Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep263: Episode 263: Hunting a Serial Killer

Episode Date: July 31, 2025

Tonight’s terrifying tale of horror is the complete ''Manhunt: The Next Chapter of Robert Cassidy’s Reign of Terror'', a wonderful original work by Luke Hemingway, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all.  https://twitter.com/LukeHemingway11 https://www.reddit.com/user/Pristine-Engine4388

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These narratives pull us into a deadly game of cat and mouse, where brilliant profilers must get inside the minds of predators who operate in shadows and defy conventional morality. The stakes are high. The psychological tension is unbearable, and every glue uncovered feels like a... a hard-won victory against an almost inhuman evil. We're drawn to the danger, the intellect, and the haunting question at the heart of it all.

What drives someone to kill? Can they ever be truly stopped? We'll see all of this and more in tonight's feature-length story. Now, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale will contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. I stood in the FBI briefing room. Facing my subordinates.

I read from my prepared presentation notes as I hit the button on my Bluetooth control which was connected to the screen on the front wall of the room. The screen revealed a photo of a burly Mexican man with a Mike Tyson-style tattoo on his left eye, teardrops on the right. Next to the photo was Intel on the suspect. Okay guys, Omar Quintero.

You may remember this guy from our six-year investigation into the swarm. Now, obviously, thanks to our cybercrime, undercover and surveillance operations back then, the swarm's commanding units were discovered and arrested. However, some of the smaller fish, so to speak, slipped out of the net before we managed to reel them in. Mr. Quintero was one of them. I pressed the button for a second time, this time showing a photo of ten individuals, each with a name and sentence they were currently serving. You remember all these men.

These ten men orchestrated one of the most sinister clandestine networks of organized criminals the FBI has ever investigated. Four of them were killed in the raids. Six are serving triple-figure sentences in maximum security prisons. When the swarm was disbanded, some of the hired muscles splinted off into their own smaller criminal groups. I said, clicking the button once more. This time the screen showed a crime scene photograph. The photo showed the remains of a black transit van outside of the car. a warehouse. The vehicle was torched and next to it lay four black body bags. This photo was

taken just outside Jackson, Mississippi in 2008, as I'm sure a lot of the rookies will have been told about this night. During an investigation into a kidnapping, strongly in into the swarm, a surveillance team of fellow FBI agents were ambushed while staking out a potential contact point. Two killed with serious gunshot wounds to the chest and hand. The van then torched with a makeshift Molotov cocktail. The third and fourth agents were killed with serious knife wounds to the throat. I pressed the button once more, now revealing two more photos of FBI agents.

Both had deceased, stamped on the photo. Now, the fifth agent, Agent Richard Daniels, when he was abducted, later to be brutally tortured in hope of the gang obtaining information relating to an undercover agent we'd embedded in the swarm at the time. time. The man on the right, Agent John Clayton. I said, heavy-hearted, thinking back to another case where I lost a trusted friend. Agent John Clayton died in the line of Judy in late 2012, after his identity was discovered, but not before he submitted extremely strong evidence against the unit he was embedded in. I pressed the button, changing the picture to show

surveillance images taken in a recent stay count. They showed a lot of the large Mexican crew, transporting large haulage trucks over the border. Now, thanks to information relayed by Agent Clayton before his death in 2012, we now know that the crew contracted to kill those agents and deliver Agent Daniels to the swarm that night was led by Omar Quintero. Since the swarm was taken down, his crew have taken over the drugs and human trafficking racket on the Texan-Mexican border. I informed the team. I pressed the button one more time to show satellite images of a storage facility just outside of Lareda. Surveillance teams have tracked the organization, as well as Quintero himself, to this

stronghold. Current sources say is right there now, so we're just going to wait for the federal warrant to come through from Judge Atkins, and then we're going in. These guys will not come quietly. They are most likely armed, volatile, and extremely dangerous. Lethal force in the interest of protection of the public has been authorized. I looked at the team intensely. Ready? I asked. Yes, sir. They answered enthusiastically.

I smiled and nodded. Then, let's go get our man. As the team stood up out of their chairs and began to get prep for this morning's operation, I couldn't help but be bothered by the talk of fallen comrades. Two years had passed since the escape from lawful custody of Robert Cassidy, a.k.a. the cross-lying cannibal. He went on a 48-hour killing spree which culminated in him rudely murdering my best friend, Peter Quince. Almost five years ago, after a long and drawn-out investigation that spanned a decade, we finally put this sadistic bastard behind bars.

His wife, Amy Edmonds, had contacted us and told us that she suspected her husband. She suspected her was potentially involved in the murders. She provided us with receipts for disguises and new clothes, or placing him in the area at the time of each specific murder. She told us about his worrying behavior and how he fit the profile of a dangerous person. We looked at what she'd given us, along with his photo to compare against a suspect sketch, and we knew we had our map. Unfortunately, the DA wanted something cast iron before we arrested Cassidy.

We had no DNA, no CCTV. Everything we had could be passed off as circumstantial. So we needed a confession. I'll always respect, Amy. She was a woman who'd had a tough life. Her father had died when she was young. Her first husband was an emotional abuser and an adulterer. Then, as if things couldn't get much worse,

she married the most sadistic serial killer the Bureau was ever captured. Amy showed her resilience, though. She didn't need much persuading to wear a wire for us and began questioning Robert on some strange findings, like wigs, outfits and hairnets. To cut a long story short, she managed to outsmart him, one of the only people who ever have. She asked us for two sets of recording devices. She wore one under her t-shirt and placed the other under the bed. She asked questions that made it obvious she was wearing a wire. You know the sort.

Why don't you just admit what she did? and at least have the decency to say it out loud, stuff like that. Robert pulled up her top and threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall. Little did he know that was the dummy. Amy said she'd read a lot about psychopathy and serial killers and how they like to brag about their crimes, so they can relive them. Once he thought the recording was no longer taping him, Robert began to taunt her. He came out with things like, I flayed Jessica Adams alive. Is that what you want to know?

And I raped Vicky Pierce whilst I choked her with barbed wire? He went on and on for 28 horrendous minutes. Just as he began to threaten Amy, informing her if she ever told anyone that he'd eat her children alive, we burst into the house. The craziest thing about arresting Robert Cassidy was that he didn't resist at all. he simply looked at Amy and began to clap. He almost had a look of approval on his face. I think deep down, under it all, he did love her, just in his own sick and twisted way.

She's the only woman to have ever survived his company for so long, after all. Apparently during his custody handover, the San Antonio PD had roughed up Cassidy. The official report says he tripped in his cell. if that was true it was a really bad fall Cassidy told us in his interviews he would one day even the score on that front and in 2018

he killed a Dallas PD detective and a patrol officer was all part of his master plan that evening but I knew he saw this as the debt paid he tortured and killed Amy Evans' first husband Jeff Benny here causing myself and others

to wrongly assume he was targeting their eldest daughter, Ashley. While we were chasing our tale in Denver, he assumed the identity of one of the deceased Dallas PD officers, and, after calling me from the deceased detective's phone to obtain the location of Sadie Benning, he made his way to Fort Worth. He was here he gained entrance to the safe house and ambushed my two best agents. This sadistic fuck brutally tortured them both, or for the simple reason they taunted him in the interviews that Amy had outsmarted him. Cassidy fits the profile of a malignant narcissist, but my God, his response was another level of sadism. Hours later, during an intense standoff between Cassidy and Amy on the third floor of the Fort Worth Tower Block,

Ashley Benning managed to get her hands on a nearby sledgehammer, and she swung it with all her might. The blow itself wasn't enough to knock Cassidy out, let alone kill him. However, it was enough to knock him off balance to the point he stumbled over the edge. Cassidy took a fall that would have killed most men, but if there's one thing I've learned about Robert Cassidy, he isn't like most men. Cassidy had murdered a taxi driver who transported him to the tower block earlier that night. His body was stashed in the porter cabin that Cassidy fell into,

and while I called in back up and attended to Amy's injuries, Cassidy swapped clothes and left the scene. The taxi driver's face was badly mutilated, along with a broken jaw and teeth knocked out. Well, these injuries plus a backlog of post-mortems from that night, delayed the identifying of the body. It wasn't until a few days later, when the taxi firm reported their driver missing

that they put two and two together. By this point, Cassidy was in the wind. Eight days later, a 62-year-old woman by the name of Joyce Patrick was reported missing by her neighbour. She was reportedly heading to New Mexico for a five-day vacation. When she didn't return, the neighbour became concerned. It's highly likely that she found Cassidy stumbling along some lone highway, injured from his fall, and pulled over to assist.

Killers like Ted Bundy used to lure his victims to his car by claiming he was injured or disabled. We worked on the assumption Cassidy had told Mrs. Patrick that he'd been mugged. Her body was discovered just outside of Oklahoma City. A skull was fractured and she'd been dumped in a patch of, of marshland along the side of Route 35. We assumed because this was so far away from her intended destination that she drove there under duress.

The car itself was later found, ditched, just outside Minneapolis. It's unknown where Cassidy went up to this point, or even how he got there, but the best idea we have is Canada. A letter which was later sent to Amy Edmonds, claiming to be from Robert Cassidy, played into this theory. She submitted it to the bureau where handwriting analysis was carried out. It proved it was, in fact, from him, and forensics traced the envelope to a sorting office in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

I've worked on some troubling cases. In 1997, I assisted the GBI in creating a profile for a violent child murderer, dubbed the Cherokee County Candyman. I believe they caught the guy in 2002, after you were shot by the father of an intended victim. His name was Matthew Brooke, and the guy was responsible for the brutal rape, torture, and murder of ten children, aged eight to eleven. I will never forget the vast range of sadosexual instruments of violence in a warehouse basement that he called his playroom. In 2008, during my investigation into a violent trafficking gang, I had to listen to a little girl be taken apart alive with power tools.

All the while her mom sang her the mockingbird lullaby. to try and give her some sort of comfort. And that will stay with me forever. Then in 2013, when we found the body of Vicky Pierce, Cassidy's fifth victim, I knew we were dealing with a real piece of work. We found her body with the barbed wire still lodged in her face, the corners of her mouth torn all the way back to her ears, four vertebrae in her back crushed from the force with which she'd been arched,

A tree branch forced into her from behind, chunks of flesh torn from her back, neck and breast. But despite a career of such heinous deaths, none have hit me more since Quincy's murder. I worked under the wing of a good man, supervisory special agent Bill Johnson. We fought tooth and nail to bring down the swarm in 2012. Over the course of the six-year investigation, we heavily bonded. He contracted lung cancer in 2010 and was given six months to live. He hid it from the bureau, knowing they'd pension him off. I helped him balance the investigation with chemo and appointments.

That tough son of a bitch made it another 18 months. He died on July 3rd, 2012. The day after the last swam member was put in prison. His death hit me hard, real hard. I don't think I would have pulled through, it not been for Peter Quince. Soon he became to me what I was to build.

We became partners, friends, brothers, and that asshole took him away from me in the worst way imaginable. It didn't matter how many high-profile targets I went after or how many violent gangs restocked while I knew Robert Cassidy

was out there somewhere. I couldn't think about anything else. As the team loaded up into the convoy to make the 170-mile journey to Laredo. The deputy director approached me. Agent Rodriguez, everything set up for this up, he asked, a little concerned. Everyone at the bureau, including the chiefs and commanders, knew I hadn't been the same ever since Quincy's murder. All set, I answered. The confidence of my answer was half-masked by an exhausted sigh. I was tired of people looking at me

differently. I know you've had a tough few years, James. I do. But ever since Waco, the Texan people have never had much faith with the Bureau. You throw in the fact that we let Cassidy flee to Canada whilst having a dead cab driver on the slab, well, you can imagine the sort of shit we get on Twitter. I answered, treating his question as a rhetorical one. Public faith is one of the biggest issues the Bureau is facing. Look, this operation goes smoothly. today, i.e. no civilian casualties. Then, I think, bringing down the last piece of the swarm puzzle will go a long way to restore in some of that last fate. The deputy director's tone was suggestive and assertive. And, uh, if this operation goes well, I want permission to go after

Cassidy. I countered. Oh, for, the DD caught himself and sighed. James, you've got to let it go. He's RCMP's problem now. I need you focused on nailing the scum who were trying to take over from the swamp. Those fuckers control the cartels, the biker gangs, the mules. With them gone, the battle is on for supremacy. We need you here with your head in the game.

Do I make myself clear? I looked away in disappointment, but not in my head nonetheless. Then go get them, the D.D. said, with a wink. I turned and joked over to the... the convoy where one of my team was holding the door open for me. James, the D.D. shouted for my attention. Yes, sir, I turned my head.

The D.D. thought for a second and decided to throw me a bone. That psycho steps one foot onto American soil, and he's all yours. You have my word. I grinned and nodded in approval. Close the SUV door behind me, and the convoy headed out to the San Antonio HQ. heading towards Laredo. The atmosphere was tense as we passed Encin up, knowing we were no more than 40 minutes

from what could be an extremely violent confrontation. Quintero had been responsible for the murder of four federal agents and the abduction of a fifth. Bringing him in alive would have endless possibilities when it came for intel on other potential gang members trying to take over the swarm's patches. However, everyone in this convoy had a magazine with Quintero's name on it. I could see it in their eyes.

Lethal force was authorized for this operation, but any civilian casualties would be a big no-no. I pulled out a map and began to remind the agents of the plan. Surveillance teams in place confirmed Quintero is still at the stronghold. He's surrounded by his four generals. Now bringing this guy in alive would be great for leads on other O-CG investigations, but the likelihood that these guys will come quietly is next to zero, So, weapons are the ready.

Remember your training, watch your corners, and if you need to shoot, don't hesitate. The convoy, having met up with local law enforcement from both sides of the border to assist in the arrest, rolled up to the compound gates. The doors of the vehicles opened, and everyone hopped out, using the doors for cover. Omar Quintero, along with around 10 to 12 armed men, turned to face the gate. They raised their weapons and pointed them at our vehicles. I held up a megaphone and spoke into the mic. Omar Quintero, this is the FBI. We have a federal warrant for your immediate surrender into federal custody

on charges of the exploitation of children and the distribution of narcotics. Now we would much prefer it if there was no bloodshed here, but if... My sentence was cut short by Omar Quintero, turned into one of the sheds and whistling hard with his... fingers. Out stepped three huge men all with guns pointed at three eight-year-old children. They all look terrified. And my megaphone shattered the pieces as a bullet struck the plastic and penetrated my right shoulder. In my earpiece, a voice said, lethal shot available on Quintero. In my head, I heard the voice of the DD saying, no, civilian casualties. I looked at the face

of those terrified children and held my hands up to Quintaro, indicating that we were backing off. He lowered his gun an inch, as I turned to signal to the federal agents and local police that the bust was off. However, someone on my team clearly had another agenda. Quintero's skull popped like a water balloon as the bullet cracked him in the forehead. His limp corpse fell back on the ground, leaving a mist of blood and brain lingering in the air. And as soon as his body hit the floor, all hell broke loose. Bullets flew from the compound,

and bullets returned into it. I looked around frantically, totally caught off guard by this melody, when a bullet threw right through a gap in my cover and burst through where my upper chest met my deltoids. I fell to the ground in pain. The pulsating throb of agony set my arm and shoulder on fire. My ears rang like a church bell from the noise of the bullet impacting the metal of the car.

I slumped down, blood pouring out of my arm. I tried to put pressure on the wound, but the blood was pushing through the space in between my fingers. Began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. All the while the sound of gunfire, tear gas and screams of pain penetrating my damaged senses. But everything quickly went black. Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show.

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I woke up in the back of an ambulance. The gunshot wound was being treated by a medic. An oxygen mask was helping me breathe. I sat up slightly and looked over the top of the mask and out of the ambulance doors. Ten body bags lay on the ground, just outside the compound gates. I didn't know whether they were ours or Quinteros. I squinted my eyes and focused my blurry vision with the morphed. and completely kicking my ass.

That's when I saw that three of the body bags were child size. I slumped back on the stretcher and shed a tear to myself. A few days later I was sat outside the deputy director's office. The door opened and he called me in. His face was one of regret and reluctancy. This wasn't going to be good. Even though the gunshot wound had healed, it was still incredibly painful.

and I winced as I rose from my seat. Take a seat, James. Deputy Director Ray offered, and I complied. As I sat down, the DD did too. He spun in his office chair and looked out of his huge 12th floor window across the San Antonio Skyline. He sighed. Nineteen dead.

