

“Never mind the details, Tru. What kind of car are they standard on?” the chief asked.

“Just a sec.” Truman was silent for a moment. Herb could hear the tapping of keys. “SUVs, sir. They’re standard on the Edger 400 and this year’s Clodhopper.”

“Truman, forget criminal records,” Herb instructed. “I want you run checks on owners of those SUVs and on registered owners of V8 Juicers. See how many matches we get.”

“Will do, sir,” Truman answered. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Great! Call me on my cell when you have something.” Herb paused. “Oh, and one more thing. Has VBI got a trace on that Sunday night cell phone call?”

“I’ll check, sir. Capote stepped out a minute ago. Said he’d be right back. I’ll ask him when he returns.”

“Where are Harry and S?” the chief asked. “And Monica?”

“Harry’s helping S with the mayor’s phone tap,” Truman reported. “Not sure where Monica is. She must’ve slipped out when I was working on something.”

“Okay,” Herb said. He hated waiting, but he didn’t want to interrupt work in progress. “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir,” Truman responded.

Herb sat back in his chair. An idea was forming in his mind. He only needed a couple more pieces and the puzzle would come together. He could feel it in his ribs. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the courthouse.

“Frond, it’s Herb,” he said when it was answered. “I need some help.”

Chapter 22–Tuesday, 6:00PM

Herb arrived back at the station around 6:00pm. He’d taken a slight detour on his way in, stopping by his house for a dash through the sprinkler and a change of clothes. The paint crew had been there. The scarlet-lettered threat no longer marred his bedroom wall. Someone had shut the drawers everywhere and had cleaned up the papers, stacking them neatly here and there.

As Herb entered the back door, he sensed something was wrong. The lab door was standing wide open and shouts were coming from within. Truman’s voice rang out as Herb dashed to the door. “You’re interfering with our investigation!” the tech was saying.

“What’s going on here?!” Herb bellowed as he stepped into the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Everyone jumped. As one they turned to face the chief. “Who are you?” Herb shouted, pointing at two men he did not recognize. “And what are you doing in this lab?”

The one nearest him, a skinny carrot, spoke for the two. “We,” he began, indicating himself and the fat cuke in the corner, “are investigators sent by the mayor’s office to look into the incompetent handling of the chopping spree by this department. And who are you?”

“I’m the chief of police, you idiot!” Herb screamed. “And you are leaving! Now!”

“I’m afraid we can’t do...” The carrot never finished the sentence. Herb grabbed him by the leaves and drug him out the door and down the hall. He ripped the rear door of the station open and tossed the mayor’s representative out into the parking lot.

“We’ve got work to do tonight,” Herb’s words were short, clipped. “We do not require your assistance. Get!”

Herb turned to re-enter the building and nearly bumped into the cuke. The chief glared at the man who quickly ducked passed him without a word.

Herb stepped back into the back hallway and slammed the door, locking it behind him. He then marched to the front lobby. Parsley and Jones were just returning from the in-house stalk holder where the onion was being kept as he entered.

“You two,” Herb shouted. “Secure the entrance to this building! No one outside department personnel comes in without my permission. I’ll be in the lab.”

With that, he turned back down the hallway. The squash was complaining to his partner. Herb knew it and didn’t care one bit.

“What do we have?” Herb shouted as he re-entered the lab. Everyone jumped again. “Sorry,” the chief said. He spoke more softly. “What’ve we got?”

“We know the kind of tires the caller’s get away car was running,” Truman began. “And, thanks to Ted, we know who altered the photo.”

“You do!?” Herb was beside himself. “Tell me.”

“Actually, we don’t know his real name,” Ted interjected, “but his username is CelMate. He altered the picture using a VeggiePower 6902 eBook laptop. Very expensive. Very nice. Better than anything we have here in the lab.”

“The VP 6902 is what they use in the training labs at the academy now,” Truman offered. “Crazy! There isn’t a department anywhere that can afford more than one or two. The eBook spoils them. When they get a job, the real-life machines the encounter drive them nuts.”

“Enough!” Herb interrupted. “I don’t need a review of the computer. I need info. Who is CelMate? That’s what I want to know.”

“We’re working on that,” Capote chimed in. “We sent the name to VBI headquarters. They’re running it for us.”

“Okay, so what else?” Herb asked.

Jordan spoke up. “The onion wasn’t lying sir,” he said. “There’s a rhubarb in town. The partial footprints by the car and one or two prints from the phone – rhubarbarian. We’re sure of it.”

“A rhubarb in Garden City,” Herb mumbled to himself. Never dreamed he’d see the day. “Have we got a match in our database?” he asked.

“The computer’s still working on it,” Ted said. “There are a lot of rhubarb’s in a lot of stalk holders. Even more with records. It may take a half hour or more.”

“Fine!” Herb said, turning to leave. “Tell me when you have a match. I’ll be in my office.” At the door he paused. “When did the mayor’s people show up?” he asked.

“About fifteen minutes after we returned from the crime scene,” Harry said.

“The timing’s interesting,” Herb quipped. “Mighty interesting. Can anyone here tap into the mayor’s office’s phone bank and check incoming calls? I’d like to know who called him about a half-hour ago.”

“We can’t do that, sir,” Truman answered. “We haven’t got a warrant.”

“I can do it,” S said. “We’ve got authorization for reasonable searches on this case. Seems reasonable to me. Anyone think otherwise?”

They all smiled and looked away as S took a seat at a computer. No one thought otherwise and S began tapping away at the keys.

Herb chuckled as he closed the door and headed down the hall to his office.

Chapter 21–Tuesday, 4:55PM

Herb was eager to fill Monica in on all that had transpired since his abrupt departure an hour and a half earlier. He spotted her as he crawled through the fence’s secret door. She was walking back toward the tree from the other end of the vacant lot through which the caller’s car had driven. Harry and S were no where to be seen.

“Hey!” Herb yelled. Monica looked up and smiled. Herb swallowed and continued. “Where are the prune and the jalapeno?”

“They just left with the prints we took,” was her reply. “They’re headed back to your place.”

“My place?” Herb was puzzled.

“The station, I mean,” Monica corrected herself, as she stopped a foot from Herb. “It’s closer than our hotel.”

“Truman, Capote and Jordan should be there when they arrive. I just sent them out the front door with prints and a tape.”


“A tape?” Monica inquired.

“SecurCam came,” Herb explained. “We have everything from last Friday on. Got a lucky break. Recordings are picked up on Thursdays.”

“That’s awesome!” Monica was ecstatic. “We’re going to crack this case,” she added.

Herb agreed. “Surely all the evidence we’ve gathered this afternoon will help. I just wish we had a little more time.” He glanced at his watch. 5:00pm. He paused. “You done here?”

“Yeah,” Monica responded. “I was just walking these tracks again to see if anything new presented itself.”

“Capote left a car for you,” Herb noted. “We should be going.”

Monica looked disappointed. “Oh,” she said, “that was good of him.”

The two walked toward the fence. Herb held the door for Monica. She thanked him and slipped through the hole. He followed. Together they walked to their cars. Just before they parted, Herb’s mind kicked into gear. “I almost forgot,” he said. She turned to him. “The onion fingered a rhubarb. He was sure the guy who came by here Sunday wasn’t a celery.”

A concerned look swept over the VBI agent’s face. “We’d better work fast, then,” she said. “Rhubarb are bad news.” With that she ducked into her car and drove away.

Chapter 20–Tuesday, 4:05PM

When Herb’s car and its occupants pulled up in front of the door at the 1 Stop, Truman and Capote were closing the back doors of the CSI van. Jordan was removing the yellow “Do Not Cross” tape from the scene.

“Hey, Chief!” Truman shouted as Herb stepped from the car. “We got some prints!”

“Good work, Tru!” Herb yelled back. “Maybe you can help us in here. Our friend,” he said pointing to the onion, “seems to remember now where the security tapes are recorded.”

Truman smiled. “Rubber bands have a way of jogging memories.”

Truman and Capote, carrying a scene bag, strode toward the doors. Parsley, Jones and the 1 Stop clerk were entering. Herb stood waiting for the techs. He let the door close. “The guy claims a rhubarb threatened him Sunday. Said he’d chop him up if he let anyone near the surveillance room.”

“A rhubarb?” Truman could hardly contain himself. “There hasn’t been a rhubarb in this city since who knows when. It had to have been a celery.”

“He looked at the photo. Twice,” Herb informed his tech officer. “He insists it was a rhubarb. Didn’t look anything like the stalkers.”

