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.