Three bureau, eight gang members, Quintero and his generals. Three hostages. All kids, he said remorsefully. I thought I was quite clear about no bloodshed. He continued. Sir, with all due respect, I tried to call it off. As soon as I saw those kids, I called it off. Someone ignored me.

They shut and killed the target. His men fired back. One of them hit me, and I lost consciousness shortly after. I had no control of what happened after that. I counted. He shook his head and sighed heavily as he spun back around in his chair. The agent whose bullet we pulled from Quintero says he told you via earpiece that he was going to shoot him. He says you didn't disagree.

I didn't authorize him either, I snapped. Then sighed, checking my tone and at it, I was busy waving it off to Quintero, getting him to lower their weapons, I informed him. Had there been no civilian casualty, then we'd look like a heroic outfit, sacrificing our own men for the greater good and the protection of the Texan people. After Waco, we needed a better result than kids being shut down in crossfire that we'd started. Right now, we look like we can't apprehend a shoplifter without shooting the cashier, and someone needs to be held to account. His gaze told me everything I needed to know.

And that's me, isn't it? I couldn't help? let my temper slip. You've not been right since Quincy, James. You were the commanding officer. You authorized lethal force to your men and when one of them said he had a shot, you didn't respond. I think the time's right for you to call time on your career, before we have any more incidents like this. I don't want you tarnishing what, up until recently, has been one of the most distinguished careers in the bureau, said the D.D. This is bullshit, I replied, shaking my head. You'll release an official statement regarding the loss of life whilst under your command, and you'll step down from the FBI.

In return for this help in restoring public image, you'll retire on full pension and benefits. You'll also receive a lump sum payment to your salary up until your 62nd birthday to compensate for your early retirement. He began to slide a contract over the desk to me. Sir, I took a bullet in the line of duty. I've given my life to the Bureau. I have so much more to do here.

What? You mean like Robert Cassidy? He asked, cocking his head. Let's face it, James. Ever since Quince was killed, you've not been the same. He worked you way up the ranks under the wing of Agent Johnson. Now, you two were instrumental in bringing down

the most violent gang this outfit has ever investigated. There's no denying that. But you saw how obsessed Bill was with the swarm, alienated himself from his family, his friends, his colleagues. You're the only one that he told about the cancer. Well, Robert Cassidy is your swamp. Words hit hard with the truth. I gritted my teeth, unable to argue. Look, James, I won't lie. You won't come off great in the press, but here in these holes, no one will ever breathe a bad word about you. You're one of the most respected agents to ever serve

here. I mean that. Come on. seven years pay imagine what you could do with a million dollars before tax you'd get away from here far away started fresh well the deputy director really sold the idea i'll give him that the bureau was all i'd ever known however ever since i left the academy in quantico in 1993 i'd given my life to catching serial killers rapists drug lords traffickers bag robbers and now i'm just meant to walk away because the top brass wants to look good on social media. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I knew I didn't have much choice.

Oh, fuck, I sighed heavily. Where do I sign? The papers were pushed under my chin, and I reluctantly pulled out a pen. Oh, and James, the deputy director fished around in his desk drawer. I looked up from signing my career away. The DD slipped a small business,

caught over to me. He said, Inspector Francis Holloway, R. CMP. I looked up with the deputy director, slightly confused. He smiled. Look, what you do with your life is now your choice, James. If you want to spend your retirement chasing ghosts instead of your dreams, then be my guest. But there, that's the officer in charge of the Cassidy case. I've already taken the liberty of calling him. he's happy for you to assist on the investigation as a consultant if that's what you really want. I looked at it intently. I looked up with the deputy director. I thanked him and shook his hand hard.

I'd entered that room as supervisory special agent Rodriguez. I left that room simply as James. Around a month later, the check had come through from the bureau. $697,667 after tax and annual leave. I wasted no time in spending the money. I booked a plane to Canada and arranged a rental car for when I got there, and within a day or so I packed up a month's worth of stuff, and I was on a flight to Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Once I arrived in Canada, I got myself set up in a pretty nice hotel for the duration of my stay. After all, I could afford it these days. I made my way to the Starbucks near Sergeant Park. Despite the fact that I was technically unemployed and in a country where I didn't know a soul, I can't explain it for the first time in years I actually felt like it was right where I should be. A slightly overweight and receding man sat at the back of the cafe, nursing a coffee in his own private boot.

Had it not been for the RCMP uniform sticking out like a sore thumb, I'd have written him off as just another middle-aged man broken by life. As I made my way over to him, I fixed my tie and cleared my throat. Special Agent Rodriguez, the man said as he began to rise from his seat. A signal for him to stay seated, and I slid into the booth. Um, he's retired Special Agent now. You must be Inspector Holloway. We spoke on the phone, I said, shaking the man's hand firmly.

Ha, I don't think he ever really retire from this sort of work. I mean, you're freezing your cock. off in Winnipeg and steady toasting your balls in Florida, am I right? Inspector Holloway came across like Canada's answer to Matt Damon in the departed. Thankfully, I love that movie. I smiled. Right indeed, I answered, a little cornered by how true his statement was. Hey, I read the papers, you know.

I saw your retirement wasn't the most honorable. That shit were those gangbangers at the border. Messy business, man. Yeah, well. It was a complex operation that had many risk factors, and I... He cut me off, waving his hands with a mouthful of toast. He washed it down with some more coffee. Come on, agent.

I didn't float up Lake Winnipeg on a bubble. I know a scapegoat when I see one. Takes one to no one, believe me. That level of betrayal can mess people up. Besides, I knew he was taking the bullet for the bureau the minute that your director called me last week, informing me that you may be coming up north in regard. to Robert Cassidy.

Holloway's smile gave me the impression that at least the DD had some good words about me. What did he say? A prod, fishing for the compliments. Said you're a stubborn bastard with a Robert Cassidy-sized stick up your ass, Holloway answered, taking a swig of his coffee. Hmm, my mustard. Inspector Holloway couldn't keep a straight face any longer, and he smirmed. He placed his cup down and put on the most serious demeanour.

I'd seen of him, well, since we'd met. He also said that you'd given your life to the FBI. He said you were one, if not the, most dogged investigators he'd ever seen. He said you're part of the operation that brought down the most ruthless criminal organization in the history of North America. He also said that you know more about Robert Cassidy than probably Robert Cassidy does. He also mentioned that Cassidy... He said that Cassidy...

Cassidy. Tortured my best agent with a blow torch until he died from circulatory shock. I finished his sentence for him. His eyes widened and he looked lost for words. Look, I was going to say murdered, but yeah, boss said it was bad. It was, and I do know a lot about Cassidy. Enough to know that when he fell from that building, I should have ordered a fast-tracked post-mortem.

I don't know if he was seeing that. the melted eyeballs and blistered facial tendons of a man had known for five years, or if it was just plain stupidity and complacency. But I saw him get hit with a hammer, fall off a ledge, go through glass and steel before crashing into the ground. I just wanted to believe he was dead so badly. Justice was far from my mind at that point. I again kiss my teeth in anger.

Come on, agent. I've read the file. Eight-pound sledgehammer to the jury. 20 foot fall, plain a glass, steel roof, concrete floor. 99 out of 100 agents would assume he's dead. I appreciated him trying to justify my mistake, but it didn't help. Well, I should have been the one. My outburst caused every other coffee drinker in the Starbucks to turn and look at us.

Once I became aware of that, I dialed it down. I knew him better than anyone. The man has an IQ of 150. The man doesn't just have a plan B. He has plan B's all the way to fucking Plan Z. Then, take into account, it was a teenager girl who hit him with a hammer. And professional wrestlers like McFoley make a career out of falling 20 feet and not dying. What else? Single plane of glass. Steel of the roof was heavily rusted. Still, you're right. We'll kill most men.

That's the thing. Robert Cassidy isn't like me. most men I don't really think there's a word for what he is my sentence faded out as I lost myself in thought look I'm no social worker or nothing I don't think either of us want to be sitting here dwelling on what we wish we'd done differently it's about what we do now right I agreed to meet you today because I was assigned to this case when the letter to Robert Cassidy's ex-wife Amy Edmonds was traced back to here and before that letter we had to an unsolved murder of a young male in the Fort White area. We really didn't know what to make of it first.

We assumed it was part of a conspiracy to rob a bank which went sideways. In the end, we had a lot of dots and nothing in the way to connect them. That was until we received the intel on Cassidy. Now it looks like this might be his first murder here. The inspector began to pull out some files from his back. And believe me, we need all the help we can get. curiously I asked First

Inspector how many bodies were turned up in Canada since the night Cassidy escaped from Florence The inspector threw a stack of folders onto the table He let me look in awe at the pile documenting the spree of violence Cassidy had left in his wake Dan victims that we know of We obviously read that he buried a percentage of his victims

in the first spree so they could be used as insurance in bargaining for life instead of death. So, like I say, ten that we know of. The inspector's turn was of a man who was clearly grateful for my help. As you can see, it's his M.O. Signs of liquor to marks on the wrists and ankles, suggesting some form of kidnap. Violent sexual assault. Victims usually sodomized with a foreign object.

Lacerations are frenzied in random, but always round the face, neck and back. sadistic torture methods vary but as you can see every victim has the chunks of flesh torn from the back neck chest and face everybody dumped in an nearby park or woodland in the winnipeg area we've no idea where or how he's living his pictures on all the relevant websites and social media pages for the winnipeg area but so far we've heard from no one who spotted him inspector holloway's mouth shrugged with bafflement and he shook his head and defeat Yeah, well, that doesn't surprise me. God knows how badly he was disfigured in the fall. We found blood and skin cells on the glass and the cabin. I guess that's why the idea of the body wasn't priority. Either way, you may want to add the fact that we have facial lacerations or scars to your poses. I'd also add that he wears disguises, especially to lure his victims.

Amy Edmund said she found a card transaction on her statement for a fancy dress store in Michigan. She called the store and asked what the purchase was. The store informed her it was a police uniform. Amy said in any other circumstances she'd assume it was some sort of role play fantasy for an extramarital lover, but she knew something was really off about Cassidy. I replied, giving my opinion. To his credit, the inspector was taking a lot of notes now. This is good. It's really good. Thank you. Listen, these files are my copies. My superintendent, having spoken with your former COs, has authorized your clearance to assist on this case. Please take those files with you back to your hotel. Get familiarized with the

case and attend this briefing tomorrow morning at these offices. He said, invitingly, sliding the files over to me along with a business card. It read, RCMP-NP, Portage Avenue, Winnipeg, Mb, R3C 3K2 And written over the top in Blue Barrow, Inc, was 9.35am. The double whammy of exclamation marks indicated to me that the superintendent was a stickler for punctuality. That night, I looked over the case files. Each folder stacked with three inches of paper

documenting the heinous actions of Cassidy since entering the country. It's clear to me that Robert, despite being in exile, was as frenzied as ever. If anything, he was becoming more and more vicious. I attended the department briefing the next morning, and I was brought up to speed on everything the RCMP knew about Cassidy, and I shared my extensive and personal knowledge of Robert Cassidy. I informed the RCMP that Amy Edmonds had confided in me

that during their intent standoff at the Fort Worth Tower, Cassidy had claimed that his spell inside a maximum security prison that caused certain realisations. He'd revealed that he either wanted to kill or be killed. Nothing in between. In the event of arrest, he would not come quietly. From the briefing, I'd learned of all eight women and two men that Cassidy had murdered on this side of the border.

His so-called Canadian kill count to date took his grand total to 43 people, again that we know of. As I expected, and as soon as, Holloway had said, the women were all kidnapped, brutally raped, mutilated and eventually killed. Each body found with an alarming number of blade entry wounds, teeth marks with chunks of flesh torn mainly from the back and neck, skulls fractured from blunt force trauma, various items forced into the anus, vagina and mouth. The corpses were always dumped in a woodland area,

close to the sight of the original abduction. More gore, more torture, more brutality. I'd seen this before in serial killers, or Cassidy's bloodlust was at its peak. The too many killed were much more straightforward. One of them was a bank clerk, killed in his own home. He'd been beaten with a claw hammer that was taken from his garage. The investigation into his murder led Holloway to some CCTV footage from that day in the bank,

showing that the clerk had met with a man known as Roger Curtis. Now, this is where it becomes interesting because you see, Roger Curtis was the second male victim. He went missing shortly after Cassidy's escape from custody. Curtis was an extremely wealthy, homosexual socialite, who was known for his extravagant personality, wild parties and chronic drug abuse. It's likely he met Cassidy in a bar and they went back to Curtis's residence for sex or drugs for both. On the day of the bank clerk's death, Curtis returned from his hiatus, suspected to have travelled to Miami or Los Angeles for around 12 weeks to visit friends and clubs, but he had returned when his money began to dry up. The bank clerk, whose name was Adam Griffiths, served Roger Curtis at the bank, as he requested to take out a substantial amount of his trust fund. However, unbeknown to Cassidy, Griffiths, who was also a party-loving homosexual man,

had met Roger Curtis before, through similar haunts and overlapping friendship circles. The CCTV tapes at the bank had no audio, but the RCMP had a lip reader analysed the footage. From what the lip reader could tell, the transaction went pretty smoothly. Curtis provided all the correct documentation and answered all security questions. The clerk, though, was clearly struggling with his identity. He'd obviously not met Roger Curtis enough to definitely know it wasn't him, but he clearly met him just enough times to have doubt. At one point in the transaction he asks,

Sorry, but I'm sure we've met. Yeah, remember, Moonies. To which Curtis responds with, Moonies. Griffith smiles and nods. It was a question to try and catch this man out. Curtis stares at Griffiths for a few awkward seconds before simply replying with,

there isn't a bar called Moonies. Griffith then chuckles awkwardly and says, Oh, isn't there? Oh, I must be thinking of somewhere else. The rest of the transaction seemed rushed, and while Curtis got his money, claiming he was going abroad, Griffiths kept taking a second glance at this Curtis. Meanwhile, he never took his eyes off, Griffiths.

There was no reason for anyone in RCMP to believe this man was Robert Cassidy. In fact, his hair, clothes, and even posture matched that of Roger Curtis. But I just knew it was him. Call it a sixth sense. It's unclear what occurred after. Clearly, though, Cassidy had realised Griffith's could cause him problems. Whether Griffiths would have raised concerns to anyone or not, it was irrelevant. Cassidy would not take that chance.

He likely followed Griffith's home, gained access to his house by false pretenses, and proceeded to murder him. The deaths of both these men came to light after Adam Griffiths. Griffiths made his way into work one day and, using his staff pass cards, entered the vault, stole over 12,000 from a number of safety deposit boxes, and simply walked out of the building. The bank reported the theft to Winnipeg PD after seeing the act on CCTV, raided the home of Adam Griffiths to arrest him for robbery. Here they found his body face down on the living room floor, arms outstretched towards his landline telephone, his skull caved in like a watermelon,

and the claw hammer still lodged inside. His work clothes and work passes were missing. No money was recovered from his house. Inquiries led Holloway to Robert Curtis, and after the strange altercation between them the previous day, decided to arrest him for questioning. However, when his house was raided, they also found him dead, except he was dismembered and stuffed in a suitcase in his attic.

A post-mortem highlighted signs of torture prior to death, most likely to obtain his bank details. Cassidy was out there somewhere with plenty of cash to fund his activities. Over the course of the next week, I transformed my hotel room into Robert Cassidy Ground Zero. You know how detectives have the crazy wall loaded with theories, motives, pitches and timelines in their evidence rooms. Yeah, well, this was like a crazy room. I couldn't even tell you the colour of the wallpaper in my hotel,

as from my own case files and the copies given to me by Expector Holloway, I covered the walls in timelines of CCTV, witness statements, murders and so on, profiling Cassidy's whereabouts over the past two years. Since arriving at the hotel, I'd befriended a nice housekeeper named Ramos. I informed him that my room contained top secret information, and he was to simply leave any fresh towels and sheets outside my door, and I'd tend to them. The kid agreed to my wishes and never deviant. from this once. In fact, he tended to go one better and hand them to me himself.

I lied Ramos, and I tipped him well. From what I deduced myself, as well as information obtained at the department briefings at RCMPHQ, Cassidy had bedded down in the Manitoba area for the most part. The letter he'd sent to Amy Edmonds was posted from Winnipeg, and his first Canadian victim, Roger Curtis, lived in Winnipeg. He'd killed Curtis at some point. He'd killed Curtis at some point. in his first few days in the country. Then, when his cash had dried up, he attempted to con some more money from the bank, where the Adam Griffith's incident occurred.