“Maybe he’s a gang member from over in Lettuceberg,” Capote offered. “They’ve got a serious problem with red stalks there.”

“You think so?” Herb asked. “Lettuceberg’s three hundred miles away!”

Capote didn’t get a chance to answer. Jones stuck his head out the door. “You guys coming?”

The three nodded and entered. The onion smiled at Herb, seemingly pleased with the chief’s appearance. “This way, sir,” he said, ducking behind the counter, Parsley and Jones in tow. “The key’s there,” he suggested, pointing again. On a nail hung by the door, hung a brass key. Herb snatched in and pushed it into the slot on the doorknob. It turned easily.

Herb flipped on the switch as he entered. The small room, unlike the rest of the store, was clean, well-lit. A time-lock safe stood in the far corner and next to it a SecurCam box, closed and locked. There was a dent or two around the key hole, but the box was shut.

“Has anyone opened this box since Sunday?” Truman asked the onion.

“No, sir,” the suddenly cooperative clerk answered. “SecurCam only comes in on Thursdays.”

“Do you have a key?” Capote inquired.

“Yes, sir, we have one, but it’s in the safe and the boss don’t trust me with the combination.”

Jordan stepped into the doorway. “Anything I can do to help?” the old gourd asked.

“We need someone to unlock this box,” Truman replied.“Get SecurCam on the phone.”

“Will do, sir,” Jordan said as he exited.

Truman and Capote pulled on gloves and reached into the black bag the zucchini had placed on the floor. Soon they were dusting the room for prints. They lifted two from the SecurCam box, near the damaged lock, and three or four from the safe.

Ten minutes later a uniformed SecurCam employee stepped through the front door. Herb glanced at his watch. It was 4:30pm. Night was coming. Everyone stepped aside as the man entered the room, key in hand. A second later the tape was signed for and in the hands of the two best techs in Garden City. Truman and Capote were quite the team.

Turning to his chief, Truman spoke. “Sir, we’ve got to go. We’ve got to get these prints and those from the phone processed.”

“Go!” Herb agreed. “Take Jordan with you. He can help. You can reach me on my cell or by radio if you find anything. I’m going out back to check on VBI. Harry and S are checking out some tire tracks and footprints they found there. Monica’s with them.”

Turning to the onion, Herb spoke. “These two gentlemen are going to escort you to our station. You will be held there until we confirm your story. Keep cooperating and you might see the light of day again.”

Parsley and Jones turned the man around and marched him out the door to car 12. Herb watched until they pulled out onto Hackberry. Then he turned and walked through the hallway and ducked out the back door.

Chapter 19–Tuesday, 3:30PM

Jones sat beside Herb as he sped east on Hazel. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, I know, dear,” he was saying. “But I don’t think I can come home right now.” A pause. “I’ll do my best,” he said finally. He snapped the phone shut.

Jones glanced sheepishly at his chief. “My wife,” he offered. “Our vine has a dozen blossoms and she’s sure little ones are going to overrun the place tonight.”

Herb had never married. “Not the marrying type,” he’d always told folks. He knew what Jones wanted. He wanted to go home. Herb sighed. He hated the words as he said them. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

Herb spotted Parsley and the green onion to his left as he neared the intersection of Hazel and Filbert. He pulled up to the curb, jumped out and crossed the street. Jones was close behind.

The green onion was not pleased at all with the rubber band Parsley had around his middle. He was screaming obscenities and struggling to get free. Jones leapt on his back and helped Parsley subdue him.

Herb bent low and got eyeball-to-eyeball with the odious fellow. “Shut up, scum!” he yelled. “Shut up! If you don’t, I’ll saute your whole family.”

The clerk, in obvious pain, shook his head vigorously. “I’ll talk. I’ll talk.”

Jones and Parsley let up on him a little, but kept him pinned.

The interrogation began. “Why did you send me to the back door when I asked for the video room?” Herb demanded.

“I was scared,” the onion confessed. “A big guy, a rhubarb, threatened to chop me up if I let anyone mess with the security cameras. I didn’t know what to do.” He was crying now.

“What day was that?” Herb had no patience left.

“Sunday? Monday, maybe?” the onion replied. “It was this week.”

“Monday was yesterday.” Herb was in the man’s face. “Was it yesterday or the day before?”

The man’s eyes grew round. “It wasn’t yesterday. Must’ve been Sunday. It was Sunday.”

Herb grabbed the re-focused stalkers’ photo from his back pocket. “He look anything like any of these guys?” he asked.

The onion glanced at the image. “No,” he shook his head. “Those are celery. This guy was rhubarb. Reddish around the roots.”

“You sure?!” Herb had to know. “Look at the faces.”

The clerk looked again. More carefully than before. After a half-minute, he shook his head again. “None of them look at all like the guy who threatened me.”

Herb stood. “Get him in the car, boys,” he instructed. Parsley and Jones lifted the man by the band around him and pointed him in the direction of the chief’s car.

“Where are you taking me?” the onion asked, once again upright.

“Back to the store,” Herb responded as the four of them crossed Hazel. “I want you to show me where the surveillance recordings are kept. Don’t worry about that rhubarb. If you cooperate, we’ll make sure you’re protected.”

The onion wept. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The car door opened. Jones instructed the man to duck his head as he got in then slid into the seat beside their captive. Parsley rounded the vehicle and ducked into the passenger seat as Herb hit the ignition, floored the accelerator and spun the car around in a tight U-turn.

Chapter 18–Tuesday, 3:15PM

The lighting inside the 1 Stop was substandard. All florescent. Mostly dead. A few bulbs flickered toward the back. The green onion that stood behind the check out counter did not smile as the two officers approached. Herb smelled the rotting leaves rather than saw them. Green onions, he thought. Don’t they ever clean up? Dispensing with formalities, the chief got right to the point. “Where’s your surveillance equipment?” he demanded.

The onion said nothing for a good ten seconds. Finally, just before Herb reached over the counter and throttled him, the man spoke. “Down the hall past the ladies compost room.” He offered not one bit more. Just stared at Herb.

Herb stared back. He didn’t like the guy one bit. Didn’t trust him either. He turned slowly away from the counter still glaring. He bumped into Parsley’s sparse frame, nearly knocking him down. Without an apology, the chief stalked toward the rear of the store.

As he rounded the corner and entered the passageway, the stench hit him. It had obviously been weeks since the compost rooms had been tended to. It was awful. Parsley was gagging behind him. The chief held his breath and pushed through the door at the end of the corridor. Fresh air hit Herb’s lungs. The bright sunlight blinded him briefly. The door was an exit. “Bloody Mary!” Herb cursed under his breath as he turned and sprinted back down the hall.

Back in the store, Herb looked toward the counter. The onion was gone. Herb ran to the front door, bursting through it just as Monica was reaching for the handle. “Did you see an onion leave a second or two ago?” Herb asked breathlessly.

“No one’s come out since you went in,” she answered.

Herb did a quick scan of the perimeter. Nothing. He ran around the corner. Harry and S were walking along the back fence. “Has anyone run past here recently?” Herb shouted.

S turned to face the chief. “Oh, hi,” he said. “What did you want?”

“Have you seen anyone leaving the store this way?” Herb asked again, barely hanging on to his sanity. “A green onion!”

Harry spoke over his shoulder. “No, sir. But we’ve got an idea of your mystery caller’s escape route.” He turned toward Herb. “Come take a look.”

Without waiting for a response he turned about face and disappeared behind the building. S continued his southward journey.

“Parsley!” Herb shouted. “Find that green onion!”

“Yes, sir,” Parsley whimpered. He was tired and his shift should’ve been over ten minutes earlier. He wanted to go home. But he did what his chief asked. Herb saw him plodding off to the south just before he and Monica rounded the store’s back corner.

Harry was waiting for them. When they approached, he began his excited explanation. “This board,” he said poking at the third one from the corner, “is different than the others.” Harry pushed the bottom of the plank. It’s bottom shifted away from them. The top of the board nearly struck Herb’s head. “It has a pivot.” Harry said triumphantly.

S stuck his head through from the other side. “Come see what I found over here,” he said with a grin. Harry was through the opening quick as a flash. Monica followed. Herb’s ribs scraped a little as he passed through. He looked at the spot. A clear, sticky substance oozed from the scratch. He’d get a bandaid later. It wasn’t bleeding badly.

The others were twenty feet away gazing at something on the ground near a tree when Herb righted himself.

