Bastian stared regretfully at the ravaged beauty in the picture and pinned the photograph to the chart detailing River City’s latest serial killer’s M.O. His imagination could almost sense all the blood dripping from the board. She was his fifth addition to the list in as many months. One a month, precise as clockwork, they’d find a new body, thanks to a new poem sent to Bastian directly. It was as if the Feather Boa Killer taunted Bastian personally. Bastian studied the details of the latest victim. ‘Gabriella Jones, female, Caucasian, blonde/brown, age thirty-two. Same M.O. Feather boa, used as a garrote, this time yellow. Damn.’ Bastian planted his fist in the center of the chart, where a blank spot waited for a picture of the killer. He wished his fist could hit that son of a bitch for his cruelty. 

Chief Riley poked his head in the door of Bastian’s office. ‘Detective Bach, can you step into my office?’ His eyes flashed regretfully over the wall, and then he was gone. 

Bastian grumbled at the interruption, grabbed up the cold, vile concoction the receptionist called coffee, and checked his office for anything out of place before he left. Neat and orderly, his black and gray office was a snapshot of his whole life. Even the snake plant in the corner didn’t have a speck of dust on its spear-like leaves. He gave one last reverent glance to Victim #1 on the chart, and shut the door. 

The chief was on the phone when Bastian knocked and barged in. Bastian bit back his protests about how he had lab reports to study and stomped over to warm his coffee from the chief’s much better personal supply. It cut the taste of gasoline from the office urn and made the jet fuel drinkable. 

‘Yes, dammit. I said now, Richards. I mean now. I’ll cover your ass.’ Chief Bill Riley slammed the phone back into the charger slot. ‘Fucking chicken shit.’ 

Bastian frowned. Detective Richards was a good cop, and brave too. What the hell could he be scared of? None of his business. He checked his watch. He had three hours before his scheduled hour at the gym. ‘What’s up, Bill? I need to get back to those lab reports.’ 

‘No, you don’t. You’re on leave as of this minute.’ Bill handed him some papers. ‘I want you on that plane and out of my city tomorrow. Orders.’ 

The cheerful colors of a brochure and an e-ticket for an airline flashed in Bastian’s hand. He blinked, nonplussed. Okay, completely flabbergasted. His brain processed the information on the brochure. Casinos? Shows? Bright lights and entertainments? Utter fucking chaos and money left to chance were not his idea of a good time. ‘Uh, Bill. I have a serial killer and three other cases on my desk. Bad timing for a vacation. No, thanks.’ 

‘I didn’t offer, Detective Bach. I ordered. You’re going.’ Riley plodded over and filled his own coffee mug. ‘Bastian, you’ve been on this serial killer’s case since he killed Marty. I didn’t want to put you on this one since Marty was your partner, but Richards was still recovering from the gunshot and the rest of the detectives were overbooked. Richards is back on his feet, and more objective. You’ve been letting this get personal for a while now. Time to back off.’ 

Bastian flushed guiltily. Marty had been more than his partner for a couple of months before she’d become the killer’s first victim. It hadn’t been The Big L yet, but more like an extension of the partnership. They’d even considered moving in together. Then, doomsday had struck. He’d been pulled out of court and told his partner was dead in her apartment. 

If Richards hadn’t still been in the hospital, Bastian would have never seen what the killer did to Marty. He’d have never known how she’d been beaten, raped, strangled with a purple feather boa, and then displayed like an obscene, broken Barbie doll where the first person to walk into her bedroom would see her splayed legs and brutalized sex in all its glory. He’d have never read the poetry slashed on her mirror in her own lipstick. He’d have never known there was no sign of forced entry into the apartment. 

That was the biggest puzzle of all. Marty wouldn’t let a stranger in. Neither would the other women, according to all who knew them. None were barflies or even into dating. 

‘Hey!’ Riley snapped his fingers. ‘Back to this reality, Bastian. You can’t even hold a conversation without going off into Never-Never-Land. That’s too focused, and you know it. Your other cases are suffering.’ 

Stung, Bastian stood erect and almost at attention. ‘I am extremely organized and precise’’ 

Riley held up his hand. ‘Really? You are? Then you’d know the perp of one of your other cases was apprehended in a traffic stop yesterday. Which one, Bach?’ 

Blank. Bastian had no clue. ‘No one informed me, sir.’ 

‘Can that ‘sir’ bullcrap, Bach. The message is on your desk, in the correct file. I put it there myself this morning at five a.m.’ Chief Riley shook an ink-stained finger at Bastian. ‘That’s over eleven hours ago. You’d think in eleven hours you might have looked in your other files, right? You didn’t. You lose hours sitting there staring at evidence reports, muttering over the chart you built on the wall, and snarling at the receptionist when she puts through a call. You need a break, man.’ 

‘I’’ Bastian started to vehemently deny the allegations, but he knew the chief was right. He also wasn’t going to give up without a fight. ‘Bill, the Feather Boa Killer sends his clues to me. I think he knows me.’ 

‘Bullshit. We have no evidence other than the poems sent are addressed to you. He’s taunting the detective, not you personally. Richards can open your mail while you’re gone.’ Bill’s lips twitched briefly into a teasing smile. ‘You ain’t getting anything private here, are you?’ 

Bastian snorted. They both knew Bastian had very little life outside the department. His fridge was emptier than a junkie’s brain except for some old leftover cheese resembling a science experiment in evolution and three beers left over from the last time his brother visited. 

Riley put his hand on Bastian’s left biceps and shook, hard. ‘You’re sleep deprived, and you’re obsessed. You need a break. The travel agency sent these tickets after we nabbed the perps who robbed them. You solved that case. Least you can do is use the tickets to have a week to get some rest and get your head on straight. When you come back, you come talk to me. If I see those dark circles are gone and you can focus for more than two minutes, I might let you work with Richards.’ 

Bastian found himself outside Riley’s office with the door slammed in his face. He set his jaw and stormed back to his office. His empty office. The chart and all the files were gone. Every scrap of paper related to the case. His locked file cabinet was still in place. Bastian leaned against the doorjamb and growled to himself. ‘Richards. You knew I’d be pissed when I found out you took my case files. That’s why the chief was reassuring you he’d cover for you. I oughta’’