CCTV from train stations tracked his movements out of Winnipeg, shortly after the bodies of Curtis and Griffiths had been discovered. However, over the course of the next two years, eight more victims, all-female, turned up in the Winnipeg area. When Cassidy was active in the US, he never killed anyone in Texas while living in San Antonio with Amy. He fabricated a fake curing job to explain him leaving the area on a regular basis.

Once arriving in a specific location, he'd hold up in a motel, head out on a night into a busy city, where he'd use all sorts of different methods to lure unsuspecting females to their death. He would fake being mugged, heart attacks, ask for directions, or for lifts to extremely drunk girls, and so on. He would always rent a car, in cash of course, use this vehicle to abduct women and take them to a place where he could carry out his heinous actions.

He'd then dump the bodies, clean the cars and return them to the renter. He'd burn his clothes and buy fresh ones. He'd rub all his victims of the cash on them, and then he'd also let himself into their homes with their keys and take what cash and valuables they had in the house. He'd then return home to Amy, claiming the money was his wage. Cassidy would have had around $28,000 from Curtis's trust fund and his robbery of the HSBC bank in Winnipeg,

enough to find him accommodation in some out-of-the-way town in Manitoba anyway. Enough to rent cars and get them cleaned, I thought to myself out loud. I made a vocal note to advise Inspector Holloway to monitor all rental cars purchased with cash in the Winnipeg area from the time of the last murder. also made a memo about potentially staking out car washes in the Winnipeg area, hoping to catch him in the act after the next murder. The timeline of the murder suggested that his bloodlust was at an all-time high, meaning the next death was lightly imminent. And I couldn't have comprehended just how right I was.

On what would kick off the most insane 24 hours of my life, I left the hotel bar. I stumbled to the liquor store across the street, and purchased a bottle of something to help me stay numb. As I got to my floor, I saw that young Ramos was waiting outside my room with my fresh towels and sheets. He was also ready with his master key. I made a bad habit of losing my room key, so I gave him a smile and a friendly nod. Rough night, Mr. James, Ramos asked, eyeing the bottle.

I sighed. Rough life, Ramos. Rough life. Thank you for the towels. I'll try to look after my key much better, I promised, the embarrassment simmering. It's usually two dollars after the first replacement, but I won't tell you more, Mr. James. I'll always help you out, he said, smiling at me. He wasn't fishing for a tip either. He was just genuinely a nice kid.

Earlier in the week, Ramos had confided in me that he and his family had left Mexico when he was just a little boy to get away from the cartel war zone over their back fence. however they'd moved to L.A. and West Adams wasn't much of an improvement. They moved to Winnipeg last year, after his father had died. He told me his mother also worked in another nearby hotel. They both worked a hundred hour weeks to pay their bills. He described it as getting by. So I gave him a $30 tip for having the audacity of using the words rough life to a boy with his upbringing.

He stood his card into the lock and opened the door for me. I thanked him and said good night I entered the pitch black room and flicked on the light I was greeted by the graphic images of Robert Cassidy and his crimes against women and males alike I sat on the bed pour myself some more hard liquor and got to work blocking out the stuff I wanted to forget

I walked across the grass the night was dark the air was cold and it was all by myself The black body bag sat ominously on the still gurney. The backdrop was a safe house. The door was open leading into a swallowing abyss. I walked up to the body bag. There was something in it.

I pinched the zip, closed my eyes tight and pulled it open. My breathing exiled in a tremble. I opened my eyes. The phone of my hotel rang loud, piercing my whiskey-soaked hangover. forcing me to grow and within. Until that night in Fort Worth, I never drunk alone. Well, I barely even drunk. How times change, I guess.

I flipped on my lamp so I could find the receiver. As I picked up the phone, the bright light from the bulb caused me to squint heavily. 4.43am. Geez, not even four hours sleep. I saw it was Inspector Holloway. This caused me to come around from my... days a little quicker. I pull myself together and answer the phone. Hello, I murmured. We got another, he said, bluntly. I sat up straight, very alert now. A body, I asked. Yeah,

it's bad, James, real bad. It's a whole new ballgame, let's put it that way, he said. I pondered what he meant, so I asked. Listen, just get yourself to Little Mountain Park. I'll explain when you get here, he instructed. I didn't even bother to acknowledge him. I simply hung up the phone and threw on some clothes, rushed down the elevator, dove into my car and prayed I didn't get pulled over. The Lila of the sun was still tucked neatly under the horizon when I rocked up to the park. Winnipeg PD, RCMP, Forensic investigators, ambulance service, Winnipeg Medical Examiner. The teams were all out in force. I showed my clearance punch. I showed my clearance to the uniformed officers at the checkpoint.

They told me Inspector Holloway was waiting for me at the tent. I nodded grimly and proceeded to duck under the yellow tape. Holloway was briefing a couple of detectives on the murder. I was confused as I wasn't aware of any other detectives working the Cassidy murders other than Holloway and myself. Their conversation was just finishing as I rocked up. Ah, James, I'm glad you're here. This is Detective Michaels and Detective Walt.

organized crime division. Jans, this is supervisory special agent Rodriguez of the FBI. He's consulting on the Cassidy murders, and he's one of the best profilers to ever grace Quantico's halls. Holloway introduced me as the detective shook my hand, when I chuckled awkwardly with modesty. Ex-special agent, I've actually retired from the Bureau. I'm just consoling on this case due to my personal experience.

Sorry, I don't really see what this has got to. to do with organized crime. I tried to ask without sounding like I thought I was their superintendent. We're just exploring the possibility that this was gang-related, possible here at a retaliation, maybe. The detectives

informed me. From my vantage point, I could just see the body. No bullet wounds from what I could see. She was naked. No gang tats from what I could see either. I could also tell from my angle that she'd been viciously raped. The signature

your teeth marks were visible too. Hardly gang behaviour. Any seasoned detective could see this was the work of a sados sexual serial killer. So why on earth would OCD believe this was gang-related? We'll let you know about the developments on our end, Inspector. We'll be in touch. The two detectives informed me as they made their way back to the parking lot. Shall we? Holloway invited. I nodded and we made our way into the tent. "'Well, mind if I make some recordings for my notes?' I asked, pulling out my dictophone. "'Nuck yourself out, James.' "'Victims are white female, approximately 26 years of age.

"'I began to dictate before I was interrupted by Holloway. "'She's a 24, actually,' he said, matter of fatly. "'I looked up and hit the stop button. "'You know who she is? "'Someone ID her already,' I asked, partially surprised. Holloway scoffed. That's what I was talking about on the phone. That's why organized crime was here.

R.C.MP, are creating a joint task force between us and them. Why? I asked, puzzled. You're looking at the body of Jessica Price. You see, she is, or, or should I say, was the daughter of Morgan Price. That name ring her bell? The inspector asked. I shook my head, unable to find any significance. Well, let me give you the lower.

down on Mr. Price. On the surface, he's the CEO of Manitoba Construction Limited, but that's just his front. Garns, drugs, girls, you name it, he runs it. He's got dirty and corrupt officials on his payroll, judges, senators,

and he personally holds major sway over the Winnipeg House Angels. There are also huge rumors in RCMP that he has corrupt officials in his pocket. He's been suspected of everything, but nothing ever sticks. Essentially, he runs the largest and most ruthless criminal network in northwest Canada.

By all accounts, he is a total psycho. But nevertheless, a psycho with some serious, serious clout. So that's why organized crime think this is gang-related. It was my turn to cut him off. This wasn't gang-related, I said bluntly. I flexed the corners of my mouth and decided to elaborate. While it's not uncommon for certain gang members to have committed or commit rape or murder,

it is however highly unlikely that a gang would rape a young female in such a sadistic manner. They also wouldn't eat her flesh or stabber in such a frenzied manner, especially if this was some sort of organized effort like a hit. No, this, this was the work of a sadist

and is Cassidy's M.O. to a T. And you're certain about that? Holloway probed. Yeah, trust me. I was second in command on the investigation as the O.C.G. and codenamed the swarm, remember? Now, believe me, they were the worst of the worst. They once dismembered a nine-year-old girl alive while her mother and I listened. But despite that, they never raped her.

They didn't bite chunks out of her. They were never out of control. It was simply to send a message, not because their bloodlust had boiled over. You see, regular OCGs use your more typical execution style. shots, throat slits, and so on. Quick to the point, so they can reduce the chance of being seen or caught. This is different. This took time.

This was the work of someone who enjoyed every second of it. And I have seen enough Robert Cassidy murder victims to know this was him. I made sure my tone was confident, which was easy because I was. Yeah, shit. I was afraid of that. definitely a whole new ballgame. Do you think he knew who she was? Holloway asked.

I don't know, but whether or did he not, looks like it's not just going to be me and you looking for him anymore. But two, is this really a good idea? I asked Holloway as we pulled into the car park of Manitoba Construction Limited. I think he's going to realize his daughter's dead whether we tell him or not. Holloway gripped. Well, he knew damn well. what I meant, though. I mean, maybe we should just tell him she's been murdered, not by who.

We don't want the Price crime syndicate joining our Robert Cassidy Manhart. With their manpower and resources, they'll likely find him first, and when they do, they'll just kill him, I said, as we entered the building. Will that really be the worst thing? The world would be better without him, and believe me, Price would make him feel everything and more that he did to Jessica, Holloway proposed, signing our names at the desk. As the elevator door closed, I added, he needs to face justice. That is justice. Holloway interrupted. That's not justice, that's vengeance, I said, shaking my head. What's the difference? Holloway shrugged. Justice and vengeance are what separate us from the monsters of the world like Cassidy.

vengeance is driven by hate pain grief loss justice is driven by passion and the will to give closure to the loss of our loved ones i looked up at holloway and stared him dead in the eye though it was victims to give them justice but didn't break eye contact until the elevator pinged and the doors opened holloway inspected me careful fine i'll make sure robert cassidy's name isn't mentioned if you're He finds out we knew, though, and we hid it from him. Well, let's just hope we catch him before that happens, Holloway warned. I thanked him for granting my request, and we made our way into the head office. Morgan Price was on the phone, swinging around in his chair, much like a Bond villain would. He was discussing some order and the time it would be delivered, failing to mention what item it was, well, I could only imagine the illicit content he was actually discussing. As he held up a finger indicating he'd be free shortly, I scanned him up

and down. Leader of a multifaceted criminal gang or not, he was an intimidating-looking man regardless. Six foot two, well-built for a man of his age, shaved head and stubble, gave him a real villainous look. His dark menacing eyes were fit for a man who'd done his share of nasty things to get where he is today. I imagined he's very desensitized to violence and torture. I was sure nothing could prepare him for what we had to tell him. Oh, sorry about that, detectives. What can I do for you today? Is that a warrant in your hair?

He asked humorously, looking at our case file. Our faces didn't know where to look because he put the phone down. I imagined we weren't the first investigators to visit this place, and we certainly wouldn't be the last. As technically I wasn't our CEO. MP, I let Holloway take the lead. Mr. Price, I'm sorry, but I'm not here tonight regarding anything involving yourself. I'm here about Jessica.

He began. Mr. Price's expression went from taunting smile to straight mouth and dead eye. I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Mr. Price. Jessica was found murdered in the early hours of this morning at Little Mountain Park. We aren't treating this as an organized attack at this time. We believe it to be an isolated incident by an unidentified subject. I'm so sorry, I really am. Holloway rushed the end of the sentence as if ripping off a bandit.

The next hour or so was exactly what you'd imagine. Words were said, objects were thrown, threats were made. The situation being as intense as it was, I couldn't honestly recall how the entire conversation went, so I won't try, but essentially after Mr. Price, went through all five stages of grief within the hour. He wanted to know everything we did. How was she killed?

Any suspects? She was raped and murdered, Mr. Price. We don't believe this to be linked to any one of your possible business deals that may have gone wrong, although we aren't ruling out anything at this point. However, a working hypothesis right now is that this was the work of an opportunistic psychopath. As soon as I'd chipped in, knew I'd made a mistake.

Price looked at me, careful. Not from around here, are you, Inspector? This question caught me off guard. If I gave my real name, it could lead a trail to Cassidy. Ramos, Inspector Ramos. I simply thought of the last person I'd met outside of the investigation.

Holloway could sense the tension in the room and dove in to save me. Inspector Ramos here used to to work for Dallas PD, but he was recruited for RCMP earlier this year. It's one of the best criminologists I know. Well, he'll find who did this to her and bring about justice, Mr. Price. You have our work. That true, Inspector Ramos?

His question was taunting and probing. His eyes still teary. Well, I won't rest until he's caught. Yes, that is true. I sat with confidence. The statement was as true as they come. I just made sure to leave out anything about what I already knew about who he was. Holloway handed over a card to Mr. Price.

Please, if you have any questions or feel there's something we should know that could aid our efforts and please don't hesitate. And Mr. Price, we are sorry for your loss. I'm sure you are, Inspector Holloway and Inspector Ramos. Please see yourselves out. He said sarcasticly. spinning back in his chair and looking out across his city most likely he was thinking which were those insignificant insects out there had the bottle to take his daughter from him

imagining the brutal things that he'd do to them as he found out Holloway and I didn't speak much on the way down it was never easy delivering that sort of news regardless of what they did for a living when it comes down to it family is simply everything to some people Just before we got back to the car, I snapped out of myself, pity. Oh God, I almost forgot to mention. Cassidy, when he murdered those women in the States, there was a pattern to his behavior.

When he was in prison, he agreed to take part in a behavior science interview to help us with another case. He confessed that he'd use rental cars when he was out to hunt. After abducting the woman and dumping her, he'd change into some spare clothes. They'd go back to his hideout, a motel usually. Here he would shower, wipe down the room, change into some brand new clothes that he'd purchased the day before. He'd dispose of the contaminated clothes via a burn barrel, and then he'd take the rental car to a cash-only car watch.

He'd have it valeted, and return it a day later to the renter. He'd then return to Texas in his own vehicle to his wife. I reeled off everything that could have been of use. So, okay. What? We call around every cash wash in Manitoba. Ask them to call us when they get a man matching his description, requesting a full valet on a rental car. Good idea, James, but the manpower required. Ah, they would be...

Not Manitoba. Winnipeg. He'll have traveled here, rented the car here. He'll valet it here. It'll fit with all the other murders in the States. He doesn't shit where he eats. He'll hold up outside of Winnipeg, but... He comes here to kill, as it's the most populated city in Manitola.

Look, it's 5.40 a.m. now, which means we have... I held my wrist up to my face and check my watch. Around four hours to notify all the car washes. Cassidy always turned up in the mid-afternoon. Never first thing or last thing at night. Too significant to potential witnesses. He'll want to blend in to all the other faces. aren't it James

don't want this to sound the wrong way but you look like shit go back to your room get some sleep and I'll call you when there's a development Holloway instructed making sure not to leave out a friendly grin thus taking the edge off his comment he said this as he

climbed into his car I promised him I'd try and we both drove away arrived back at the hotel around 7 a.m. Ramos was just doing the bed changes for my floor. I greeted him warmly, asked him how his day had gone so far, to which he replied, Steady away, Mr. James. Working a double shift today, though, need the money. He looked as tired as I did,

but the world hadn't broken his spirit yet. A smile, couldn't help it. I admired the boy. I decided not to tell him I'd use his name to Canada's answer to Al Capone. As I dug my hand into my pocket. I cursed myself, as once again I'd not gotten a replacement card for the desk. Ramos, though, was quickly on hand to let me in with his master key once again. He said he'd have me another one made up and slide it under my door in the morning. I thanked him and tipped in ten bucks. I would have given more, but it was all I had on me. I entered my room and got to work straight away. I needed to come up with a plan B. I don't know about Holloway, but I couldn't sleep at all.

I was far too busy going through my notes, finding out ways to locate him. The only option, aside from the car wash, was going Providence-wide with an APB to all residents, hoping his landlord or neighbour could turn him in. I have my reservations about that approach, though. But only could Cassidy charm the spots off a leopard, but he's also a master of disguise,

and also, well, public safety. If he even caught a sniff of suspicion from anyone, they'd be dead already before they could even be dead. pick up the fun. So essentially if this failed, we'd need to wait for another body to drop before we had another chance of catching him in Winnipeg. Thankfully, it didn't come to that, because at 2.34pm the RCMP got the call they were waiting for. A white male, mid-40s, athletic build, requesting a full valet on a rental car. The call came from Midtown Car Wash, reporting that the suspect was still there. RCMP advised the work.

to take extra time with the car, keep the subject present and that offices were on the way. I ran out of the room, tripping over my shoes, getting to the car. I pulled out of the parking lot of the hotel and floored it. When I got to the car wash 20 minutes later, Holloway and his team were already there. They'd arrived only moments prior, but I immediately knew by the looks on his face and his body language as he spoke to the car wash clerk that it wasn't good news. he just took off I did everything you guys asked me to but something smooked him

he just demanded the keys back said I was doing a poor job and jumped in the car and left the worker explained as Holloway and I shook our heads hands on our hips and defeat the officer who was here first he took off after him

you might have him by now if you'd arrived at the same time as him don't yell at me it's not my fault you guys of a slow response time the worker said hands up in the air as if didn't see distancing himself from the failure. Holloway and I looked at each other, puzzles.