“What is it?” he asked as he walked up behind them. He did not need an answer. Tire tracks not more than a few days old scarred the ground. And next to them a partial root print or two. His caller’s root prints.

“Why aren’t there more prints?” Herb asked. “There aren’t any leading toward the fence.”

“Looks like he brushed them out,” Harry offered. “Must’ve missed these in his hurry to flee the scene.”

“I wonder,” Herb began, but he was interrupted.

“Sir!” came a voice from his radio. “I found that green onion.”

“Parsley?! That you?” Herb was surprised the man had found the runaway clerk so quickly. “Where are you?”

“I’m two blocks west of your location,” came the reply. “Hazel and Filbert. I followed the smell. Onions really stink when they’re sweating.”

“Hold him. I’m on my way.”

Herb looked at Monica. “This scene is yours,” he said and walked away.

Chapter 17–Tuesday, 3:00PM

The CSI van was just rolling out into the street when he reached his car door. He heard car doors slamming a row or two away in the parking lot. Two cars roared to life a second later. That would be VBI. Herb paused, his door half open. Forget the sky! Life is good! He thought. The chief dropped into his seat and pulled the door shut. Monica was already seated on her side. She smiled as she buckled her belt. “Safety first,” she said.

“Of course,” the chief agreed. He put the car in gear and exited the lot, squealing his tires as he turned too sharply. A flip of a switch and his lights and siren came to life.

Twelve minutes later, the chief and his guest pulled up at Hackberry and Hazel. Car 12 was sitting in front of the store’s front entrance, lights flashing. Parsley and Jones, 12’s officers, were standing at attention watching all who approached the building. The two were a comical pair. Parsley, thin, frail and green. Jones, a yellowish squash of larger-than-average girth. Neither was an exceptionally good officer, but they could handle police tape. They’d cordoned off a large area around the phone.

Just outside the tape, Truman had the rear doors of the mobile lab open. Jordan was inside handing equipment to Truman. Herb saw Harry and S rounding the corner of the market headed toward the back. Monica was ahead of him, walking toward the guarded pay phone.

“Hey,” Herb shouted, as she bent to slip under the tape. Monica straightened and turned, stood stalk still. Her leaves waved in the breeze.

“Yes,” she said.

“Oh. Um. Wait for me,” he stammered. “We’re in this one together.”

She smiled as he approached. “Yes, we are. Your guys were great in the lab.”

“Couldn’t have done it with out Capote and the others,” Herb added. He lifted the tape for her. Monica ducked under and he followed. “What are your agents doing out back?” he asked.

“They’re checking escape routes,” Monica answered, while pulling on rubber gloves. “They always assume a criminal who uses a pay phone doesn’t want to be seen making the call. The only way to make a call here without being seen is to sneak around from the back, make the call a quick one and then retrace your steps.”

“The only way to go undetected here,” Herb corrected, “would be to not make a call at all.”

Monica looked up from the phone which she’d been examining. Herb was staring at the canopy over the pumps. “Video security,” she said. “Let’s hope they still have Monday’s tape.”

“Truman!” Herb yelled, his eyes still fixed on the surveillance camera.

“No need to shout, sir. I’m right here.” Truman and Jordan were ducking under the tape when Herb turned toward his tech’s voice.

“There’s a camera.” Herb pointed.

“Yes, sir,” Truman agreed, glancing in the direction of the dark mirrored half sphere his chief was indicating. “I heard your conversation. It’s not likely Monday’s tape is here, but it’s probably somewhere. Most businesses have a contract with SecurCam or some other company. There old tapes are kept for a month or two in a vault and then erased.”

Herb turned to the nearest beet officer. “Parsley, you’re with me. I think we have enough people inside the tape to guard the phone.”

“Yes, sir,” Parsley said in is usual monotone. Parsley was such a bland man. Did his job, but with little enthusiasm.

The two headed for the front door.

Chapter 16–Tuesday, 2:35PM

Herb stared at his yellow pad. On it he’d scribbled the details of every chopping – the name and occupation of each victim, the day of the week they were found dead, where and what time they were found, the names of those who’d discovered them, the officers in charge of each scene. He had hoped writing everything out would reveal something, but he was just as puzzled as when he began.

He reached for the intercom, but before he could toggle the switch, it came to life. “Chief!”

Herb jumped. “What?!”

“It’s me, Truman! Come to the lab right away, chief! We broke the code! We have a phone number!”

“I’ll be right there.” Herb was out of his seat and half way to the door before the words were all out.

A break, finally! He thought as he raced for the lab. Everyone was grins when Herb opened the secure door – Jordan, Truman, Ted. Herb had never seen Ted smile. It suited him. The entire VBI tech team was teeth and gums.

“Who made the call?” Herb demanded. “Where’d it come from?”

“We’re not quite ready for who yet, sir, but where is easy. The call was made from the pay phone at the 1 Stop convenience store at Hackberry and Hazel.”

“Who’s in that area right now?” Herb asked.

Jordan rolled his chair up to the desk, pecked at the keyboard, then sat back. The dispatch screen popped up a few seconds later. Scanning the data, the tech answered. “Car 12 is at Hackberry and Walnut, just a few blocks east of there.”

Herb punched the intercom. A moment’s delay, then, “Dispatch.”

“Marge! Send Car 12 to the 1 Stop at Hackberry and Hazel. Tell them to tape off the pay phone.”

“Hackberry and Hazel. 1 Stop. Car 12. Got it.”

A click signaled the closing of the com link. “Let’s go!” Herb shouted. “Truman take the CSI van. Jordan can ride shot gun. Ted you’re with me.”

“Someone’s got to stay here,” Truman interjected. “We’ve got other projects running. We can’t abandon them.”

“I’ll stay,” Ted volunteered. “I’ve got an idea on the photo. What if this guy used the same sequencing on its encryption as he used on the phone log?”

Truman nodded. “It’s worth a look,” he said.

That settled, Herb turned to Monica. “I assume you’ve got transportation.”

“Yes,” she affirmed. “We’ve got two cars here.” Then to her agents. “Harry! S! Truman’s lead on this scene.” Glancing at Herb, she corrected herself. “And the chief, of course. You follow the CSI van and help as you can. Capote, you swing by the hotel. Check to see if that cell phone call trace is complete yet.”

Herb smirked. “You haven’t got an answer on that yet?”

Monica chuckled. “No, sir. You beat us on that front.”

Herb smiled. Things were looking good. “And what about you?” Herb asked.”

“I was hoping I could ride with you,” Stewinsky answered.

Herb nodded, then looked around the room. “Let’s roll!” he said. Everyone was out the door in seconds.

Chapter 15–Tuesday, 8:40AM

The chief was furious. “Six hours!” he was shouting into his cell phone as he sped toward the station. “Peachmeyer kept me for six hours after I woke up! Wanted to make sure there wasn’t any brain damage. Didn’t want me to be a vegetable for life! The good doctor’s judgment’s a bit fuzzy, if you know what I mean?!”

“I’m sure he meant well,” Monica’s voice came back.

“Meant well! I’ve got work to do. Laying around in a hospital did me no good at all. Why’d you take me to St. Prune’s anyway? I would’ve come to on my own.”

Monica didn’t respond. After a moment’s pause, Herb signed off. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Snapping the phone shut, he dropped it into the console and drove on – lights flashing, siren blaring.

Linda, glanced at her boss from the passenger’s seat. She was worried. “Chief...don’t you think you...”

“Shut up, Linda! Shut up!”

Herb stared straight ahead as he plunged through another intersection. The car’s interior was silent except for an occasional squawk from the radio. No time for chit chat about his health and state of mind. He was fine! Bloody Mary! He was fine!

Herb hit the curb hard as he pulled up outside the station five minutes later. Linda gasped. Herb ignored her. Jerking the keys from the ignition, he leapt from the car and sprinted for the front door. Bursting through the door, he shouted, “Truman! VBI team! Briefing room, now! No one else!” He blew by the dispatcher’s desk, past his office door and marched down the hall. There was a momentary pause and then everyone got back to work.

Marge paged the lab as Linda pushed through the front door. The city’s lone female officer stopped three feet in, looking lost.

“You okay?” Marge asked as she finished with Truman.

Linda smiled weakly as she turned toward the dispatcher’s desk. “Not sure, Marge.” She remained motionless, stalk still. Grief threatened to take her. “Not sure,” she repeated. Then she walked quietly down the hall.

