Chapter 36–Wednesday, 9:03PM

Herb heard the voice in his earpiece as he stepped through the rear door, gun drawn. “I see you.” Instinctively, he dropped to the floor and rolled to his left. The expected flash boom of a V8 Juicer didn’t come.

“Don’t worry, sir,” the voice, Woodstalk’s, came again. “I won’t shoot you. I tried that once. Not nearly as satisfying as a cleaver chop.”

Herb remained motionless. Silent. Listening. He was sure the rookie was nearby. He’d attack soon.

Woodstalk spoke again. “The old silent treatment, eh?” he asked. “Tell the two guys creeping through the lobby to back off or Stewinsky’s dead. She’s awfully pretty sleeping here on the floor.”

Herb did not respond. He waited, barely breathing.

“Tell them!” Woodstalk shouted. The chief heard the voice over the radio and down the hall and to his left.

Herb spoke slowly. “Tru. Cap. You heard him. Hold your position.” He hoped they’d ignore his order. They had to have heard the shout too. He’d need their help when he confronted the killer.

“Good job, sir,” came the rookie’s voice, dripping with sarcasm. It was audible only over the radio once again. “You do know how to take orders. I’d have never guessed it possible.”

Herb stood and took two tentative steps toward the lobby, then stopped. After a full thirty seconds he took three more steps. He waited again, not ten yards from the end of the hall.

He was about to take another step, when Woodstalk spoke again. “You saw my computer didn’t you?” he asked.

What kind of question was that? Herb thought. He hesitated a moment, then answered. “If yours was left with CelMate at Sleazy Pawn, yes.”

Woodstalk laughed. “So you stopped by to see my friend, did you? That wasn’t my computer. Mine’s in the lab. It’s been there all along, hooked into the secure network. Recording everything. Controlling more than you imagine.”

Herb was not pleased. “The robots?” the chief asked.

“Controlled from GCPD central network,” Woodstalk agreed. “They were my distraction. While everyone’s eyes were on the ‘stalkers’, I was dicing up Garden City’s celery population.”

“Ted’s not a celery,” Herb pointed out.

“I’m not going to kill Ted,” Woodstalk said. “What fun is a turnip? Everyone knows you can’t get blood from one.”

The radio went dead. Herb heard rushing footsteps in the lobby. Someone cried out in alarm. It was Truman.

Herb flipped on his flashlight and charged, potato gun at the ready. He covered the final distance to the lobby in three seconds. The halogen beam of his gun light illuminated a deep red rhubarb’s back. Woodstalk was bringing a nasty looking cleaver down on Truman, whom he’d knocked to the floor.

Herb fired. A second gun fired from the far side of the lobby and the cleaver fell from the rhubarb’s hand. A second later, the most irritating rookie he’d ever seen come out of the Academy dropped to the linoleum, mortally wounded.

Truman stood and brushed himself off as Herb and Capote approached. Herb’s light fell on Woodstalk’s face. The rhubarb was struggling for each breath. “Why’d you do it?” Herb demanded.

“Just...wanted...to make...a name...” His words stopped.

Herb clicked off his light. This was Garden City’s darkest hour.