One officer, me and my team all arrived at the same time. An agent Rodriguez arrived shortly after. Sorry, what was his officer's name? Holloway asked. Um, you know, he didn't say. Just said he was with the task force investigating a stream of murders. Says his team had called earlier to be on the lookout for a man matching the description he asked for. I just assumed he was with you guys.

The worker now began to look concerned. Oh, um, best show us your CCTV. I piped up, nodding presumptuously towards the office. The worker agreed, and we made our way into the cramped and disorganized office. And that was, putting it mildly. I mean, how these guys could even keep track of their tax returns was beyond me. The worker sat down at the desk, swiping his forearm across it, pushing a bunch of use. pushing a bunch of used fast-food wrappers into the nearby trash can

before apologising about the mess in an obligatory manner. Radio then, so if I just bring up the time from my call to your office, to 29 p.m., he said, checking his phone. And there, he exclaimed, pausing the CCTV footage of an image, pausing the CCTV footage on an image of a man handing over cash to the car wash worker. That him? Holloway asked as he squinted at the image.

The figure was wearing a cap and shades, so it would have been impossible to tell if it was Robert Cassidy to the average Joe. Thankfully, I wasn't an average Joe. I'd stared at thousands of crime-scene photos, mugshots, and CCTV stills over the past decade, to know Robert Cassidy when I saw it. Yep, that's him all right, I said, as I had begun to jot down the vehicle license plates. "'Hit play for me again,' I instructed the worker.

The video continued for a few more minutes. Cassidy paid the clerk, and he took a seat across the forecourt. He pulled out a newspaper and began to read it, but to be honest, it looked more like he was just hiding his face. The clerk, after pulling the car into the valetian bay, made his way into the office. The timestamp coincided with his call to the tip-off line. and noticed while the clerk was in the office waiting for RCMP offices to arrive and a man entered the car watch

he began approaching a member of staff and conversing with them for a brief moment before the member of staff pointed to the office where the clerk was as soon as the man entered the office this was when Cassidy began demanding the keys from the worker who was working on his car he left the parking lot in his vehicle shortly after

just after the car left the unidentified man and the clerk exited the office and began looking around for him frantically. Shortly after, the unidentified man began to walk out of the parking-locks. When he got close to the camera, Holloway slammed his finger down hard on the pause button and stared intensely at the unsub's face for around five seconds. Oh, shit, he said bluntly. What? I asked, reluctantly. That's Marlowe Kane.

He informed me. What the hell's he doing here? He asked out loud. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He turned to me looking extremely pissed off, but he rose above his anger to fill me in. In layman's terms, he's Morgan Price's hitman. There's no way Price should know it was Cassidy,

unless... He has someone his payroll in my department. The hurt caused by this betrayal was evident in the vener. behind his words. Not only does he know it was Cassidy, but he knew where it be this afternoon. Or unless not forget to mention that we both lied to him, Holloway added.

Oh, shit, we both said in defeated unison. So, did you see if this officer managed to apprehend the suspect on that thing? Holloway asked to anyone who could answer. I was too busy making a note of Cassidy's license plate and the direction he'd left in to answer Holloway's question. But the clerk informed him that there's nothing on the CCTV that shows such an altercation. In fact, you couldn't even see the vehicle Marlow Kane was in, let alone the license plate, or if he managed to catch up to Cassidy.

We left a card with the clerk and urged him to contact us directly if either of these men visited the car wash again. He promised he would. As we exited the car wash, Holloway walked intently towards his car. Come on. We're going to go see a friend of mine, he said, purposefully. Who? I asked. If anyone knows something that can help us locate Cassidy, it'll be this guy.

Jimmy Burns was a real weasel. To call his apartment a smack den would be described as fairly planks. The yellow stains under his fingernails and gums, as well as the scabs forming around his facial skin, told me Jimmy was a serious drug user. Jimmy was a conniving, meffed-out thief, who would, and probably had Rob an old lady's purse at knife point, just to get his fix of Class A dope. He was a lot of things, but he had what we needed, information. He was pure scum, but the bastard made it his business to know everything on the street.

Holloway and a few other detectives threw Jimmy a few dollars to put towards his next rock, and in return, Jimmy would spill the beans on whoever he needed. needed to. Jimmy, I was wondering if you'd heard anything about Morgan Price and his daughter had been murdered last night. Holloway inquired. Jimmy took a long hard drag on his cigarettes. Maybe. What's it worth dear? he asked, frantically scratching at his cheek, knocking the top off one of his many scabs. "'Oh, depends on what you know,' Holloway countered. "'Well, what do you want to know?' "'Cut the shit!' I jumped in.

"'Time was running out. "'Has it been any word about a hit on a man called Robert Cassidy "'for the murderer Jessica Price?' "'I asked, pulling out my wallets and showing him a hundred Canadian dollar bill. "'He snatched it from my hand and stuffed into his shirt pockets. "'Sorrybyers ain't heard nothing about an old Cassidy fellow. "'But the word was put out that whoever had information on the bastard "'did those awful things to that poor girl.

well, they'd be heavily compensated for such information. He finished his sentence with a wink that stuck with me. It wasn't him just being slimy. It was like he couldn't help himself. Compensated, Holloway asked. Ah, three million for the delivery of the man, alive, of course. You know, so they can torture him and whatnot. Jimmy said, once again pulling hard on his cigarette in a cocky manner.

That explains Kane of the car wash. Someone who knew about the operation tipped off price, hoping to get the payout when they grabbed him. God damn greedy bastards. Holloway stood up and tried his hardest not to kick something. I, meanwhile, studied Jimmy's body language. Something about him told me he just wasn't telling us the whole story. So you have no idea who Robert Cassidy is, I decided to ask. Jimmy scouted me and took another long pull on his cigarettes.

Nope. Should I? He answered. a little offended by my question. No, you shouldn't. He's an extremely dangerous man, Mr. Burns. Once known as the cross-lying cannibal. He's killed over 30 people in America.

Women, men, tall, short, gay, straight, fat, thin, he does not care. The only man to ever break out of Florence Prison murdered the face of a federal agent for simply calling him average. Whilst he's been in Canada, he's suspected of killing another ten people. he's highly intelligent deceivingly strong and he's one of the most sadistic sociopaths that I've ever met I let my words sink in

while Jimmy took another long pull on his cigarettes good job I've never met him then he said in a slimy manner after he'd blown the smoke in my face I tried my hardest not to break his nose instead I pulled out my card and placed it in between a CD case and a crack pipe on his coffee table

If you ever do see Robert Cassidy or hear of his known location, please do not approach him. Don't contact Mr. Price or his associates. You call me, do you understand? I'll make it worth you a while as best I can. I demand it. So where is this Mr. Cassidy now? Jimmy asked, just as we opened the door. Last siding was Midtown Car Wash.

An individual link with the victim's father turned up and went off in pursuit. We've been unable to locate either individual since. Holloway informed him. So if you hear anything, Jimmy, on either person, I'd appreciate the heads up, he added. Jimmy bit his lip in some sort of deranged excitement. His grin showed us all six of his yellowing teeth. Sure thing, Holloway. We closed the door behind us and made her way back to our cars.

You'll have that hundred turned into a pretty big rock by the time you get back to your hotel. Holloway joked. I have no doubt about that, I chuckled, unlocking the car door. If you hang around for five minutes, you'll see him scramming out of his front door and legging it down to Crystal Heights. His words had a humorous tone, but he was telling the truth. I wasn't local enough to know what Crystal Heights was, but I just assumed it was a block where the meth dealers were plentiful. Listen, I'm going to love you and leave you. Right now, I'm heading back to the office. I'm going to find out which of my men is in Morgan Price's pocket,

and when I do, I'll paint the walls with him. So I'll call you when there's a development. Holloway added, looking rather psyched up. Cassidy had his first close call today. Without being able to find a previous time where his post-murder process was interrupted, well, who knows what he'll do now. We've potentially missed our window, I claimed, furiously.

Hey, come on, James. No, this is all a bit fucked up right now, but we'll get it back on track. Flesh out the mole, rework our profile, and... Wait for another body to drop. I finished his sentence for him. I sighed heavily. He's killed enough people. Now he knows we're close to catching him.

He can be like a cornered animal. He'll be more dangerous than ever. Exactly. He just said it. We're close to catching him. He's not thinking clearly, he's lashing out. He'll make a mistake. You're the best of the best, James. You go and do what you do best and figure out what that mistake will be, Holloway ordered,

slapping his hand on my shoulder in an act of emotional support. I nodded, and thanked him for his faith in me. That night I stayed up, plying myself with extra strength coffee and pro-plus. I went through every case file, every post-charge interview, every witness statement, looking for something that would just give me a hint as to where, would be. The only time Cassidy came close to being found out was an incident in Wichita, Kansas, where he was spotted leaving the scene of a murder.

Julie Devereaux was the only victim not to be found in a woodland area. She was abducted from Park City and later found dumped in an alleyway, five miles from her last known whereabouts. Cassidy was seen leaving the area by a pedestrian, and he questioned him on the blood around his face and on his clothes. Cassidy gave an explanation, blaming a severe nosebleed for the mess. Cassidy reportedly made a hasty retreat from the area on foot. I listened to the tape from Cassidy's interviews after his arrest,

and during a behaviourist science interview, he was asked by Agent Quince what he didn't dump her in a wooded area. Dumping Miss Devereaux's body in a publicly walked street almost got you caught. Why at a risk? Did you get bored? No way, agent. Did you see, Miss Devereaux? Did I look like I was bored? I had all kinds of fun. No, I didn't have much choice in that matter, you see. The tank was running on fumes. I couldn't risk driving all the way out to Swanson Barg. If I broke down and I'd be stuck on the road with a dead girl in the trunk. Not the sort of position you'd want to be in. Okay, so what happened then? I just decided to park up across the street from this alley. Didn't look to be any CCTV or anything.

Blan was to throw her in the dumpster, cover her up under some black bags, and hope City Hall would do the job for me. There was nothing like that, though, so I did the best with what I had, and I just dumped her in the corner and covered her up with a top and some cardboard. I was heading back to the car, when I got spooked by the students. I must have still had that bitch's blood all over me because he got all nervous.

I just gave him some line about my nose opening up and I tailed it. I didn't expect him to buy it, but I just needed to give him something to think about while I split. So, you left the car at the scene? Hell no. With my DNA prints and everything in there.

No. I needed the car cleaned and back to the rental place before 5pm the next day. So when the coast was clear, I went back to get it, I drove it to a nearby motel. I always used to stay at sketchy places, you know, like where they run drugs or halls. Rooms can be a little, you know, roachy, but less chance of an upstanding citizen reporting a suspicious-looking vehicle to the authorities. Well, anyway, next day I wipe the car. down best occurred and took it to be valeted. I've expected that night to burn me, but nope, another 18 months before you boys got lucky.

Lucky? Oh, you mean when your wife outsmarted you? What's wrong, Cassidy? Got your tongue? Maybe you're just realizing that you aren't as smart as you think you are. Careful, ancient quince. It's not wise to aggravate me with attempts of attacking my intellectual vanity. I clicked the start button.

That's it. Cassidy could potentially be holding up at a sketchy motel in the Winnipeg area. Somewhere his behaviour is much less likely to be questioned. He'll be waiting for the dust to settle, assessing his options. The tape suggested, when he's thrown off schedule, he can make rash decisions based on poor assumptions. I pulled out the laptop and speculatively typed in low-star motels on Google, specifically in the Winnipeg area.

When I did, a news report caught my eye. A father of three shot in parking lot of notorious Crystal Heights Motel after meeting sex worker. Something was happening within me. A small part of me was connecting the dots, but the rest of me hadn't got the memo yet. As my deep subconscious was hard at work battling against the raging hangover, the part of me on Caffeine Riddle autopilot continued to read the article about, the shooting. A supposedly happily married man had been meeting a sex worker for regular intercourse at the Royal Palisades Motel. Upon leaving one of his secret rendezvous, he was

mugged and ultimately shot twice in the stomach after he attempted to wrestle the weapon from the attacker. He's currently in the ICU, but he's expected to make a good recovery. I read the last few paragraphs of the article, which tended to go slightly off topic and speak about the resulting crime rate or some background context of the event. The article wrote, This is just another in the long and exhausting string of violent offences to occur at the now condemned Royal Palisades Motel. Motel was once a well-respected establishment, where tourists and even some diplomatic types would use the motel's services due to its handy location in the heart of the city of Winnipeg.

However, over the last three years, organized crime was poisoned the motel's once great aesthetic. The motel is now a hotspot for both male and female prostitution, as well as the distribution of methamphetamine, earning the location, the now unfortunate pseudonym of Crystal Heights. Then, as if by magic, as if by fate, just as the pieces were slotting into their respective places, my cell phone rang. Sorry if I woke you, James, but I have an update. I don't know whether this is good news or not. I shared my concerns about the leak with the super

and he asked everyone who acknowledged of the car wash operation to surrender their devices. Not one shred of evidence any of them leaked information to Price or his O-C-G. I mean, obviously I'm glad I don't have a rat in my unit, but I really don't know where to go from here.

I have no idea how Price found out. James, you there? Well, I do. I said bluntly. I'll meet you. the Royal Palisades Motel. The Royal Palisades Motel lived up to its reputation.

The two-story L-shaped building had approximately 14 rooms with a check-in desk location on the corner of the L. As I pulled into the car park I spotted three separate males being led into rooms by half-naked women. A group of four

young thugs were lingering at the edge of the car park. As I pulled into the car park, one of the thugs approached my window. I lowered the glass a few inches. The thug flicked his chin up in a type of street greeting. Oh, pussy or a bum, he asked. I flashed my RCMP badge and he quickly turned around and retreated to his friends.

Holloway arrived at the motel around 1027 p.m., pretty much at the same time, just slightly after. I jumped out of my car and began loading up my concealed carry. Holloway jumped out of his car, walked over to me and stood, staring wide-eyed at my focus preparation of the weapon, and waited for an explanation. When he didn't get one, he pressed the issue. Jesus, James, you want to explain to me what we're doing here? Why are you going all silent hitmen on me? Jimmy Burns.

Yeah, probably he'll be it. but he's already told us what he knows and I don't think a gun will change that. Not here for information. I'm here to try and save his life. What? What are you talking about? He's the league holloway. I snapped as I sprinted towards the office and if Cassidy's alive then Jimmy Burns is in real shit. We burst into the motel office and flashed our badges at the desk club. I need to know if there had been any reservation made of this hotel in the last week by this man, I said, holding up a picture of Robert Cassidy. The clerk squinted.

He may have worn a disguise. I then held up pictures of Cassidy and other people's attire, such as the CCTV from the bank and the car wash. They seemed to strike a tone with the clerk. Yeah, that man there, the one from that car wash. He chaited in earlier this week, a few nights ago. he paid in cash and to be honest he looked at the floor the whole time i thought that was kind of shady but then again that's our clientele the clerk quipped okay great what room is he in i asked eyes darting from desk to the window making sure i couldn't see him myself

checked out about two hours ago but if that the clerk informed i cursed and kicked the counter Holloway interjected whilst I had my mini-episode. What about Jimmy Burns? He'd been here tonight? He didn't need a photo. Everyone at Crystal Heights knew who Jimmy was. Yeah, checked in the night before your mystery man. He's still here, room number six.

Next door to your man, actually. He was in room seven. I'm going to need to get into both those rooms, Holloway said, Badge on Show. Now, he added. loudly when the clerk wasn't quite going as quick as he wanted. When we got to room six, the desk clerk began to insert the master key into the lock. The thing that struck me, as he in Holloway concentrated on the door, was the window.

The entire pane of glass was dripping wet in condensation. As soon as the door opened, steam came pouring out of the room and into the chilly Canadian air. Guns drawn, we made our way into room. our pause opening for the sheer density of the steam that filled the room. We realised it was coming from the bathroom, and from what we could hear, there was water running. That was a stench in the air, not something I'd ever smelt before, but it was very distinct.