The chief was shouting as Linda approached the briefing room. “One of our own is gone! We will find his killer.” Linda attempted to slip past the door unseen, but spotting her, the boss demanded her presence. She shrugged and slid into a back row seat. She had no where else to go anyway. Her office was a crime scene.

Taking a breath, Herb continued. “Now, tell me what we know. Truman, you first. And don’t worry about confidentiality. Everyone here is trusted. Tell me everything you know.”

The GCPD tech team leader took a deep breath. “There’s not much to tell, chief. String’s dead. Shot with a V8 Juicer, semi-vegamatic. Silenced, of course. His murderer took the spent shell from the scene. No unusual prints in the office whatsoever. Linda’s. String’s, of course. Mine. I was in there before Linda left yesterday, checking to make sure String could use her workstation. Woodstalk’s. A couple of other officers’ prints. Yours, too. We’re all in and out of there, sir. The prints tell us nothing.

“As for the background checks, we finished what String hadn’t completed. Everyone was clean. Ted took it on himself to run the rest of the businesses. A speeding ticket here and there, but otherwise spotless.”

“The digital signature on the photo?” Herb asked.

“Nothing yet, sir,” Truman confessed. “And no luck on the phone call either. We think we’re close, but the software’s not doing what it’s supposed to do. Whoever erased the log knew commercial and law enforcement protocols and blocked both. Capote and I are trying to put together a new decoder. We think it’ll do the trick, but it’s not ready yet. We need another hour or two. Should have something by noon.”

“Nothing!” Herb shook his head. “We’ve got nothing.”

“We have the photo, sir.” Truman offered.

“That image is worthless, Tru. Worthless. It’s been sent to every law enforcement agency within a hundred miles. It’s been posted all over town. It’s on the web and on TV. And how many calls have we received concerning these stalkers, killers, monsters, whatever you want to call them?” Herb let the question hang for a full twenty seconds. They’d received no calls.

“Does anyone have anything else?” The chief paused again. No one spoke.

“Go,” Herb said finally, softly. “Do your decoding and deciphering.”

Chapter 14–Tuesday, 2:30AM

Herb came to in strange surroundings. Linda was looking down at him when he opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked.

“St. Prune’s,” Linda answered. “You passed out at your house. Hit your head pretty hard on the wall. Monica brought you here.”

Herb scanned his room There was no window and the door to the hall was closed. No clues to the time of day. “What time is it?”

“It’s about 2:30 Tuesday morning.”

“Tuesday.” Herb’s heart sunk. The stalkers would have their clear skies and bright moonlight in less than forty-eight hours. Herb remembered his house and... “Is String really gone?” he asked.

A puddle formed in the corner of each of Linda’s eyes. The left eye’s pool broke first, trickling down her stalk and onto the floor. She could not speak.

Herb could not either. He lay in his bed and wept silently.

Chapter 13–Monday, 9:10PM

Herb was not smiling as he punched in Monica’s number. He’d arrived home just after 9:00pm and found his dwelling in disarray. Papers were strewn everywhere. Drawers hung open. The intruder had gone through everything and... Herb’s roots had blanched when he came to his bedroom. There on the wall, scrawled in scarlet letters, was this message: “Stop stalking me or chop, chop!” Seeing the red paint still dripping wet had unnerved him. That’s when he’d decided to call in the VBI team.

Monica answered, as she had earlier, on the first ring. “Hello.”

“Monica, this is Herb.” His voice was shaky.

“Are you okay?” Monica asked, cautiously, still a little leery of Herb.

“Not exactly,” Herb confessed. “I’m sitting in my bedroom staring at threatening words painted on the wall by our killers. My house is a wreck. Junk thrown everywhere.”

“Wow! I’m on my way.” All reticence was gone. “I’ll bring my team with me. Stay put.” Then as an afterthought. “Have you called any of your officers?”

“No, I called you first.” Herb paused. “I guess I could call Truman or String. I’ll have them here when you arrive.”

“Capote will be glad to have the help,” Monica said. “He’s impressed with your lab techs.”

“I think they’re pretty special,” Herb agreed. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The line went dead. Herb stared at the wall, unmoving for almost a minute. Then he shook the cobwebs from his mind and dialed the station. “Dispatch,” came the familiar voice at the other end.

“Marge, this is Herb. Truman still there?”

“Don’t know,” Marge said. “Checking.” There was a click and then silence. The department hadn’t invested in a music player to entertain their guests on hold. Truman’s voice was the next thing Herb heard.

“Hey, Chief. What’s up?” the asparagus asked. “I’m afraid if you’re calling for an update, the news isn’t good. We’ve made no progress whatsoever on the missing call.”

“It’s not that, Truman,” Herb said. “I appreciate your work. I know you’ll get the data back soon. But, Tru, my place has been broken into, ransacked. The stalkers appear to be behind it. VBI’s on their way. Could you grab String and come over?”

“They hit your house?!” Truman’s voice had jumped an octave. “I’ll be right over! I’m not sure if String’s still here, but I’ll check. He didn’t respond when I buzzed Linda’s office a half-hour ago.”

“He was working on some background checks for me,” Herb advised. “Maybe he was lost in his own little world. You know how he is.”

“Yeah! I’ll run by her office after I pack up my crime scene bag. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Once again Herb’s line went dead. He dropped the handset onto the cradle and flopped back on his bed. He lay there and wept. His eyes dripped like an especially strong onion had been diced nearby. This was too much. He had pressure from the mayor, pressure from the townsfolk, pressure from this threat. On top of all that, he was beginning to suspect people he shouldn’t suspect.

Pull yourself together, he thought as his tears tapered off five minutes later. He rose and walked to the compost room. Strangely the wrecking crew hadn’t hit here. He glanced in the mirror. He looked tired, kind of limp, like old celery left in the ground too long. He turned on the sprinkler and washed away the dirt of the day.

Five minutes later, Herb heard a car door slam out front. His cell phone rang at the same time. He snatched up the phone and opened the door, flicking on the porch light as Monica and four VBI agents sprinted up the front walk. Herb flipped open the phone. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Chief?”

“Yes,” Herb replied as Monica, Capote and a prune, dark and non-descript, along with a deep green jalapeno hustled in.

“This is Truman.” A long pause. “I’m not going to be able to make it over there.” Monica and friends were making too much noise.

“Can you guys keep it down for a sec?” Herb shouted as he swung the door shut. When he could hear again, the chief asked, “What was that you said, Tru?”

Truman repeated himself. “I can’t come over right now. We’ve got a problem here, sir. I went to Linda’s office and...” His voice faltered. “And I found String dead.”

“Dead?!” Herb’s shout turned every VBI head in the place. “What do you mean dead?!”

“String’s been shot, sir. I called Ted and Jordan back in and I’m trying to reach Woodstalk. We’ll process the scene.”

“I’ll come...”

“No, sir!” Truman was emphatic. “I don’t think you want to do that. Stay there. Has the VBI team arrived?”

“Yes, they’re here,” the chief confirmed.

“Can I talk with Capote?” Truman asked.

“Yeah.” Herb’s hand dropped to his side. He walked in a daze to the VBI tech officer and offered the phone. “It’s Truman,” he explained.

“Cap here,” the agent said as he put the cell to his ear. “What’s up?”

He was silent for just over a minute and then he clicked the phone shut without a goodbye.

“We’ve got us a situation, gentlemen,” Cap said to the rest. Monica didn’t correct him as Linda might have. “We’ve got this place to check out and a shooting at police headquarters.”

Stewinsky leapt into action, barking orders. “S! Harry! Take the car and get! Cap and I can handle this scene. There’s an extra CSI bag in the back seat of my car.”

With that, the prune and jalapeno were out the door. Herb heard a door slam, then two, then the roar of their car as it pulled away from the curb and raced down the street. He suddenly felt weak. His vision blurred and the world began to swirl.

Chapter 12–Monday, 6:06PM

Three hours later, Herb was at his desk looking over reports from the search teams that continued to crisscross the city. They’d rounded up plenty of small potatoes, but not one slimy, half-rotten stalk of celery, let alone the four the picture showed.

“Chief?” The sudden interruption made Herb jump. Woodstalk stepped through the door.

“Bloody Mary!” Herb cursed. “You scared me.”

“Yeah. Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to.” The rookie spoke more hesitantly than usual.

“It’s alright, son. What do you want?”

“I have a list of businesses who own and use PhotoChop 7.8.”

“Great!” Herb’s face softened a bit. “Let me see it.”

Woodstalk dropped a yellow pad on the desk’s cluttered top. “I’m afraid it’s a bit longer than we thought it might be,” he offered. “Lots of printers and sign shops upgraded this time.”