It reminded me of a seafood restaurant. I wasn't sure why, but when Holloway pushed the bathroom door open with his foot, as we held our guns out in front of us, quickly I found out what that smell was and why it reminded me of seafood Lobsters There in the bathtub was Jimmy Burns His eyes were bulging out of his skull nearly

He was naked with what looked like too badly broken legs His hands were restrained around his back And he was literally And I don't have any other word for this Cooking in the bath The water was on, overflowing onto the bathroom floor. There was a kettle on the toilet seat. The hot tap was turned to its max.

The water and the air was piping hot. Jimmy's skin looked redder than a stoplight. It had scaled and blistered to a point that made us all nearly vomit. His lips were crusted and inflamed. I didn't even know if he was able to scream. The worst part was, He was alive. He wasn't responding, but he was alive.

We called in EMTs and ERT. Even the paramedics were puzzled on how to approach the situation. They tried their utmost to get him out of the water unscathed, but it was damn near impossible. They gave him morphine for the pain in his legs and skin, but as soon as they grabbed a hold of his body, his skin just came away in their grip. The water turned a crimson red as Jimmy was hoisted out onto a gurney, and he was wheeled into the back of an ambulance. At least 70% of his skin was left in the top. The EMTs rushed him to Winnipeg General, but he died on the way there. We were told by the medical examiners that his tongue had been bitten out before he was boiled alive.

The desk clerk, as well as both me and Holloway, was horrified. I got the impression he and Jimmy were on good terms. He was kind enough to make us both a stiff drink. We all needed one. I noticed a number of cameras around the motel, but in all honesty, I expected the clerk to inform us the CCTV was just for show, given the nature of what goes on here.

However, the clerk, when we were all alone, said that the official line when cops came calling is that it's a deterrent, but criminal interests who run their own. product through here, wanted there to be some sort of footage recorded, should a rival gang make a move on their patch? And so the motel had installed a private hard drive that recorded the motel for just one week at a time. The clerk said he could be beaten up, or most likely a lot worse for just showing us this, but he said he'd liked Jimmy, everyone did. He was a lot of things,

but he wasn't a bad person in the grand scheme of things. He didn't deserve that anyway. The Clark wanted to help us in any way he could. He took us into the basement where the hard drive was hidden, and we sat at the monitor, the three of us, with our drinks, and we began to rewind the footage. We reviewed the footage from the last few days, and we saw Jimmy arrive and check in with a known sex worker three nights ago. They went into room six, and a number of hours later, she left.

Jimmy stayed. This repeated later that day with the sex worker leaving the next morning. And that night, Cassidy arrived in the rental car. He goes and checks in, and he's entering his room. Jimmy comes back from scoring some more meth. He converses with Cassidy for around ten minutes. After they finish, they give each other a friendly goodbye, and they both go inside.

Later that night, Cassidy leaves in the rental car. This was the night that Jessica Price was raped and murdered. Jimmy stays around the motel, scoring meth, Entering and exiting his room with various females. Around 10 a.m. the next morning, a man turns up at the motel. He looks completely out of place in relation to the rest of the people there. He's well dressed. He turns up in a blacked-out SUV, and he doesn't look like he's fiending for class A's.

He goes up and speaks to a few people who appear to be regulars at the motel. At one point he turns towards the camera, and suddenly everything falls into place. it's Marlowe Cain He walks right up to Jimmy Burns tells him something and hands him a car The man then gets in his SUV and drives away Well without audio

It's damn near impossible to be certain This is how it went But I'm pretty confident Cassidy arrived at the motel Knowing he was less likely to be reported For acting suspicious Than he would at a more respectable establishment And here he met Jimmy Burns

who would have likely had suspicions about Cassidy himself. Cassidy, no drug user, nor was he there with any women, and most importantly, he turned up in a rental car. Our tourists do not stay at Crystal Heights. However, his suspicions were not confirmed until Morgan Price learned of his daughter's rape and murder. Cassidy's M.O. was always to rob his victims after the murder. He'd used the cash to fund his activities, such as Plague.

paying for the room or car valid. I believe Price, having learned his daughter's possessions were taken, assumed the attacker was a tweaker, a sex-addicted, meth-head, brutalizing his baby girl, and all for the contents of her purse. Jessica Price was, ironically, training to be a lawyer, promised a retainer representing her father's criminal associates, no doubt. She would have likely had plenty of cash on her person. Her father would automatically assume that someone would take the cash straight to Crystal Heights for an evening of bump and grind, given that the motel was run by a rival organisation, it would be the best bet for someone who committed a crime against Morgan Price to spend the proceeds at a rival's patch.

He sent Marlow Kane to the motel to scope it out, spreading the word that anyone with information on the perp would be heavily compensated. Knowing Jimmy Burns knew everything about everyone in that night, neighborhood, he would have been one of the people Marlowe intended to speak to. Cassidy arrived back at the motel later that day at around 12pm. You can see him on camera being approached by Jimmy Burns almost immediately. Jimmy seems to be asking questions about the rental car. Again, with no audio, it's hard to tell what was actually said, but Cassidy seemingly offers an explanation. The two converses a little more before Jimmy nods and starts to point out

towards the road. He seems to be giving directions. We worked it out that he was pointing in the direction of the car wash. Cassidy enters his room, lightly washing off the violence from last night. Around 2pm, Cassidy leaves his room in fresh clothes, gets in the rental car and leaves the premises, heading towards the car wash. Almost immediately as he leaves the parking lot, Jimmy Burns pulls out the card in his cell and dialed a number.

Shortly after Jimmy leaves his room and gets into a cab, this is likely when he went home to meet us. Later this evening, Marlow Kane's SUV pulls back up into the parking lot again, and he makes a beeline for Room 7. He finegled the door lock with some sort of device and let himself in. Shortly after, Kane leaves the room and starts to peer through Jimmy's window. When he doesn't see him, he takes out his cell and makes a call, presumably to Jimmy.

But then he turns and faces toward the camera. We all gasped. It wasn't Kane, it was Cassidy in Kane's car and wearing his clothes. Our mouths were as wide as our eyes. I dropped my whiskey all over the floor in shock.

Holloway shook his head in disbelief. He honestly looked horrified. Kane was apparently the baddest of the bad and we really don't think he handed over his ride and threads willingly Holloway then jumped up and made a call to Detective Wash and Detective Michaels requesting them to be on the lookout for Marlow Kane's SUV We were able to give them the license plate now with it being on this tape We reviewed the tapes some more and as expected

Jimmy Burns arrived back at the motel around 6pm When he does Cassidy is waiting in the SUV. The SUV flashes its lights and Jimmy immediately walks up to the Range Rover with that same deranged excitement and climbs into the passenger side. A few tense moments pass before Cassidy emerges from the driver's side. He makes his way around to the other side, takes a quick look around to make sure no one's looking, opens the door and drags an unconscious Jimmy the short distance from the vehicle to room number six. He doesn't come out for another two hours. When he does, he gets back into the vehicle and drives away.

Two and a half hours later, me and Holloway drive into the parking lot. We thanked the clerk, who eventually told us his name was Andy. We thanked Andy for his cooperation and showing us this footage. He told us we were welcome, but in return, he begged us not to sequester the footage for evidence. Holloway assured him he didn't have to worry about that and that we wouldn't drop him in it with the CCTV's owner. We shook hands and he urged us to get the bastard who murdered Jimmy Burns and Jessica Price. I promised him we do our best and we left. I couldn't help but feel bad for Andy as Holloway just lied to his face. As if we caught Cassidy, that CCTV is evidence that he killed two people. It would most certainly be sequestered,

although that was a mighty big if. We walked out into the parking lot and reconvened at our vehicles. Holloway inhaled a sharp hit of cold, brisk midnight air into his lungs through his nose and sided out heavily through his mouth. God, it seems like for every step forward we get knocked too back, I complained, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger. Well, I have suffered from migraines all my life. Nothing new there, but there's a special type of migraines.

that hits me once in a while, a real humdinger that knows my senses and makes me want to tear my eyes from their sockets. I've only ever had four of them in my life. The first was the night the swarm kidnapped, tortured and killed a federal witness, a surveillance operative and an innocent 10-year-old girl. The second was the night Bill Johnson died of cancer. The third was the night Robert Cassidy escaped from Florence Prison. And this was the fourth. Hey, come on It's not fall apart here, James Now let's look at the bright side

We know the vehicle he's driving We know he's on the move At least now we know that Marlow Kane Isn't on the trail too He said with a wink and a slight giggle I couldn't help but smile His twisted sense of humor Hollow A was definitely an optimist

I could tell why he was so well-liked By the people he worked with My department has the plate We set up multiple checkpoints leaving the city. He's trap, man. We just need to wait for the call, and then we can move in, so I think you should go. Back to my room and get some rest. I interrupted with a sarcastic grin.

Yeah, but when I mean rest, I mean like actual sleep, you know, like a normal person. He suggested in a bantering manner. I scoffed through my smile. I can't remember what normal feels like, but I'll try, I promise. I assured him. Well, I got some things I need to put in place to make sure Cassidy doesn't get too far. So if there's any developments, I will call you. He said in a high school girlfriend mocking tone.

Couldn't help, laugh. First time in years. We were opening our car doors and climbing in when I had an epiphany. I whistled and got Holloway's attention. He looked over at me, raising his eyebrows, signalling that he was all in. I don't meet many people in our line of work that I truly respect. I think I've only met two in my 24 years as a federal agent. But now I know three.

I confessed, genuinely. Holloway smiled. It meant a lot to him to know that. He began to ask what on earth brought this on, so I interrupted him. The agent, the one who Cassidy killed, I told you he was my best agent and a long-term colleague. What I didn't tell you was that he was also my best friend. We came up through Quantico together,

but went our separate ways for a number of years. Eventually we both joined the Cassidy Task Force in behavioral sciences. We brought him down together, including a few others. He's the best agent the Bureau could want, and he was the best partner I could need. I sighed heavily. I just wished, well, I just wish I told him that before he. I looked at the floor, desperately trying to suppress the flashbacks of that night at the safe house.

I'm sure I knew, James, he answers. But I'll call you when I know something. I smiled. Just before I got into the car, I realized this confession had been entirely one-sided. That made me feel vulnerable. "'Hey, um, Holloway,' I chirped. His eyebrows and ears perked up. You once hinted, you know what it felt like to be scapegoated,

like I was with Quintaro. I left the sentence open-ended. Rather than outright asking him, well, he began to speak before he caught himself. He bit his lip hard and sighed. Maybe another time, James, another time, he suggested. appointed at him and told him I wouldn't hold him to that. He agreed and we both got into our vehicles.

He drove back to RCMPHQ to take on a few things. Meanwhile, after a detour to the liquor store, I drove back to my motel. I intended to keep my promise and get some sleep. After I'd seen tonight, however, I needed something to counteract the adrenaline. Part 3 The hotel was especially quite. quiet this evening. I walked up to the front desk and the godsend I now knew was Ramos, kept his promised and left me a new key at the reception. I made my way up in the elevator.

I pulled the change from the liquor store out of my pocket and had it ready to tip him. It was around $25. I know that some psychiatrist may say I'm trying to get rid of my guilt about what happened to Quince by being charitable to some poor and fortunate Mexican teenager in his family but it's either that or more booze. I'm more than comfortable with my choice. The door's open but Ramos wasn't there tonight. I assume that's why he'd left the key for me. I slid the card in and waited for the lock to snap. I pushed open the door and walked into the darkness I've become accustomed to. I flicked on the light, waiting for the flint in the bulb to illuminate the room. I anticipated the gory images of Robert Campbell. I anticipated the gory images of Robert

and his victims covering my walls, the dead milky eyes staring vacantly at me, asking me why I'd failed them. Except that wasn't what greeted me. It wasn't the image of Robert Cassidy. It was Robert Cassidy. Good evening, Special Agent Rodriguez. It's been a while, hasn't it? or should I call you ex-special agent. Inspector, whatever the fuck it is you do these days. Cassidy sat, his legs crossed, in the armchair in the corner of the room. He had scars, faint around the eyes, nose and mouth all from that night in Texas. He had some new wounds too, though.

Marlowe Kane hadn't gone down quietly by the looks of it. He fiddled the point of his knife into the gals. of his teeth, as if using it as a toothpick. Jimmy Burns was a big talker. Fat tongues tend to get stuck in between the canines. He informed me. Didn't know if he was being serious or joking. Not sure I wanted to either.

Began to slide my hands towards my pocket to reach my phone. Oh, come on, agents. How'd have you opened up before you could even dial the first number? He meant it as well. It's always hard to tell due to his eerie calmness and nonchon attitude when talking about extreme violence, but it was clear to me at this point he meant every word. Cassidy was astoundingly quick as well. I doubt I'd even have been able to get my hand in the pocket before he got to me.

Okay, well, you could have hidden in my bathroom, waited till I came in, snuck up behind me and slid my throat. But here you are, sat like a barn villain waiting for me. to enter. So let's just cut the shit, Cassidy. You go ahead and tell me what the fuck you want. I tried to be firm. I didn't want him to know that I was terrified. I could tell he knew, though. Hell, he could probably smell it a mile away. He began to smirk and then gently chuckled. Now, where on earth would be the fun in that? Let's be clear, if I need to kill your agent, then I will. But I don't want to.

Heck, you're the only one who really appreciates me. All these other gumshoes you'll see me as a page and a textbook. A statistic, a serial killer. But you, you, Agent Rodriguez, you see me for what I really am. He lent forwards. His smile almost genuine. What's that then? I asked in a sardonic tone.

The guard. His ardor in his words were undeniable. I scoffed at his narcissism. One in three people don't even believe in God. What everyone believes in the bogeyman. More people have dropped to the knees and clasped their hands prayed at my feet than you can ever imagine. I decide if someone lives or dies.

You all thought I was getting zipped up in a bag, but here I am, risen from the grave, just like our Lord Jesus Christ himself. He bellowed that in a biblical tone. You can't seriously deny this. I've seen and appreciate the awe you've given me, agent. And that's why you're alive right now. My world is so much more fun with you in it.

Cassidy had stood up at this point. He began to saunter around the bed towards me. I didn't feel threatened. He could have killed me at any point up until right now, and he hadn't. I didn't really buy his Ying and Yang story. He needed me for something. I just didn't know what. Cassidy walked right up to me.

His face made inches from mine. His eyes never flickered. They simply stared directly into mine. He blinked a couple of times before simply saying, phone, and holding out his palm. Like a teacher asking a student. for his chewing gum, and he grinned as I began to comply. There's a good boy, he said in his patronizing tone.

He took the phone, placed it on the table, and slammed the point of his knife through its center, three times for a good measure. I gave him a look of contempt. He scowed and replied with, you can get a new one on eBay agents. Dry your eyes. So, what do you need from me, Cassidy? Well, my activities in Winnipeg have led to somewhat of, shall we say, a complication,

he said for lack of a better word. Jessica Price, I scoffed. Yeah, you missed your due diligence there, didn't you? I couldn't help but grin, and Cassidy tried to hide his anger. He couldn't, though. He put his face close to mine once more. His eyes dead, his mouth level, his puberty. pupils dilated. I couldn't help but grow weary. James, I do not seek out my victims.

Trying to find the right fit, and they seek me out. The right ones are drawn to me. Do you think I creep around under interstates and in alleyways, waiting for some meth-fueled hooker to flash her scabby tits of me, right before I slid her from shin to chin, twist her up in some horrifying way, make her scream so loud that the children the state took from her hear her cries. Absolutely not. All my victims are special to me. The way they walk, the way they dress, the way they talk, the way they carry themselves. I could walk past 99 women in a day and feel nothing. Not a thing, but then, that special one, hundredth woman I see, if she catches my attention like Jessica Price did, oh, so elegant, so cultivated,

so deliciously aesthetic. and there's really no alternative. His gaze never left me. His eyes became intense and wild as he went through the list of attributes of Jessica Price. I could tell he was reliving the event. But now,

her father knows it was you. He's got his moles outlooking. Not that he needed reminding of this. Yes, moles. You mean like the refined Mr. James Burns. I bet he was almost ready when you found him, was he not? Cassidy's mouth flared into a sinister grin as the pride of his actions rose to the surface. I looked at Cassidy.

The confusion obviously on my face from wondering how he knew, as he grinned once more. He did that a lot. I saw you and that other gum shoo arrive. I saw you all run into the steam. I couldn't help but wonder what he was like when you found him. Please tell me, I'd love to know. He wasn't really asking. I could see his knuckles whiten around the handle of his blames.

His skin came off in the sheets. It smelled like boiled shellfish. He died in the ambulance after a cardiac arrest. Happy now? Cassidy smirked and shrugged his shoulders. Who can say, really? Am I happy he's dead? Of course.

Do I regret him being a factor in the first? first place. Of course, but hey-ho, what will be, will be. How about Marlowe Kane? Where is he? Dead. I asked sharply. What do you think, Agent? Cassidy asked, provocatively. I shook my head and disgust. Oh, come on, Agent, don't give me that. That one was straight up self-defense, although it did work massively in my favor, I must say. With his phone, clothes and car, it was a lot of all too easy to get hold of Jimmy and tell him to meet me for the pale. Cassidy said, gleefully. Despite all this fun, my time in Canada has reached his end, I think.

Too much hazel here with the Mickey Mouse Mafia after me, as well as the old Mounties, so I've decided to ditch the car rather than return it. Marlowe, luckily, had a spare Jerry can in his SUV. Imagine that. I needed to get rid of Marlowe as well, so... So two birds with one stone sort of situation. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, It's all too easy.

See, agent, I mostly have the divine powers I speak of because I said there shall be no car and there'll be no Marlowe. Then I said there'll be light, and there was light. I looked up on the light, and all the light was good. Cassidy's biblical tone was back. He almost sounded like Moses himself. I couldn't help but think this was a strange way to confess that you'd burned a man alive. You won't get away.

Between the authorities and the mob, you will get caught. I hope to God that it's by the side that'll bring you to real justice. But to be honest, Cassidy, I'm past the point of caring. I just want you where you can't hurt any more people, I said. Cassidy chuckled and shook his head in disagreement. I don't think you really will leave that. You see, Agent Rodriguez, I confess to you that I need you in my life. Someone who knows the vast magnitude of my prowess and mastery.

Someone to pursue me with everything they have, regardless of office politics. No matter how many budget cuts or department numbers get in your way, you will always chase me down. Someone who sees my work and examines it, documents it, immortalizes it. His voice was building into a crescendo. Before he added, You ever heard the story of the lion and the gazelle? I shook my head. The lion chases the gazelle because he has to.

Because he needs to eat. He's hungry. He knows if he doesn't eat, then he's nothing. Now the gazelle, he runs from the lion. He needs to keep his game up. He needs to be sharp. Because the lion, he's coming. What's your point? I asked impatiently.

You know the lion, Agent Rodriguez, and I'm the gazelle. He said, proudly. You know what happens to a gazelle if the lion stops chasing him? Nothing. Doesn't run anymore, because he's nothing pushing him or driving him, forcing him to be better, he said, passionately, fist pounding his chest. The thing is, should the lion ever catch the gazelle, then maybe he feels good for that day,

while he feasts, gauze on the tasty flesh of his prey. But the next day, well, there ain't an old gazelle to chase, and the lion gets hungry, and the lion dies. Cassidy shrugged his shoulders, waiting for the moral of the story to resonate with me. Plenty of other gazelles in the jungle, I countered, and he grinned. Not like me, though. No one that caused you so much distress. He winked.

You dream about me, don't you, Agent Rodriguez? You bet you see the faces of all the people I've killed over the years, don't you? Do you see your insecurities and self-doubts in their dead eyes? Do you see the horrible remains of your best friend in your dreams? No, no other gazelle has made you feel those things. While you seek me out and chase me relentlessly, you're scared of what you'll become once you catch me. His words cut deep.

I didn't know whether it was a fact I simply buried my head in the sand or the fact that I'd been so obsessed with this case, but I hadn't even thought of what I'd do after it was over. Cassidy could see the contemplation going on inside me. It began a long, dragged out laugh. I'm right, aren't I? You know, I read all about your mentor, the incorruptible Bill Johnson, the man who saw through the Bureau's one-dimensional views on a string of seemingly unreasonable. related in violent sex crimes, only to unveil the largest human trafficking network ever put together, chased the shock cause of the swarm for, what was it, six years? Tell me what happened the day

after the last member of sentenced in federal courts. Cassidy already knew the answer, so once again he was grinning from ear to ear. He died from cancer. He'd been ill for some time, I don't really see your... But he didn't die. Not while he had his gazelle to keep hunting. So as soon as he caught it, his life had no meaning, no purpose, nothing to fight the disease for. Don't you see, agents? You need me alive and free.

Otherwise, what do you have? No family, no friends, no job. Face it, all we have is each other. Cassidy extended his arms. sarcastically inviting and embrace you're wrong you made me sick i want you in prison running away for the things you've done to people i knew and the people i didn't so why don't you just get to the fucking point and tell me why you're here i asked getting sick of his psychological warfare bullshit then for what felt like the thousandth time tonight cassidy's sadistic grin rose to the

surface and he sauntered over to the sliding doors that led out of my fourth floor balcony he grabbed the cord and turned to me in his best game show voice he said oh let's see what's behind door number one and pulled down hard the curtain split down the middle and both sides slid apart revealing my balcony There sat duct tape to the garden chair, badly beaten, barely conscious, was Ramos. I jolted towards Cassidy in a rage. He poured out a lighter and wagged his finger at me like I was a naughty school kid. He poured the sliding door a few inches open and let the unmistakable aroma of gasoline creep its way into the room. I had a little leftover from Marlowe, so I...

Cassidy began to speak before I cut him off. I don't care what it is. I'll do it. Just please don't hurt him. Besides, you like that and every vehicle with a blue light will descend on this hotel. You'll never get away. Whatever you came here for, I'll do it. But only if you spare his life.

Please, I'm begging you. I pleaded with Cassidy. Something I thought I'd never do. Oh, you are no fun. I thought I'd least get to set him a little on fire to make you play a ball, but... Fine, let's roll. Cassidy said in a spoilt child's voice. Okay, so you'll agree that I'm one-off, if not the most wanted man in Canada.

I've got a car outside, but it's useless while I drive it. At the border, they'll likely have my picture, and it'll all end nasty for both parties. However, if a decorated federal agent who's been assisting the RCMP rocks up to the border, claiming he's heading back to the states, well, that's much less likely to arouse suspicion. Cassidy held up a pair of keys, jiggling them with his fingertips theatrically. In that moment, I desperately tried to think if there was any way Cassidy knew we had the license plate or the fact Marlow Kane was dead. No one including Cassidy was aware of the secret CCTV recordings at the motel. There was no way he knew it.

It would be a gamble, but it would be only a matter of time before the vehicle was spotted. Okay, let's go. You make a call from a payphone en route to the border saying you can smell burning coming from room 421. That way I know this room will be entered by the staff and Ramos will get the medical attention he needs. I laid my demands at Cassidy. No, he said bluntly. When we're in Minnesota and only when we've crossed that border shall I make the call. No hold-ups, we could be in the States in a couple of hours.

He'll live, don't worry. If I wanted him dead, he would be. So stop bargaining for petty requests and stop wasting my time, agent. He demanded handing me the keys. Oh, and, uh, you think of trouble. trying anything smart like, say, alerting any unarmed hotel workers, I'll gut them where they stand, just to fucking spite you. Their blood will be on your hands, Agent Rodriguez. His eyes widened as if asking me if I understood his threat. I nodded to confirm that I got the message.

Cassidy dragged the chair in from the balcony, and Ramos is dead wake causing the chair to leave heavy drag marks in the carpet as Cassidy hauled him into the bathroom and closed the door. Shall we? He invited, signalling with his head for me to get walking. We headed down the hall, making sure we weren't seen. Cassidy opened the fire escape by pushing his backside against the bar. One hand on my shoulder, one hand on his knife, resting the sharp tip against my liver.

As he put pressure on, forcing me forward down the fire escape, the blade began to pierce the skin, and I winced in pain. I said I drive, didn't I? You can put the knife away. My request came across like a sulky team. I've already trusted one wrong man today. I do a lot of cleaning up because of it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I had some fun doing it, but still, not making the same mistake twice. Cars only 50 yards away. Once we're in, I'll give you a bit of trust. Cassidy informed me, pressing the night. knife against my back. He was letting me know if I made one wrong move, he'd have my organs on a sheesh. We arrived at Marlowe Cain's black Range Rover sport. I immediately noticed the dried dirt

on the wheels and the underside of the vehicle, lightly from whatever off-road sight Cassidy got the drop on Marlowe. I didn't know, Mr. Kane, but I hoped to God he was already dead when Cassidy torched the car with him inside. I didn't hold out much hope of that, though. climbed into the driver's seat Cassidy in the passenger The blacked out windows meant he didn't need to hide in the trunk Right Towards Highway 59

When we get five minutes from the border I'll get out and lay in the trunk Now you're probably thinking Oh I'll just give the border agents a little signal And they'll arrest silly old Mr. Cassidy while he's snuggled up in a ball Well it turns out Mr. Kane carries a fair number of toys in his vehicle and this one's going to come in very much in handy. He said, opening the glove box and reaching inside.

He pulled out a live grenade and held it in his hand. Well, so to speak, he quipped. I looked at it in horror as my plan just came crashing down around me. I get one hint that we ain't going through that border, Agent Rodriguez, and I'll blow us all to fucking Tijuana. Me, you, whichever innocent, and family man decided to stick their noses in the vehicle. So it's in your best interest that we get through.

He said, seriously. He placed the grenade carefully back in the glove box and closed it. He pointed to the road with his knife. I complied and began to drive towards the interstate. Panic had set in. I tried not to show it, but I couldn't help, but catastrophes about what would happen if my plan worked. If a set of RCMP or Winnipeg PD officers pulled over our car

If I couldn't stop him before he reached inside that glove box Then more innocent people would die But still I told myself there was a chance I could He may gut me as promised but I wasn't sure if I cared As long as I knew it was his last kill as a free man And it would be totally worth it As long as we didn't make it to the border I had a chance However, as Cassidy and I began to make our way out of Winnipeg, I noticed he was directing me a slightly longer route.

I'd be following the satellite navigation instructions only for him to tell me to take the left or right and reroute back to the shortest way. I had a really sinking feeling of what he was doing. Can we just stick to the route? I want you over that line so Ramos can get the help he needs. I finish for an explanation of the diversions. But his reply broke my spirit. Just do as I say. I want to avoid the traffic cameras.

For all I know, the police are trying to track down Marlowe Kane after he showed up at that car wash, impersonating a police officer. For all I know, Morgan Price has reported him missing. Cassidy pouted a frown as he brainstormed. I looked to him. My disbelief was clearly apparent, as Cassidy couldn't help but grin. Oh, that hurt. It really does. I thought you of all people would know I'd have everything thought through, just in case I needed to leave town quietly.

I mean, did I think I'd have Tony fucking soprano gunning for me? Hell no. But life is funny like that, I guess. He smiled off into the distance, clearly amused at the irony. You're just being paranoid, I claimed, trying to hide my distress. Last we saw Marlowe Kane, he was a little. live. Nobody turned up. If anything, RCMP, think you're in the rental car, trying to get it cleaned and head back to wherever you've been hauled up for the past six months. I'd know.

That's the profile I gave them. Trust me, this car is the last place they think you'll be. I said confidently. I stared forward, watching the road. I had a sudden realization. But Holloway had asked Detective Walsh and Michaels to set up checkpoints on the city limits. I began to prepare myself to snatch the grenade when we got to it, but at the same time trying to keep the look of a man not plodding away in his mind. However, it quickly became clear. We'd now left Winnipeg and were out in the empty countryland of Providence Trucking Highway 59, just outside Eel Deschain.

We encountered no checkpoints and had avoided all the traffic cameras, nothing to stop the vehicle and nothing to flag the license plate and alert Holloway's team to our whereabouts. I groaned internally and tried desperately to think of a plan B. It was at this point I noticed time had gone by and Cassidy hadn't said a word. This wasn't normal, so I turned. He was staring right at me. He wasn't grinning, he wasn't smiling.

He was scowling. His eyes were squinted, and I could tell he was weighing me up. Amy Edmonds confessed to me that Cassidy would often give her these stooping. down us when he suspected she was up to something. Something, you want to tell me, agent? He asked intensely. Like what? I asked. Trying not to stutter, mumble, or any obvious sign of lying.

We were probably another 15, 20 extra minutes, if that. Your little Mexican friend got a bit of a pasting, but you, a decorated federal agent for 30 years. Surely knew his injuries weren't life-threatening. Yet here you are. desperate for this vehicle to pass a traffic camera, volunteering all sorts of information about profiles and RCMP's investigations. That's not like you.

His eyes became more and more hard as he became more and more convinced that I was deceiving him. I looked her out. We were in the middle of nowhere. There was no way out. I sighed heavily. The Royal Palisades Motel. The criminal gang who run their drugs, and women there, they put in a CCTV system that records.

If the cops come knocking, the clock tells them the cameras are just for show. But there's a private hard drive in a back room. They have it so if any rival gang members give any of the dealers or pimps trouble, and they can ID them. They can also keep an eye on their own too. Cassidy slammed his fist on the dashboard firmly. I don't give a fuck why some meth-pedaling bikers want to play a big brother. What was on that film?

Cassidy said, and his eyes told me he was furious. Everything. We knew you checked in there, the night you killed Jessica Bryce. We knew you told Jimmy Burns about the car wash. We knew you killed Marlowe Kane. We knew you painted yourself as Marlowe Kane so you could lure and kill Jimmy Burns. They know you're in this SUV, I said, in the most car. and honest tone I could.

You, you lied to me, you deceive me. I cut Cassidy off as he seethed as I came to a realization. Oh, come on, Cassidy. That hurts. I thought you of all people would know I'd at least exhaust every chance to get you arrested before I helped you alone. Anyway, what are you going to do, kill me?

You'll never get out of the country without me. You avoided all the cameras, so let's just worry about it. where we're going to go to at that border, I said in the most diplomatic tone I could muster. Trouch, agent, trushé, but you pull any more tricks like that, I'll go bin Laden on those coyote catches. He smiled, a little impressed with my response. His joke was distasteful, but he was deadly serious nonetheless, and I had no reason to doubt him. To pass the time, maybe you can fill me in on something. Cassidy inquired. Sure. What do you want to know? I replied. I wanted to keep him talking. The more he was distracted, the more I could try and think of a way out of this.

No one gets a drop on me. No one. Especially not a twitching method like Jimmy Burns. So I've been dying to know. Just how did he follow me to that car watch? As far as I could tell, he had no vehicle. I don't know cabs on hand either. It's really been puzzling on me. So what did the footage show him doing? Cassidy's tone was one of genuine puzzlement, sounding borderline impressed. Well, his question threw me, though. I was so distracted I didn't even notice the pair of headlights in the distance rapidly approaching our rear. Sorry, I really don't know. We assumed you saw Jimmy as a dodgy character who would know a cash-o'er. only car wash that wouldn't ask too many questions.

When you left, he made a phone call. Next thing we know, Marlow Cain is at the car wash tracking you down. No, he pointed out where some hotspons were for nightlife, and that's it. I was just doing my clueless tourist routine. Cassidy was once again staring at me. This time he looked more puzzled and concerned rather than seething with anger. I sat, vacantly staring forward, mouth slightly open, the cogs within, turning. What? Cassidy probed, after seeing my horrified reaction.

Jimmy Burns may have told them about the car, but he never knew where you were that afternoon. He didn't leave the motel until an hour after the car wash incident. They found that out from someone else. I was thinking out loud, digging back through my exhausted and hung over mine, trying to piece it together. Till we learned about Jimmy, we thought the leak was internal, but Holloway said there was no...

My sentence was cut short by a flashing blue and red light, a loud siren and firm clash of bumpers. Cassidy was peering through the tinted windows to see what we were dealing with. This was my chance. I leant over and ripped open the glove box, throwing my hand on the grenade.

Cassidy's head snapped back to me, his anger present. He drove his blade right into my quad. I screamed in pain, but in one last act of defiance, I forced the grenade into my left side pocket, making it much harder for him to retrieve it from the passenger side. Cassidy twisted the blade in my leg, causing the white-hot agony to radiate throughout my entire leg.

I swung the wheel to the left as violently as I could. The SUV dragged off the road and plowed nose first into a shire. shallow ditch off the side of the highway. The front left corner of the vehicle's chassis hit the opposite side of the banking, causing the car to halt violently. Cassidy hit his head on the dashboard firmly, not enough to knock him out, but he was certainly wobbled. I was busy trying to remember, through the adrenaline and pain, whether or not I should pull this knife out of my leg. Before I knew what was going on, the driver's side door was being ripped open, and Detective if Walsh pointed a gun in my face and ordered me to show him my hands.