Herb scanned the list. He knew most of the names he read. Good, upstanding citizens. The few he didn’t know were new in town. He’d run background checks on them, but he doubted he’d find anything. These were legitimate business men and women just trying to make a buck. Herb chuckled when he spotted the mayor’s office toward the end of the list. He toyed with the idea of harassing the old windbag with an official investigative visit. It’d serve his honor right for the way he’d treated Herb. But the chief thought better of it. No need sending officers to investigate when there was no real reason for suspicion.

Herb reached the end of the list and looked up. “Thanks, Wood.” He’d never called the rookie by anything but his given name. “You can go now. I’ll have background checks run on a few of these folks.”

As Woodstalk stepped toward the door, Herb noticed something. “What’s that red stuff on your roots?” the chief asked.

Woodstalk looked down. “Oh, that,” he replied. “I stubbed them on my way here. Must be bleeding. I’ll get it taken care of.” The rookie turned quickly and hurried from the room.

Herb watched him go, then reached for his phone. He punched in Linda’s extension. “Yes,” came a man’s voice.

“Who is this?” Herb demanded.

“It’s me, String, sir,” the bean answered. “Truman sent me out of the lab to work on the problem with the digital signature on that photo. That VBI guy has all the lab computers strung together working on the missing phone call, so I had to find a secure workstation. Linda’s was available. She left for the doctor’s at 4:00pm. What did you need?”

Herb wondered why Truman had put someone else to work on that photo when he’d asked him to keep it quiet, but Herb trusted String, so he let it go. “I’ve got a few background checks I need run,” he said. “I figured I’d put Linda to work on them.”

“Well, sir, I could do it for you,” String offered. “I’ve got this program running trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I can’t make it work faster, so I’m just sitting here. Can you give me the names?”

“I’ll run them down to you on my way out,” Herb informed him. “I plan to leave around 8:00.”

“Okay, sir. I’ll be here.”

The phone went dead. Herb leaned back in his chair. He smiled. He had some great veggies working for him.

Chapter 11–Monday, 2:50PM

Herb recognized the VBI car the moment it pulled up across the street. Unmarked. Tan. About as nondescript as you could get. Didn’t they know they stuck out like a sore rib? Two agents, both in dark suits and sunglasses, stepped out of the vehicle and walked quickly to the station’s back entrance. Herb had only expected one agent. Oh, well, two minds were better than one, Herb thought. He watched silently as they approached, then jerked the door open as they reached out to knock.

“Come in quickly,” he whispered. When they had slipped past the door and it was secured again, Herb led the two down the hall a few steps and, after pausing to key in the passcode at the door, ushered them in to the secret domain of the GCPD’s CSI tech team. String, the only green bean on the force, and Ted, a turnip, were hunched over microscopes. Jordan, an older, shriveled gourd, sat at a computer, Truman looking over his shoulder.

“Truman,” Herb’s sudden greeting startled the scientist. “I’d like you to meet the VBI’s men.”

Truman rushed over to greet his guests. Herb turned to the two. “You can take off those glasses in here, gentlemen.”

“Lady and gentleman,” the shorter of the two spoke as she removed her glasses. It was Monica. The chief hadn’t recognized her in such modest attire.

She reached out to greet Truman. “Monica’s the name,” she said as he gripped her hand. “And this is Capote.” The man, a smallish zucchini, removed his glasses.

The tech’s exchanged glances. “Truman,” Capote nodded. “Capote,” GCPD’s finest nodded back. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” the former suggested. With that the two trotted over to Jordan’s computer. The gourd gave up his seat and Capote settled in. Truman pointed to the screen and began jabbering about ones and zeros.

Herb turned to Miss Stewinsky. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here in a supervisory role. VBI policy. Tech guys aren’t allowed out alone with agency equipment during an investigation that’s been compromised by leaks.”

“So you’re here to keep us honest. Is that it?” Herb was a bit miffed.

“Your guys and my agent.” She left it at that. “Can I see the photo?”

“The altered one?” Herb asked. “Sure.” Turning to Truman, the chief asked, “Which computer should we use to bring up Linda’s most recent email contribution?”

The asparagus pointed to the workstation in the corner. He was too busy for words.

Herb led Stewinsky to the machine, double-clicked on an icon labeled “Peanut Butter Stew” and a log-in screen came to life. Herb entered his username and password then brought up the email Linda had forwarded to Truman’s lair. A couple more clicks and the image that had caused such a stir that morning filled the screen.

Stewinsky leaned close, examining the pixels. She reached for the keyboard. “May I?” she asked.

Herb stepped aside and Monica went to work. She plugged a tiny drive into the port on the desktop and then tapped a few keys. A dizzying array of code streaked across the screen. For ten seconds they watched and then Stewinsky stopped the stream with a single keystroke. “There it is,” she said with a smile.

“There what is?” Herb asked stepping closer.

“The signature I wanted.” She was grinning.

“Signature?” Herb was puzzled. “You were looking for a signature?”

“A digital signature,” the agent clarified. “As I suspected, the person who fixed this image hid it, but not well enough. See here,” she said pointing. “This tells me what program was used to alter the image. PhotoChop 7.8. And...” she paused to type in a few letters, “this should tell me who did the...”

The sentence died on her lips. “Capote! Come here!”

The agent at the other side of the lab pulled a drive and jogged over.

“Look at this,” Stewinsky pointed to the screen.

“PhotoChop 7.8,” the tech agent mumbled, scanning the code before him. “PhotoChop 7.8 and... No ID!? Wow! This guy’s good.” Pointing to the machine he’d just left, he continued. “We’ve been able to reconstruct the phone log over there. All of it except the call in question. I can’t crack the encryption our ‘friend’ has used.”

“Any luck with the voice message?” Stewinsky asked.

“Haven’t started on that yet,” her agent replied. “I’ll get to that in a minute, but what I’m wondering right now is how many people in this town have PhotoChop 7.8. It’s brand new. Just out. In a town this size, I’m guessing not many folks have it yet.”

“I could help you find out.” It was Woodstalk. He’d come in while everyone was eyeing the screen.

“And who are you?” Capote asked.

“The name’s Woodstalk,” Herb answered for the rookie. “He’s not assigned to the lab.” He glared at the boy. “But I suppose he could help with this.” Then to the rookie, “What are you doing here?”

Woodstalk’s face registered shock. “What?! I come back here all the time when I don’t have something pressing to do.”

“Well now you have something pressing to do,” Herb snapped. “Go do it.”

Woodstalk started to reply, but thought better of it. He hung his head and turned sheepishly away. He was out the door before anyone breathed again.

“What?” Herb said. They were all staring at him.

No one answered.

Capote broke the silence. “Let’s have a listen to that voice message.” Truman and Capote exited the main room. Jordan slunk back to his desk. String and Ted turned back to their monitors. They suddenly had tons of work to do.

“What was that all about?” Monica asked. The softness in her voice nearly crushed Herb’s heart.

“Oh, nothing,” Herb answered. “The kid startled me, that’s all.”

“I see,” Stewinsky said. “Remind me never to startle you.” She stalked off toward the door Truman and Capote had passed through. Herb was left to stew alone.

Chapter 10–Monday, 1:25PM

Herb snapped open his cell phone as he skipped down the back steps of the courthouse. He speed-dialed Linda’s desk. He would’ve used the radio in the car, but he didn’t want anyone listening in.

“Hello,” came Linda’s voice in the chief’s ear as he waved goodbye to Monte and slipped out the back door.

“Linda!”

“Chief? Is that you?” Without a pause, Linda continued. “You were brilliant Chief. Way to put Redman in his place.”


“Yes, yes. Thank you, Linda, but I didn’t call to discuss the press conference.” Herb slipped into his car and started the engine. Pulling away from the curb, he continued, “I want to know if you were able to get the enhanced picture from any of the news agencies.”

“Well, technically speaking, I’d have to answer in the negative. My source does not wish to be identified as a news agency...agent. But, yes, I have the shot you want. It came in an encrypted email just minutes ago.”

“Great! Get it to Truman and tell him to keep it quiet. No help from anyone else. Not a word to a single soul without my permission.”

“Yes, sir,” Linda said, a hint of bewilderment in her voice. “Anything else?”

“No. That’s all for now,” Herb answered. “Thanks for your help, Linda. You’re a better cop than the mayor imagines.”

“I’m better than you imagine, sir.”