I turned into the beam of the flashlight. Walsh's face screwed up impasselment. Rodriguez. I threw my head down to reveal Robert Cassidy trying to pick the passenger side door open. The glass of the window shattered outwards onto the road and the heavily damaged door swung open. Freeze, Walsh commanded. Cassidy ignored him and began to climb out of the car. Walsh fired a shot, which clipped Cassidy's shoulder, blowing a hole in his flesh.

He screamed a curse before falling forward out of the vehicle and onto a pile of dirt, blood and broken glass shots. Walsh put down his firearm. Just stay here, yeah. Back-ups on its way. Made his way around to the other side of the vehicle. I looked over my shoulder. I threw the back of the vehicle. Another car was rapidly approaching. everything started to make sense now. Stay right where you are.

We got you, you son of a bitch, Detective Michaels claimed. Both detectives had their firearms aimed at Cassidy as he lay on the ground. As I climbed out of the driver's side and limped around the car, I decided to open up the rear door and find something to aid my position.

On the floor was a pistol, a glock. I assumed this was Marlowe's before Cassidy got to him. I let the magazine slide out into my horror. It was empty, although I guess Walsh and Michaels didn't know that. With a knife still handled deep in my thigh, I limped around and it like a pier around the bumper of the car. The two agents still had Cassidy pinned down,

ready to fire at him if you should try anything. I heard one of them say to the other one, he's nearly here. I looked up the road and saw the vehicle from early. It was no more than half a mile away. Morgan Price and his thugs would be here soon. Not only would they murder Cassidy, they'd murder me too for being a loose end. The SUV was trashed and clearly had some sort of tracking device in it,

but Michael's and Walsh's squad car on the other hand, well, that looked just fine. The engine was still running too. "'Put your fucking guns down!' I shouted, protruding from my cover and aiming my unloaded weapon at the two offices. Agent Rodriguez, what are you doing? Did you hit your head? Walshast, half concerned, half furious.

Put that firearm down and go and wait in the back of the car, Michael's added. You corrupt assholes. I'm not going anywhere with you. You two are not handing him over to Morgan Price for the payoff, I ordered, slowly but surely making my way around the vehicle. I backed up towards Cassidy and whispered. Can you run? to which he smirked and replied

Ron Ware Their fucking car I responded Not taking my eyes off the two detectives in front of me They were making their way towards me Holding their guns slightly off aim And their hands up as if to try and calm the situation I meanwhile continue to point my gun at whoever moved closest

If we got to their car You just tell me my only option is to hand myself in I can see why you want to run I'll take my chances here Cassidy said Now sat upright His hand covering the bloody wound in his shoulder Besides

You ain't going far with that thing stuck in you He said Referring to the knife still agonising Every fibre of my right leg I hated to admit it But the son of a bitch was right The car that had been approaching Now pulled up to around 20 yards

behind the detectives and the door opened. What the hell do you mean corrupt? You're the one protecting that animal. I don't know where this is coming from, Agent, but I need you to... Well, I cut off Walsh with my own rant. The leak about the car wash could only have come from the RCMP, and we avoided all the traffic cameras, so you only knew where this vehicle was going if it had a tracker.

And whoever at RCMPs in Morgan Price's pocket it would have had to have had that information. So don't lie to me. My words were full of venom. I couldn't stand how these two detectives, who were from the organized crime department, could be in the pocket of organized crime. Then again, who better, I guess.

The two detectives' reaction caught me off guard. Their faces were extreme puzzlement. Their arms relaxed and the guns lowered considerably. We were told to come here because this vehicle was spotted a traffic camera heading towards the Minnesota border. Detective Michaels answered, perplexed. Who told you that? Well, it was in...

Detective Walsh's sentence was cut horribly short by a loud crack of noise and a flash of light from behind him. The front of his face exploded outward and his blood and brain matter decorated the surrounding area. Detective Michaels, stunned, spun around and another. a loud snap of noise and light flashed from the same area. Michael's facial skin and skull shattered inward

and a medium-sized hole burst open through the back of his head. A spray of red and smoke evaporated from the wound and into the air. The two bodies remain limp, but standing, for a few brief seconds before they collapsed to the ground in their respective heaps. Revealing to me, Inspector Holloway, arms extended gloved hands unregistered firearms still smoking at the barrel cassidy began to laugh hard to tell whether it was at me for being so stupid or how much my jaw had hit the floor holloway walked right up to him and stomped his boot into his face hard knocking him into semi-consciousness Shut up, he instructed. Oh, you son of a bitch, I screamed.

I poured the trigger in a moment of blind rage. The firing pin clicked when it didn't hit the butt of the bullet, and in that moment he knew I was bluffing. I closed my eyes in anger at myself. He grabbed the knife in my leg and yanked it to the side. I screamed in pain, dropped the empty gun, and fell to the ground alongside Cassie. He kicked the gun away and pulled out a roll of duct tape.

He secured my hands and feet together, and the same went for Cassidy, not before wiping the gun used to kill Michaels and Walsh and placing it into Cassidy's hands. He then threw it to the side of the road. Hollery pulled out a burner phone from his sock and dialed a number. Hey, it's me. Yeah, I've tracked them down. I also got those two detectives that have been prying into your business. No, you don't have to worry about that.

RCP will think Cassidy tried to kill them when they pulled over. Just follow the GPS on Marlowe's SUV out to Highway 59. I've got Cassidy here alive and kicking. Three million? Yep, we had a deal right. Transport out of the country like we agreed. Thank you, Mr. Price. I'll see you when you get here.

Put the phone down. Remove the SIM cars. dropped it on the road and stamped on the device hard. I'm sorry things had to go this way, James. Holloway said, igniting the SIM card on fire with his lighter and watching it melt. His gaze met mine. He spotted my scowl and took that to mean I didn't believe him. Honestly, I mean that.

But this was just too much of a good opportunity to leave to someone else. I really didn't know Cassidy had taken you. You were meant to be a part of this, James. But now, you're a loose end. And come on, two dead RCMP agents, one dead X-FBI. There's no way I could spend that $3 million here in Canada, not without looking over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life. The only way is to make it look like Cassidy killed the four of us and got away.

That way the manhunt is on him, not me. So I'm just going to wrap this situation up and I'm out of here. Morgan Price has me on a private jet. Case full of money, living it up in Cancun for the rest of my days. Holloway informed us, as he rearranged the bodies, making the scene look the way he wanted it to. What's the plan then, Holloway? Cassidy asked, coming round from the blow. Well, after we got ahead on the ANPR camera, we devised that you were making a run for the border. We simply didn't anticipate that you had some firepower and you killed both Detective Walsh and Michaels.

You then kidnapped me and James, so you had leverage or assistance in leaving the country. James and I will be presumed dead. Well, they'll be right about James, but I'll be free to live out the rest of my days under my new name. Marcus Brimitch, he said, waving his hand across the sky, as if picturing his name in light. Cassidy scoffed. Wow, sounds like a real asshole, to be honest. he said humorously Holloway scowled

grabbed Cassidy by his shirt collar and laid six solid right crosses to his nose and mouth all while saying I said shut the fuck up Cassidy chuckled through his blood oozing gums he broke into full laughter

as the red liquid seeped its way out of his nose and teeth making its way to his chin and dripping onto his shirt and trousers How long have he been in Morgan Price's pocket then? I probed Holloway as he eyed a convoy of vehicles around four miles up the highway heading for us. The way he rubbed his hands together,

like a greedy cartoon villain, I could tell it was Price and his man. The day Karim Mohammed and his six-year-old son were shot and killed, he answered. I looked up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't, so I probed again. Is that when you escape going? it, I asked.

February 23rd, 2012. I was leader of counterterrorism, real high flyer, believe it or not. I wasn't some cold case rapist chaser like I am now. I had a wife, kids that I saw, kids that respected me. The powers of beat decided to throw an op together without adequate prep.

They gave a shoot-to-kill order on the target. The intel told us that in apartment 56 of the Sergeant Park apartment block A terrorist, known as Allah Akbar, was building an IED, capable of wiping out its entire intended target, the Air Canada Center. The operation was rushed, so I presented my misgivings. They were ignored, of course, because the top brass wanted to look tough on terrorism. Anyway, the team stormed the flat. The occupant turned around wearing a suicide vest.

Three armed officers blew six holes in him and his vest, except two things. one of the screws on the door number had come loose, causing it to swing upside down. Those idiots, in their haste broke into a apartment 59, not 56. And that suicide vest was a chestling containing his baby boy. Holloway began to cry, reliving the trauma. I couldn't help but empathize. Ah, the chief supers, or the gunmen are fucking both. None of them wanted to admit they killed an innocent man.

So guess who was made the scapegoat? This question was clearly rhetorical. I was demoted, began to drink, lash out. My wife divorced me. The kids saw me as a bitter old drunk. I moved to Montreal eventually with my wife's new husband. Transferred away from Ontario for a fresh start. I got stuck on cold cases.

Dick pay, zero respects. I had to work my way back up the ladder. And one day I'm investigating an old, unsolved ganglang execution. My new evidence trail leads to Morgan Price. Could have taken him down, but instead he offered me another option. Bury the evidence. He paid me 30 grand.

Took it, why not, huh? Anyway, since then, I've done my best to keep him and his associates out of jail in return for various substantial payoffs. But I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. Stress, the hours. I want an end game. This is what it is, so... Really sorry, James.

Didn't want you to be a part of this, but it's not going back now. I do wish things were different. Dare I say, Holloway actually sounded genuine. Well, there wasn't much time to go into any more detail about Holloway's emotional breakdown into career corruption because the convoy had now arrived. Two jet black range rovers sandwiched a white transit van. I noticed the car stayed back around a mile,

presumably to make sure any innocent rubberneckers turned their nosy asses around and went another way. Nothing to see here. Eight men. Two in each rover, four in the van. The four men in the van were big, burly men, wearing dark combat gear with black balacarvers. The two men in the rear rover also in similar gear. They both branded saw-off shotguns. They aimed them at me in Cassidy.

Meanwhile, the front rover's passenger door opened and outstepped. Morgan Price, suited and booted to the knives, black leather gloves protruding from the sleeves of his 7,000 black wool overcoat. He approached me and the man who butched his daughter. He got within mere inches of our faces. He squatted right down and his hard, steely blue eyes bored holes into our souls. Well, well, well, Inspector Ramos, or should I say, ex-special agent James Rodriguez. The man who, who botched a manhunt that led this man, Robert Cassidy right here to Canada, he said coldly. Mr. Price, if I could just have a...

My sentence was cut short by his rock-solid forehead slamming into the bridge of my unprotected nose. The bone shattered and the blood exploded onto my mouth and chin. Price's breathing was heavy with rage. I could tell I was in as much shit as Cassidy. Crazy logic, really, but grief does things to... to people, and Morgan Price wasn't exactly stable to begin with. As I nursed my wound, the driver of Price's SUV was already out of the vehicle and opening up the rear left-side passenger door. Took out a large duffel bag and a brown envelope. He walked

up to Holloway, who had an anxious look on his face as he stared at Morgan Price's intimidating physique, hunching over my bloody body. He wanted out of here as quick as he could. He didn't want to see what they'd do to me, and he wanted to forget about all the terrible things he'd done here tonight. Well, $3 million would certainly go a long way to helping with that. Price's driver was an extremely distinguished and well-postered individual. He spoke in a very posh English accent. Inside the duffel bag, you will find 50 million Mexican pesos, roughly equating to 3,071,000 Canadian.

Consider the surplus payment for the collateral. damage, the man said, looking around at the two dead detectives. You'll also find in your envelope your boarding pass for tonight's flight with Mr. Price's private airline. You'll find a new passport, visa papers, birth certificate and other relevant papers. All of which are under your new name of Marcus Brimidge. We trust you shall be able to provide your own transport and accommodation once in Cancun. He added. Absolutely. said in pure awe, peering his eye into the bag of money, he couldn't help himself. Well, the flight is 1 a.m. Fast air jet center, hang a lane. Ask for a man named Mason.

He's expecting Marcus Brimmage. He knows all about your arrangement, he added. Understood, Holloway said, shaking the driver's hand firmly. Hey, Marcus. Cassidy piped up through a. a blood-filled mouth. Holloway looked across at him curiously. I don't think Marcus Brumage will get to spend a penny of that money. Holloway smirked and shook his head as he made his way over to his vehicle and placed the bag and envelope into his trunk.

As he slammed the trunk down and made his way around to the driver's side door, he called out. Oh yeah? Why is that then? Because I'm going to make sure of it. Maybe I'll flay you alive. Perhaps hammer sewing pins up your fingernails, or make you scream and suffer in some other truly unimaginable way. Well, unimaginable to someone like you anyway.

I personally tend to have a great imagination for that sort of thing. Especially when I have a lot of contempt for that particular person. Cassidy said, completely dead eyes. Price, Holloway, and the Balaclava men all chuckled at Cassidy's blind denial of his current situation. Cassidy's expression remained the same until he simply turned to face Price and looked him straight into his eyes I'll make you suffer and scream

just like I did to Marlowe and Jessica his dead face turned to the most sinister smile he could muster Morgan Price's humid expression turned to stone the veins in his temples began to bulge and Cassidy knew he'd struck a nerve Price fought hard through his rage so as to just stop himself shooting Cassidy here and now.

He simply stood up, dusted himself off, and forced a grin. Let's get these boys to the unit. Let's see how mouthing you are when you get on the table saw. Price then turned to the balaclava men and flicked his head in our direction. The large masked men approached us. I'll leave it to you then, Holloway said, almost phrasing it like a request. Morgan Price walked over to Holloway,

passing the group of masked men in the middle of the road as they came towards me and Cassidy. He shook his hand hard. I never thought I'd see the day where I let my inside man go, but after Jessica, I'd have traded anything to get her back, which can't happen so the next best thing is to know the person responsible has been dealt with accordingly. You've made that possible.

I can't thank you enough, Francis. but hopefully the money and the fresh start will be enough. Morgan Price grabbed the back of Holloway's neck and pulled him close while he thanked him for murdering two innocent men and conspiring to murder another. Holloway turned, opened his car door and climbed in. I then watched him turn and face me. The look of guilt was well hidden, but I could tell it was there deep down. He was just firing up his engine when four of Price's thugs began to assault Cassidy,

knees, kicks, punches, a brief but harsh melee before carrying him to the transit van and launching him into it like a lawn dart. The two men who approached me weren't much gentler, to be honest, but they didn't rough me up as much due to the knife than my fire. One of them grabbed the handle and tried to yank it out. Hey, you pull that out and he'll bleed to death before we get him to the yard. This lion piece of shit fed deserves a little more of a drawn-out process. Price commanded. His men then grabbed my arms and drag my legs behind me. The searing agony set my legs on fire.

Well, they had the grace to throw me on my back into the van, however, thank God. The pain made me black out. The only thing I can remember was the noise of the van door sliding and slamming shut. The engine fired to life, and I found. felt the vehicle began to move. The sound of my beating heart got harder and harder, faster and faster. The cold and empty safe house towered over the unkempt front yard. The night was black and full of despair. The gurney laid there, body bag on top. I approached, looking down at the form of a body inside. The beat got faster and harder, even more so as I reached down and grabbed the zip.

I pulled it back. My heart started. stopped. The van went one-up as we hit a speed bump. Maybe it was a pothole, who knows. I couldn't even say how much time we'd gone by when I came around. I couldn't say if we'd gone north, south, east or west. I didn't even know if we were still in Canada. I just knew we were still moving. I came around to see Cassidy sat up right in the corner of the van, staring at me. I looked at him, giving him a questioning look. He squinted slightly. He squinted. He was. He was He was grinning too. Hard to tell, though.

His face was a mess. Looks like I'm not the only one with a few scars from that night. Cassidy said, provocatively. Don't know what you mean, I said, shrugging off his psychological bullshit. You dream about him, don't you? Your friend, the one I killed. Wincy was it? He said dramatically, thinking and searching his memory.

Quincy, I snapped. Ah, that's it. Sorry. I called him wincy because of how he squirmed in that chair. I came out of my days quickly. I began to arrive and throw myself at Cassidy in an attempt to attack him. It was too hard, though, between the large bowing knife in my thigh and the crack ribs from the thugs, while Cassidy just chuckled and smiled through his crimson mask. That'll do, he said, seemingly pleased with my reaction.

nearly showtime, he added. I lay there considering the meaning of his words, when suddenly the vehicles came to a steady halt. The side door slid open. The masked men swarmed inside and dragged both of us out violently. We were way off the grid, somewhere with no witnesses, somewhere no one would hear a scream.

We were at an unmarked warehouse, likely a storage facility for Manitoba Construction Limited, contract, steel, lumber, drugs, guns, people, and so on. We were forced inside and into the main hangar. Two metal chairs sat ominously in the centre of the room. Around ten feet from the chairs was a table saw. Pretty large one, definitely big enough to fit a grown man on it. As we stood in the room, one of the masked men entered one of the rooms and brought out a metal porter trolley.

It was filled with tools of obscene torture Scalples, drills, pliers, bolt cutters, you name it Meanwhile, one of the other masked men Set up a camera tripod and gave a thumbs up to Price Signalling everything was good to go Cassidy turned to me and with a smile he winked He began saying to no one in particular So I guess those are the tools you're gonna use to inflate horrifying pain on me in the Fed

Price was beginning to get agitit at Cassidy and him not showing an inch of fear. Price was clearly a man used to having men tremble at his feet. Yes, first we will kill the Fed. His negligence may have led you to Canada, and he also tried to protect you by lying to my face. But he did not rape and murder my baby girl. So while his death shall be brutal,

it shall be nothing compared to what my boys have in store for you. They'll batter her maimans sever every inch of you from head to toe. Remove all your toes and fingernails, your eyelids, and then your teeth. Then they'll give you a syringeful of epinephrine to make sure you don't pass out from the pain. Oh, I want you to feel it when they strap you to that table and saw you in half, balls first. Saliva spewed into the air as Price, growled his words at Cassidy's face. Not bad, very well thought out. Honestly, bravo, especially the adrenaline idea.

Oh, I wish I'd had that on hand when I'd killed Agent Rodriguez's partner. I melted his face with a blowtorch, you see. Ah, the soft touch only went and died from the pain. Yeah, I looked it up afterwards. Circulatory shock, they call it. Honestly, you learn something you every... Shut up you, you're evil, son of a bitch. My rage had taken over.

I'd had enough of this sociopathic brush-off of my best friend, and his death being spoken about like it was a DIY experiment. I launched at Cassidy with no regard for the situation or my condition. I hid him with my shoulder and we went to the ground. My hands were still tied but our feet had been cut loose to help them move us around. I wrapped my legs around his torso and began to headbut the back of his head. In my fit of anger I completely lost my mind, blocking out the agony in my thigh, before going all Mike Tyson and sinking my teeth into his ear.

The group of men were chuckling at our tussle on the floor. Probably did look amusing with no hands involved. I didn't think so at the time. I just really wanted to hurt him. Price snapped at his men and told them to split us up. The men raced over, pulled us apart, and dragged us over to the chairs. They sat us down, arms behind our backs, feet taped to the chair legs. Price walked up to the camera tripod, looked down its lens and simply said,

Jessica, I'm sorry I can protect you from this man, but I promise I will make him suffer. This is for you, baby girl. He then turned to us both and said, As much as I'd love to be the one to mutilate you and destroy you both for your parts in this, I'm a target for law enforcement. And should anything ever come back to me, well, I have motive. I need to make sure I am far, far away from this. I need a watertight alibi should anything come back to both.

me. Or no one should ever find your bodies. A man like me didn't get where he is today by taking pointless chances. This recording though means that any time I think of Jessica, I can watch this. Give me some real comfort at least, knowing you've got what you deserve. Price's words had some real venom behind them. As he was talking though, I glanced over at Cassidy trying to see if Price had succeeded in getting a fearsome reaction from him. He just sat there, grinning, twitching and tensing his upper body and manipulating his joints in a strange, rhythmical manner. At first I thought he was having some sort of convulsion until I saw it. The bullet wound in his shoulder was now bleeding extremely badly. It wasn't that bad before,

a mere flesh wound. I didn't understand why the wound now looked so fresh and open, but then I peered down at his hand. It was contorted so his palm was facing up. In it, had just landed a small but a very sharp piece of glass. I had a mini flashback of Cassidy rolling around in the glass and dirt on the side of the highway, him sitting up his hand firmly covering the wound, applying plenty of pressure. Oh, I have to agree, Morgan, Cassidy chirped. Price eyed him with malice, the rage once again building. I wish I had used a camera, especially with your old Jessica,

because the fun I had with her, I'd love to see that again, and again, and again. Morgan Price flipped out. He stormed towards Cassidy, got right into his face and began choking him hard with his bare hands. His intimidating and tiring physique completely engulfing him. He was shaking him hard, frothing at the mouth. You sick fucking monster, how about I kill you right fucking now? Cassidy, through a constricted larynx, managed to reply. You will?

Oh, you little fucking bitches, will. Believe me, it's much more fun to do as yourself. Morgan Price's grip relaxed, and it was at this point that I realized he'd broken him. Price turned to the men and screamed, Bring him to the freaking table saw. I'm going to do it my fucking self. He seethed with wild eyes.

The masked men knew not to question, and they rushed over to Cassidy. Morgan Price's large figure stepped back from him. He cracked his knuckles and the muscles in his neck and began to walk over towards a table near the table saw. A pair of protective gloves and goggles lay there, and he started to put them on. I had no idea what on earth Cassidy's intentions were, and I was desperately trying to figure it out, so I knew how to react. I struggled against the tape. causing my knife wound to pulse in anguish and torment.

But then, that's when I realized, the grenade was no longer in my pockets. Morgan Price had already fired up the table saw and was just about getting his goggles on, where large burst of light, fire and smoke came erupting violently from his trouser pockets. The obscenely loud crack was deafening and the powerful explosion stunned everyone in the room. A large and jagged circle of black and red decorated the floor where Morgan Price took his last breath. The various parts of the once great gang leader of Manitoba were projected to the various far areas of the room. With all the masked men on their backs, stunned and dazed, Cassidy had already cut his hands free. He burst up from his seat just in time to meet the first thug and he slammed the shout of glass deep into his left eyeball.

The man screamed in abject agony and fell to his hands and knees. Two of the other men came at Cassidy. He turned to me and without a hint of warning yanked the blade from my leg. I groaned in my own laid his bout of suffering. However, suffering soon turned to dread when I saw the blood begin to flow out in spurts. Cassidy ducked and weaved under the thugs' punch and before the man could even retract his arm, his throat was opened wide. He fell to the ground and Cassidy turned to the next man. He lunged at him, trying to overpower him,

and he received a knife in the groin for his effort. The blade was retracted and then plunged into the gut. As the thug groaned in pain with the blood in his mouth causing him to choke, Cassidy pulled off his mask. The man's form rested against Cassidy's chest. He was begging for mercy. He was bleeding for him to spare him. He might even say,

He was praying. Cassidy responded, though, not with words, but by plunging his teeth into the man's upper lip and nasal area and ravaging him for a few seconds before yanking his head back. A horrible noise of tearing flesh and snapping tendons poisoned my senses. Cassidy spat the man's face on the floor and let him fall to the ground, the blood pooling around his twitching body. One of the thugs who'd been close to Price was already killed in the blood. His body was set up against the saw machine. The back of his head oozing brain matter against the sharp edge of the table.

Cassidy noticed this was one of the men who was carrying a firearm. He sauntered over, almost like a giddy child wandering to play on the swings or the slide next. He yanked the shotgun from the man's limp hand. One of the remaining two thugs came stumbling through the pale smoke in an extremely jaded state. Cassidy caught the shotgun and blew the man's head clean. apart. All it remained was a charred and mangled lump of flesh just above the thug's collarbone. I'd seen enough brain matter by this point to last me a lifetime. Cassidy was cocking the gun and now eyeing the man he blinded with the glass. He was desperately writhing for the exit.

Cassidy slowly sauntered over like a lion stalking the wounded buffalo and with no warning stamped down hard on the man's elbow. The arm hyper-extended, and the bone came bursting through the other side. The man screamed even louder. I didn't think that was possible. Cassidy then raised the knife and drove it down hard through the back of the man's kneecap. Again, the man really surprised me with a volume of his cry. Cassidy, with his back to me, began to pull the man's mask off.

In my woozy state, I managed to do a bit of maths. four men in the van two in the car six men oh shit one left and began to panic and look around i noticed behind me a dark pile of a man on the floor beginning to rise using the shotgun as a crutch the man began to stumble towards cassidy waved away the smoke to clear his view for a shot cassidy was too busy asking the man on the floor questions to notice he was now in this man's sight Maybe he got in my head and I did need him to feel like I had a purpose Or maybe I just believe in the justice system and wanted Cassidy to serve time for his crimes But either way, I decided that this wasn't how I wanted it to go

I lunged to my right with what might I had left in me And forced the chair to fall to its side The loud sound of clattering metal on concrete As well as what verbal warning I could muster was just enough to register with Cassidy over the noise of the table saw, and he turned to see the man who had just knocked off balance. Cassidy's shotgun was already cocked and loaded, so he was favourite to win this duel, and he didn't disappoint.

A loud pop, and a flash of light exploded from the barrel. The man flew back around a foot or two, hitting the floor hard. The smoke rose off his chest that now looked like Oscar Pistorius' his bathroom door. Cassidy turned his attention back to the man he crippled and blinded it. Oh, where were we? Oh, yes, where are we? Can you tell me that? Without a zip code or anything.

If I tell you, will you please let me go? The man cried, not knowing which wound to nurse with his one good arm. Of course, Cassidy answered flatly. West Cildonian Industrial Park Unit 45 Please Please

The man screamed Begging with his one good arm Held up in surrender Yeah Not so tough without your buddies and your scary masks He sighed in disappointment Amateurs

He dug in the man's pocket And pulled out a burner phone He pressed a few keys on it Before holding it to his ear Yes I'd I had to report an explosion and gunfire up at Unit 45 on West Kildonian Industrial Park. Thank you. He said politely before he dropped the phone and stamped on it hard.

The operator didn't even have time to respond. He turned back to the man who was sobbing and whimpering on the floor. Cassidy looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist and said whimsically, Police will be here soon. I'm not Google Earth or anything, but judging by where we are, I guess I've got around 15 minutes to spare, give or take. Best not put it to waste egg. And with that, he violently grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him up and over to the table saw.

He pinned him face down whilst reaching down to the control panel. He hit a few buttons until finally he found the correct one, which now caused the saw to start to make its way down the middle of the tabletop, right towards the man's face. "'But you said!' he screamed in shock. "'I lied, you idiot,' Cassidy replied. "'Actually baffled that this man didn't see this coming.' Cassidy yanked the man's hair back slightly, causing the circular blade to connect with his face,

head on. The sound of flesh-goring, bone-splintering and crunching made me feel weak with nausea, even without the huge blood loss. Finally, the sound of brain and blood spluttering through the spluttering, in his skull and spraying around the room was a cue for Cassidy to hit the emergency stop button. He walked away, leaving the man with his head still caught up in the blade, holding him in place. Cassidy now began to approach me with a knife. I gave him the most defiant look I could. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my fear when he did whatever he was going to do.

I was surprised, though, when he grabbed the chair next to me and stood it back up. He placed my feet on the chair and simply said, don't move and it should buy you enough time. He then walked over to the camera and pulled out the SD cards. He looked at it with admiration as he slid it into his pockets and made his way out of the building, just as I began to lose consciousness. I woke up around early morning the next day in Winnipeg General. A nurse was standing over me with two RCMP officials. I could see by his badge that he was the superintendent.

up for answering some questions Mr Rodriguez I nodded but the nurse reminded them I just had a major blood transfusion and surgery so to keep it brief I told the agents everything I left nothing out I told them about Holloway's corruption and how he manipulated the investigation

then murdered those two detectives I told them about the ransom on Cassidy I gave a detailed account of what happened at the warehouse everything. The RCMP informed me that they also found Morgan Price's driver with his neck snapped in the parking lot. The SUV was missing, so they're waiting for any hits on the ANPR, as that was likely what Cassidy left the area in.

They asked me if I had any idea where he'd go next. I have no idea where Cassidy is. Truly, I don't. But he knows how to avoid such cameras. The last time he escaped a situation. like this he murdered someone for their car and drove to Canada so he really could be anywhere by now as for inspector Holloway i know he had a flight book to cancun with a private airline owned by morgan price i informed them the inspectors thanked me for the information and quickly made a call

requesting someone to get a warrant for the private airline's records they told me to get some rest and they checked back in with me later i complied with the nurse and rested The next day the same two RCMP officials came to visit me. How are you feeling, James? Much better, sir, thank you, I replied. It's not good news, I'm afraid. We sequestered the flight history for fast-air jet center. A man by the name of Marcus Brimidge did in fact board that plane, he said, disheartened.

Yeah, I thought as much. I shook my head. We sent pictures to the Mexican authorities. of Inspector Holloway. If he spotted, then hopefully they'll extradite him back to us for prosecution. I don't hold out too much hope, though. There aren't many people you can't bribe in Mexico with 50 million pesos. As far as Cassidy goes, we're checking all missing persons reports over the last 12 hours,

looking for anyone whose car he may have killed to obtain. May give us an idea where he's heading, the detective told me. Yeah, I'd say that's a smart plan for now. I replied. The atmosphere was gloomy. Morgan Price may have been going to kill us, but the man had lost his daughter. The rage caused by his grief was somewhat understandable.

However, Holloway was someone who was simply angry at a career setback, although a big one, and used other people's rage and pain as well as manipulating people who trusted him into a big payday. He, as well as Cassidy, a sadistic psychopath who will go on and on murdering at will, If someone didn't put him behind bars or with a bullet, or both of them are out there, living their lives, and it truly made us all sick.

The detectives wished me a full recovery and left me in peace. With everyone either dead or missing, there was no case to answer right now and certainly no trial to stand. I was free to return to America or stay in Canada. I decided I'd rest for now and think about the next step when I'd been discharged. One morning I awoke to a lanky Mexican teenager with stitches and faded bruising, staring down at me with a smile plastered on his face. "'Mr. James, how are you?

I was told you you were here. I saw them bring you in,' Ramos exclaimed. I sat up to give him an embrace, only to discover he'd brought his mother along too. She wanted to meet the man who'd saved her son's life. They stayed for a while and asked what my plans were when I was discharged. I said I'd lightly return to America to start a PI business but I wasn't sure yet The mother whose name was Anna

Wrote their address down and told me if I was ever to return to Canada I'd have a bed and warm meal any time I needed it I thanked them for their kindness And they thank me for caring like no one else has I left Winnipeg General after five days I checked out of the hotel officially Although I was given a pretty decent discount for saving one of their staff from being burned alive, and an account of the fact I'd been in hospital for the most part.

I packed up my stuff and my files and was on the next flight back to Texas. As the plane ascended into the sky and the vast land of North America became very, very small, I couldn't help but wonder where on that patch of green Robert Cassidy was hiding. After a few weeks, I'd settled in back home. Nothing was in the pipeline workwise, so I decided to get a dog to keep me company and busy. She's an eight-year-old saddleback German shepherd from the local rescue center.

Her name's Elsa, and she's given me something to get up for in the morning, literally. One morning, we were arriving back from our 7 a.m. hike. I entered my front gate to see a FedEx employee with a large box at my door. He was peering

through the glass on my door to see if I was in. My whistle to get his attention. Oh, sorry. Thank God you're here. This is huge and it needs to sign him for. The young man babbled to me. Out of curiosity I signed. I wasn't really expecting anything, but sure I'll take it, I said, as I commanded Elsa to run inside.

The box was big, but wasn't at all heavy. I carried it inside, placed it on my coffee table and sat down to open it. Inside the box was a slightly smaller box. I opened this smaller box only to find another slightly smaller box. I opened that one too and again I was greeted with another smaller box. I was puzzled by this point but I could feel that this next box had something in it. I opened the last box and shot up off my seat with a hit of adrenaline. Inside this box were stacks and stacks of Mexican pesos.

On top of the money lay a large Mexican postcard. On the cover a picture of a family soaking up the sun on the beach with the world. wish you were here, printed across the corner in a fancy font. I flipped it over and read the following. Dear James, sorry it's taken so long to write, but I didn't have your home address. That's amazing what you can find out, though, when you have 50 million pesos. Trust your healing well. I'm glad. I know my life will be much more fun knowing you're out there somewhere, hunting me down.

included in this package is a gift 15 million pesos I hope you use this money to fund your search for me I truly do life has become boring for the gazelle without his old friend the lion chasing him down however I imagine this will be forwarded to your little Mexican friend in an attempt at cleansing your soul

do you still see old wincy when you close your eyes at night Or is it me that you see when you wake up alone in the dark? I hope it's not so long until we meet again. Perhaps you can answer that in person. Tag, you're it. From your old friend, Marcus, Rimmett. And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories

and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.