Herb didn’t comment. He hadn’t heard Linda’s response. He’d already hung up and begun dialing a second number.

“Hello,” came the voice at the other end.

“Monica, this is Herb.” The silence on the other end was deafening. “I wanted to apologize for the mayor’s actions. I’m sure you heard his comments.”

“I heard them,” Stewinsky spoke flatly. “I heard yours, too. You could’ve accused him of lying about my team. You could’ve said the picture was your own. You jeopardized our work as much as he did. How are we supposed to work together when you let your anger and your pride dictate what you say and do? I need a level-headed partner who won’t make vengeance a higher priority than protection of secret...”

“Enough!” Herb interrupted. “I didn’t call to be lectured on the finer points of police procedure. I need a tech officer. That’s why I’m calling. Our tech guy has been working on a digitally altered voice message left on my office answering machine this morning and on,” Herb swallowed his pride, “reconstructing our phone log so we can trace the call’s point of origin. Someone erased the data. Truman, that’s the guy’s name, said he couldn’t fix the voice or recover the data with his algo-something-or-others, but he believes your team might have the right equipment or software to do it.”

“Algorithms,” Monica offered.

“Whatever,” Herb snapped, “do you have a guy who can help?”


“Yes. His name is Capote.”

“Good,” Herb responded. “Send him to my station right away. I’ll meet him at the back door and take him to the lab.”

“Why the back door?” Stewinsky asked.

“I don’t know. I just want to keep things quiet. I’m not sure who I can trust right now. Oh,” Herb added, “Tell him we have the altered news photo too. One of my officers received it via encrypted email while the rest of the world was watching my performance on the tube.”

A pause on the other end. “Maybe you’re not as bad as the mayor said. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Probably an hour. Maybe a bit more.” Stewinsky hung up.

Chapter 9–Monday, 12:45PM

Herb shook his head as he drove past the courthouse. The circus had arrived. A dozen vans with giant numbers on their sides and satellite dishes on their tops were positioned in the best parking spots. A cameramen or two had a reporter in their sights. They were getting prelim work done before the big show. Others were scurrying up the front steps, lugging oversized equipment bags.

Herb decided to use the back entrance. Monte, the courthouse’s tomato guard, greeted him with a warm smile as Herb snatched off his stalking cap. “Mighty cold out there, Herb! Mighty cold! But I hear there’s going to be a bit of a warm up come Wednesday. Sure will be nice to see the sun.”

Herb stood stalk still as the pudgy officer passed his wand over his coat and pant legs. No beeps. “You’re free to go, sir,” Monte said as he finished up. “Have a nice day.”

A nice day, Herb thought. Not likely with the media on hand. He marched down the hall to his home away from home, the courthouse’s police office. Central was home to the handful of officers needed to escort prisoners from their cells to the courtroom, keep track of the department’s paper work and protect the public defenders from their clients. A dozen vegetable officers fit neatly into this cubicle-divided dungeon.

Herb felt naked when he pushed through the door. Not because he was unarmed per the mayor’s policy, but because he knew these folks knew what was about to happen upstairs. They knew their chief was in hot soup.

“Hello, Herb. And how are we today?” Herb knew the voice and the man before he turned – Sigmund Frond, the department’s psychologist. The chief hated the shrink. He’d put his office in this hole on purpose. He didn’t want to see the psycho-babbling avocado every day. Their conversations were rarely civil. The two loved playing with each other’s minds. Frond always seemed to come out on top.

“Not today, Frond,” Herb snapped. He walked to his cubicle without a backward glance. Safely in his seat, he pulled out his cheat sheet and went over it once more. He had to be sure he knew his stuff or he’d have peanut butter on his face. Redman would hold nothing back. The ugly finger of blame would be pointed Herb’s way.

Herb came to the last word on the 3"x5" card, tapped it twice on the desk’s oak top, then shoved it back in his pocket, never to be looked at again.

The Chief rose. The clock on the wall near the door read 12:54. Herb gulped. Six minutes. The bright lights and cameras and questions were six minutes away. The clock ticked off another minute. Five. Herb forced his feet to move. He stepped out the door and walked the hall to the elevator in a trance. He punched the call button. The doors slid sideways, allowing entrance. Herb stepped in. They closed. One floor up and the machine spit the chief out. He wished, as he stared at those gathered in the hall, that the box had swallowed him. He walked stiffly to the seat next to the mayor. He knew it was his. It had always been his. The seat next to the executioner. He sat. The politician glanced his way, but offered no greeting. It was 1:00. He had a job to do.

Mayor Redman rose and began. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice. I know you have deadlines to meet, so I will be brief. The recent string of choppings has been nerve wracking for the citizens of Garden City. Everyone is, as you know, on edge. This morning’s revelation of a classified law enforcement photo, digitally altered and broadcast for all to see, caused quite a stir in our community. We have all of you and your ‘unnamed source’ to thank for that.” The man was smiling stiffly, his annoyance barely hidden. “All that aside, we were – I think I speak for everyone in town – struck by the similarity between these creatures’ features and those of the composite sketch passed around town over the past few weeks. Our police artist is one of the best.” He paused to clear his throat, then leaned into the mic. “I wish I could say the same for the rest of the force.”

Here it comes, Herb thought.

“Our chief of police,” the mayor went on, “and those under his command, have failed miserably in their pursuit of the perpetrators of these violent crimes. The department has not uncovered much of anything and does not at this time have a clue where to look for these ‘monsters’ which threaten the stability of our fair city. So I, when it seemed I was left with no other choices, called in a VBI team. They are here in the city right now. They were the ones who produced the photo. Unfortunately, in giving it to our chief, its top-secret classification was compromised. My office is considering a probe into the department’s handling of this situation. I assure you that those responsible for this leak and the poor handling of this case will be disciplined and, possibly, removed from office. Meanwhile, I have full confidence that the VBI will wrap this case up quickly, provided, of course, they receive no further ‘assistance’ from our ‘finest.’” Redman paused, turned to Herb and spoke one final sentence. “Herb, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Herb rose slowly, seething mad. As he stepped to the podium, the glare he cast sideways was not lost on the crowd at hand. It would make more than one newspaper article. “Thank you for those ‘kind’ words, Mayor Redman,” he began. “I’m sure the Bureau appreciates the exposure you’ve given their covert operations team this afternoon. Their excellent undercover work will now be much simpler. Perhaps they would be aided more if you gave out their team leader’s phone number on air so folks could call them with tips.” Herb laughed sardonically. “Better yet,” he continued, “why not give out the address of their base of operations so the choppers can turn themselves in peaceably and we can all breathe a sigh of relief.”

Herb glanced at his nemesis. The mayor’s face was redder than red. Perfect, he thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Herb had their attention now. “Despite the pronouncements of our mayor, the GCPD is making progress on this case. A thorough, and continuing, search is being made for these ‘monsters’ and I have confidence, despite the mayor’s skepticism, that our finest will find and detain them. It is true that the evidential image you aired this morning was produced by the VBI. It is also true that it was handed over to me personally and then shown to all officers at a GCPD briefing yesterday. While we are concerned that this photo was given to you in an unauthorized manner, we believe that this breach may, in fact, aid us.” Herb looked directly at the GNN camera. “We are asking the fine citizens of Garden City to call 911 if they see anyone who resembles these creatures. As to the inquisition the mayor’s office is threatening, it is completely unnecessary, a needless distraction to our ongoing investigative work. Our own internal affairs officers are already working to uncover the leak and deal appropriately with the offender or offenders.”

Finished, Herb sat abruptly. He hadn’t made every point he’d planned to, but he’d dealt with the mayor’s attacks as well as he ever had. He was pleased.

Redman was back at the mic. “Obviously, the chief and I disagree on a matter or two. His unnecessarily caustic comments at the beginning of his remarks show clearly his desperation. He is fighting to keep his job. He knows the incompetence of those under him and his own failings endanger his paycheck and he is afraid.”

Having covered his reddish hide, the mayor turned on the charm. “Now, ladies and gentlemen of the press, are there any questions?”

The man paused, then pointed to Tony Snowpea from GFOX. “Tony.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. Mr. Mayor, can you tell us any more about the VBI’s involvement in this investigation? We were unaware of their presence until you spoke of it.”

“Thank you, Tony. I cannot say more than I have. I called in a team and they are here. That is all. Next?”

The mayor pointed to the woman on the front row – Katie Carrot from GCBS. “Katie.”

“I’d like to address my question to the chief if I may.” The mayor stepped back and to the side as Herb rose and took the podium. “Chief,” Carrot began, “due to the horrific nature of this case and the difficulty you seem to be having in solving it, I’m sure you welcome the VBI’s help. That said, what evidence has your force uncovered and how close do you believe you are to nabbing the culprit or culprits behind this chopping spree?”

Herb thought he saw Miss Carrot wink at the mayor as she seated herself, but he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter anyway. He had a question to answer. “Because of the nature of this investigation – it is ongoing you know? – I cannot comment on the evidence that we have in our possession. As to the VBI’s involvement, they came on their own, covertly, without an invitation from anyone in this town and,” Herb nearly choked on the words, “we are glad for their help.”

“So you’re saying,” Miss Carrot asked, “that Mayor Redman is lying when he says he called them in due to departmental incompetence?”

Herb smiled. He was about to answer when the mayor shoved him away. “Thank you,” the man’s words were crisp as he spoke. “That’s all the time we have for now.” With that he rushed from the room.

Herb shrugged his shoulders, stepped back to the podium and, leaning into the microphone, said, “Yes, Miss Carrot. That’s exactly what I was saying. Thank you. I’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 8–Monday, 11:37AM

An hour passed. Then two. Herb finished up his plan of attack for the press conference, outlined its main points on an index card and stuck them in his pocket.

Where was Truman? he thought. The man was usually quick. He’d normally have an answer to any riddle put before him in minutes. It’d been...

“Hey, Chief!” The lab tech stood in the doorway. “Got a minute?”

“Of course, Tru. Come on in. Have a seat.” Herb was always polite to Truman. He was way too valuable to lose. “What’d you find?”

Truman cleared his throat. “Well, not much really. That’s why I took so long.” The tech paused glancing at his notes. “The voice,” he continued, “was obviously altered. I noticed the distortion the first time I ran the tape. So I ran my algorithms on it, the ones I designed to untwist remixed voices. They failed. Every one of them. The voice, no matter what I threw at it, sounded the same. Befuddled, I turned my attention to the department phone records. I’d saved the tracing till last since it would normally be the easier of the two tasks. I logged in to the database, brought up this morning’s incoming calls. There were two from the mayor’s office, about ten minutes each.”

“Yes, they were on the machine,” Herb affirmed. “He was a bit hot.”

“Of course,” Truman hated interruptions. His irritation showed just a bit as he continued. “There were those two calls and, you’re not going to believe this...not one other call.”

Herb jumped from his seat. “What!” he shouted. “The phones were ringing off the hook when I came in. People were talking. There were calls. Lots of them.”

“I’m not saying there weren’t calls, sir,” Truman said, regaining control of the conversation. “I’m saying there are no records showing that there were calls. Someone took a big eraser and wiped the slate clean. Digitally speaking, of course. There isn’t a slate or chalk or an eraser.”

“Yes, yes,” Herb interrupted. “I understand.” Continuing, he asked, “So how could this be done? Wouldn’t someone have to have a password to do something like that?”

Truman nodded his turbaned head as Herb returned to his chair. “You know our system’s security protocol,” he agreed. “Only I and a few others have administrative passcodes. No one without those codes can even see this part of the network. It’s invisible unless you know it’s there and know the right steps to access it.”

“Who knows the codes?” Herb was getting impatient. “Besides you.”

“String, Ted, Jordan, Woodstalk,” Truman ticked off the list in his head. “Oh, and the mayor or someone in his office.”

“What’s a rookie doing on that list?” Herb demanded.

Truman looked a bit puzzled. “You mean Woodstalk?” he asked. “He was top in his class at the Academy in tech work. I gave him the codes when you sent me an authorization form.”

“I sent you the form?” Herb was puzzled. He didn’t remember signing any form.

“Yes, sir,” Truman answered. “I can find it for you if you like. It’d be down at central.”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Herb backpedaled. “I sign things all the time. I just forgot, I’m sure that’s all.” Getting back to the matter at hand, he asked the question that begged for an answer. “So can you reconstruct the erased data?”

“I’ve tried,” Truman confessed. “Same results as the voice fixing. Nothing. Our hacker is good. We simply don’t have the equipment or the software to do it.”

“Does anyone?” the chief inquired.

“VBI has the right stuff,” Truman informed him, “but it’d take them a day or two to get here. Then a day or two more to put all the pieces back together.”

Herb sighed. He hated to give any ground to the feds, but he was desperate. “There’s a VBI team in town, Truman. They’re tracing a suspicious cell phone call made while we were out Sunday night digging through compost.”

“VBI?! Here?! That’s wonderful!” The asparagus was beside himself. He spoke rapid fire. “Why wasn’t I told? Did you mention it at a briefing? I don’t recall having this info. Do they have tech agents with them?”

“I don’t know,” Herb replied, as he rose again from his seat. “I don’t know. But I can find out.” Glancing at his watch, he promised, “I’ll give the agent-in-charge a call right after Redman’s press conference. I’ll be late if I do it now. I’ve got a couple of stops to make on my way. And we wouldn’t want to keep the mayor waiting.”

Truman and Herb parted ways as they left the chief’s office. Truman returned to the lab. Herb walked toward the chopping block.

Chapter 7–Monday, 9:20AM

When Herb had calmed himself sufficiently and sorted through the morning’s email messages, he punched the play button on his answering machine. He’d noticed the blinking 3 earlier. The first two messages were barely comprehensible tirades. The mayor. Herb deleted both before Redman was done. The third began with five seconds of silence. Herb’s finger was headed toward the erase button when an eerie voice spoke just four words: “Are you stalking us?”

Herb hit the stop button and played the message again. “Are you stalking us?”

Herb screamed into the intercom. “Woodstalk, get in here...and bring Linda.”

In less than half a minute, Woodstalk slid to a stop outside the open door and knocked on the frame. Linda was right behind him. “You wanted me, sir? I mean us.”

“Yes! Listen to this.” Herb punched play. Silence and then, “Are you stalking us?”

“That message,” the chief shouted, “was left this morning at 7:53 while I was on my way to work. I want to know where it came from. I want to know who owns the phone it came from. I want to know everything and I want to know it now. Take this thing down to Truman in the lab.”

Herb ripped the power cord from the wall, wrapped it around the device and thrust it into Woodstalk’s hands. The rookie turned and ran from the room and down the hall toward forensics, his footsteps echoing off the paneled walls.

Wouldn’t Miss VBI laugh if she saw me? Herb thought. Tracing phone calls are we? she’d say. He should call her, he knew, fill her in on the message’s ominous question, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet, he told himself. Truman, his head tech, was a good man, an asparagus that never missed the slightest detail. He’d put the pieces together and the GCPD would save the day. Herb would call Miss Stewinsky then.

“Sir?” Linda stood in the doorway, stalk still, waiting. “Did you have anything for me?”

“Oh, sorry Linda. Yes,” he said. “I want you to call GNN, GNBC, GABC, GCBS and GFOX. Find out where they got the photo. If they won’t tell you – Turner probably won’t, I don’t know about the rest – see if we can get a copy.”

“Yes, sir,” Linda said and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Linda,” Herb called out after her. “Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”

Linda turned half around, a puzzled look on her face. “Sir?”

“You heard what I said. Go!” Herb’s wish was her command. She went, shaking her leafy head.

Herb turned his thoughts to the upcoming press conference. He had to think. How could he protect himself? How could he spin the truth in his favor? How could he minimize the damage already done? He began scribbling notes on a yellow pad.

Chapter 6–Monday, 8:15AM

Things were buzzing along when Herb walked through the doors at work, his leaves still wet from a run through the sprinkler. A box of donuts sat on Marge’s desk, untouched. That’s crazy! Herb thought, snapping up a jelly-filled as he strode by. You’ve got to have energy to think and work! Marge looked up, but said not one word.

He was midway through his second bite when Linda strode up to him with the reports from the previous night’s search. He knew what the reams of paper would reveal. Nothing. A waste of good trees!

He entered his office, dropped the stack on his Cheez Whiz-stained, cherry wood desk and snatched up the phone. He flipped on his lamp and fumbled for the one thing he’d come after, Miss VBI’s card. Retrieving it, he sat in his chair and punched in the numbers.

On the first ring, she picked up. “Hello,” the sound of her voice took his breath away. “Hello?”

“Uh, Monica. This is Herb,” he stammered. “I left your card here at the office or I would’ve called earlier. Have you seen GNN?”

“I’ve seen GNN, GNBC, GABC, GCBS and GFOX,” She was mad. Herb could tell it. “The picture’s every where,” she shouted. “What were you thinking?!”

“I didn’t leak the photo,” he snapped back.

“Then, who?” she retorted.

“Somebody at the station,” he ventured. “Or one of your guys.”

“Wait a minute!” she cautioned. “You’re saying a VBI agent sworn to secrecy on this matter...”

“I’m not accusing anyone!” Herb interrupted. “I’m just saying it had to be someone from here or there. The only other possibility is the photographer who sent you the crazy thing. Now, listen. Our fine mayor called me this morning. Got me out of bed. He wants to hold a press conference this afternoon at 1:00. He demanded my presence and he wants you there too. He wants...”

“What! Where?” she screamed. “Does he have my number?”

“No,” Herb said, trying to keep himself under control. “I haven’t given your number. The press deal is at the courthouse. He likes to hold conferences there because it makes him look tough on crime. He likes to have someone else at them when the public is angry so he can point fingers. He’ll make us look stupid then go on to win the next election using his heroics as a crime fighter to endear himself to the masses.”

“What do you mean, ‘make us look stupid’?” Stewinsky countered loudly. “You are not going to give him my number! I am not going to be there!”

“A solo hanging, huh?” Herb sighed.

“Listen,” she said, her voice softening just a bit. “It’s not that I don’t feel for you. It’s just that we can’t blow our cover. We were monitoring cell phone calls last night while your guys were stirring up trash heaps. We think we’ve got a lead. We’re still tracing the call’s point of origin, but we heard someone say clearly, ‘They’re on to us. Lay low.’ The guy on the other end wasn’t having any of it. He insisted they go ahead ‘as planned.’ If word gets out the VBI is anywhere near, cell phone chatter could cease.”

“And you think it was our ‘moonlight stalkers’?” Herb quipped. “Since when do monsters carry cell phones?”

“Since the late 90s for your information,” Monica snapped, an edge returning to her voice. “We’ve caught hundreds of idiots tapping wireless calls. It’s, oh, so easy. They talk. We record. We find them and some federal stalk holder gets another guest. And for the record,” she paused for effect, “they’re not monsters, at least not officially. They’re celery gone to seed.”

“We’ll see Miss Stalkton-does-it-right-and-Garden-City-does-it-wrong.” Herb was furious and he did nothing to hide it. “You can trace your cell phone calls. I’m stalking the stalkers, the monsters, the celery gone to seed, whatever the juice you called them. Call me when you have something real to tell me.”

Herb slammed the handset down with enough force that his “in out” trays fell off the back of his desk, spilling forms and folders on the laminate floor. That made him madder. He grabbed the phone, picked it up and slammed it on the cradle again.

“Women,” he muttered. “Always right.”

Chapter 5–Monday, 7:33AM

His alarm clock’s blaring reveille jarred Herb awake. The red numbers read 7:33 as he smacked the snooze then turned the switch to off. He felt like someone had spread Cheez Whiz down his middle and skewered him with a party pick. He did not want to get up. He fumbled for the TV remote. Time for the first forecast on GWC. He waited for the picture to appear, ready to punch in the right code. The sound came first. “...light stalkers...” was all he heard before his mind went numb. Someone had spilled the beans. He stared at the tube as it came to life. There before his eyes was the VBI photo, the four shadowy creatures digitally refocused so folks could see their gruesome features sharp and clear.

“Bloody Mary!” Herb clicked off the set. The phone was ringing.

He picked it up. Before he could say, “Yeah,” he heard the shouting. It was the Redman. The mayor was screaming about the picture on the TV. He wanted to know why he didn’t know this bit of evidence had come into the police department’s hands. “And who the juice gave it to the media?” he demanded. He further wanted to know why Herb had said to ignore the bank robbery. “And who’s this VBI chick I hear is in town? What’s the Bureau doing here?”

Herb was glad he stopped there. He could answer that one. Maybe the robbery question would be forgotten. “Her name is Monica Stewinsky and she’s here with a team sent to investigate the choppings. She gave me the picture yesterday afternoon and then left. I have no idea who gave it to the news folks.” He paused for effect the spoke slowly. “And I didn’t have time to contact you about the photo, sir, because I was busy searching the city for the choppers!”

“Well,” huffed the mayor, “if you don’t find these...these...these things soon, don’t blame me if it’s you the masses throw on the cutting board.”

“I’ll remember that, sir,” Herb spoke with dripping sarcastic sweetness. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes!” the radish shouted. “Get me that VBI woman’s number. We’re going to have us a real live press conference this afternoon. You, me and this prissy profiler. 1:00 at the courthouse. Don’t be late!”

“You can’t do that,” Herb began. But the click on the other end cut him off. The conversation was over. He flopped back on the bed, his head spinning. Who had leaked the picture? It had to be someone with the VBI team or one of his own at the station. No one else had access to it... except the photographer who took it!

Chapter 4–Sunday, 4:45PM

Woodstalk, and Herb headed north on Highway 83. They’d turn west on Buffalo Jones at the fork in the road and angle for the town’s outskirts.

“Do you think we’ll find them, Chief?” Woodstalk pried.

“We’ve got to, son,” the chief said. “We’ve got to.”

The streets were mostly deserted as they drove. Herb knew the fine folks who called Garden City home were battening down the hatches, loading their potato guns, peering out into the darkness. Fear gripped the hearts of even the strongest among them. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was a happy town, a place where vegetables of every variety greeted each other as they shopped and played and worked. Now it was a place where good people hid and monsters stalked.

The radio crackled. Marge, GCPD’s dispatcher, a dark purple eggplant of greater-than-average girth, spoke in clipped half-sentences. “487 in progress. Robbery. Butter Bean Bank.”

Herb seized the mic. “Ignore it. All cars continue stalking.”

“What?!” came a single response. It was Jasper in car 17. The cucumber was incredulous. “Come again!” he insisted.

“You heard me,” the chief bellowed. “Ignore it! We’re in a pickle. Pressed for time. We’ll check on the bank in the morning.”

Silence. Herb knew he’d just earned his dismissal. Herb knew it and he swore. Why’d these guys have to appear on my watch? He’d asked himself that same question every day for the past six weeks. In the singular of course. It had only been guys since late this afternoon.

The brakes squeaked just a bit as the chief’s car pulled up at Sleazy Pawn. Woodstalk was out and to the door before Herb had unbuckled his seat belt. Crazy kid! he thought as he jogged to catch up.

When he walked through the door of the dimly lit store, the rookie was showing the owner, a scallion, the sketch.

“Can I interest you in a picture of Osama bin Salad?” The voice came from behind him.

“What?” he said turning to face his questioner. “Oh, no thanks,” he said to the smallish leek who held a shoddily framed portrait of the notorious terrorist. “I’m not interested.” Then just for fun, he lied. “I’ve already got one. Hangs over my fireplace at home.”

“Oh, okay,” the man said turning to walk away.

“It’d be in my fireplace if I had one,” Herb muttered as he turned back to the counter. He almost bumped into Woodstalk.

“He doesn’t know anything, boss,” the celery said shakily, “Let’s go.”

The rookie hurried out the door. The chief shrugged his shoulders and followed.

“What was that all about?” Herb asked as, back in the car, he turned the key in the ignition.

“What?” said Woodstalk, pleading ignorance.

“You seemed a bit frightened in there. You rushed out like you’d seen a ghost or something.”

“I did?” the rookie’s roots were shaking.

“Yes, you did,” Herb affirmed.

“It was nothing, Chief. Really.” Woodstalk spoke hesitantly. “I’m just a bit freaked out by this whole deal. It’s not everyday you meet up with the monsters you dreamed of as a celery seed.”

Herb let it rest as he pulled away from the curb. He had bigger potatoes to peel.

The rest of the night was spent driving from one compost pile to another. The duo showed the sketch at the few businesses that were open – potato bars, peel clubs, cuke joints. No one had seen anyone like that except in the movies. Laughter erupted as they left one or two places. Herb knew the joke was on him.

By 1:00 in the morning he was ready to call it quits. He radioed all cars and sent everyone on overtime home. Only the night shift remained on the streets.

After dropping Woodstalk off at the station, the chief drove back to his place. Eleven minutes. Just like it was supposed to be. Herb fell into bed exhausted, but could not sleep. His nerves were on edge. He puzzled over the evidence. He tried to figure out where the picture had been taken, but there were no trees or landmarks to identify the spot. He drifted off wondering again about Woodstalk’s strange exit from Sleazy Pawn.