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I cut him off. “And they both had index cards placed under their bodies. I know. What the hell does it mean? I’ll tell you this, Hal, this creep will strike again. He’s basically told us that. He’s brazen. I’ve no doubt about it. And, sooner or later, he’ll screw up, and we’ll nail him to the wall. I guarantee that.”

Of course, things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. Life is funny that way. True, the killer struck again. Two more times in fact.

It was just a matter of time. The third victim of the index card murderer, as he was known around the precinct, turned out to be Vanessa Singletary. Her lifeless body was found in Central Park around 3:30 in the morning by a patrolman on the beat. Ms. Singletary was visiting some friends from out of town. She had lived in the city years ago, but had moved out west with her husband. They were in business together. She had taken a few days off from the rigors of work to spend a little time with some old friends. She was also attractive, quite petite, and the same age as Adams and Washington. Coates’s presidential theory went out the door, unless there was a president named Singletary of which I was unaware. Sure enough, an index card was found under her lifeless body. It was printed in the same manner as the others. This one said:

“GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES

UP NEXT…THERE ARE NO IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS”

Hal Coates and I tried to make sense of it all. If not for the Son of Sam, these murders would have been front page news. But a city and the press can take so much hysteria. I was happy about that. Neither Coates nor I could find the connection. Were they simply random killings? I doubted that. The murders were connected, but even after victim number four, we were not close to catching the killer.

The fourth, and what turned out to be the final murder, occurred on a subway car during the wee hours of the night. Another woman, Jessica Krause, had taken a waitress job in the city to help make ends meet. Jessica and her husband had struggled financially. Mr. Krause had gone back to school to earn a Master’s degree in marketing and Jessica decided to take a second job and earn a little extra cash. Her plans for a better life came to a screeching halt on Thursday morning at 1:15am. Sadly, she had been dead for about an hour, and was riding around in a subway car, unnoticed by the few nighttime passengers. Her death was finally discovered after her body slid off the seat. A young teenage boy, who had been visiting his ailing grandmother, went over to give her a hand, and noticed there was no movement. She was viciously strangled, like the others. What was her connection to the others? On the seat above her body lay an index card:

“THERE ARE NO IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS

UP NEXT…THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING”

This was an ominous message. We felt helpless. The days began to drag. Coates and I were feeling the pressure to solve these bizarre crimes. A number of other detectives were assigned to assist, but every lead turned up nothing. We fielded our share of crank calls, telling us where we could find the killer. The usual coterie of fruitcakes called in to claim responsibility for the murders. Nothing panned out. Waiting for the other shoe to drop was wearing on my nerves. I began smoking cigarettes again. I had to find this guy. It was a man, no doubt. The strangulations were of a brutal nature. The killer had exerted considerable force with bare hands, consistent with that of a male. I had taken an oath to protect society, and for the first time, I was failing.

Days became weeks, then months. No more index card killings. Had the killer decided to stop? Had he had enough? What was going through his mind? Months turned into years, and Hal and I started becoming involved in other, newer cases of importance. New murders and new missing person reports began occupying our time more and more. Before long, the index card murders were pushed to the back burner. Coates retired from the force. Whenever we got together, we wouldn’t speak about the killer who got away. It was too painful. I would have given up my pension in exchange for that monster’s hide. But, he got away.

These days, I’m feeling at home in the sunshine state and enjoying Florida more than I had expected. What’s not to like? The weather is always great, there are fine restaurants and golf courses everywhere, the fishing is fantastic, and I don’t have to worry about crime. And, while shopping in the grocery store last week, I even ran into my old partner, Hal Coates. What are the odds of that happening? He looked great, too. Same crew cut, although now it was totally gray. He seemed taller and thinner and appeared healthier and happier than I had ever seen him. We shook hands, hugged, and exchanged phone numbers – in our cell phones. We both laughed about that.

“You look funny in this picture, grandpa.” I was half watching the Marlins – Cubs game on television and half working. My grandson was helping me finally unpack the boxes of books I had been too lazy to do myself. He handed me an open book, my old Evergreen High School yearbook. He was right, I did look funny. My hair was out of control, and I appeared to be looking off into some sort of twilight zone. The photographer had my body facing one way and my head twisted another. But, it wasn’t the dated collar or necktie I was wearing at the time that froze me in my tracks and produced a sudden hotness that raged through my veins and into my skull. It was the words below my name. Everyone had silly little sayings and quotes under their names. Under my puss, I saw:

“THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING”

I was next! I was to be the index card killer’s next victim! I felt sick to my stomach.

“What’s the matter grandpa? Are you okay?” asked my grandson.

“I’m fine,” answering automatically. I stood up, placed the yearbook on the kitchen table, sat down and began flipping the pages. It wasn’t long before I found:

“TONY FOREVER”

The two seemingly innocuous words were printed under Susan Campbell’s photo and name. Susan Adams, nee Campbell. The photo was that of the index card killer’s first victim. After all these years, answers! I kept flipping through the pages. There was the Tony in question, Tony Camilli:

“SUSAN FOREVER”

was printed under his name. I guess it wasn’t to be forever, after all. More importantly, on page 87 I found:

“IT DOESN’T HURT TO BE FRIENDLY”

under the name and photo of Sunshine. Rather, an innocent looking Felicia Jones, her name throughout high school. My mind was racing. I looked for the names Vanessa and Jessica. They were both there, for sure:

“GOOD THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES”

was clearly written under Vanessa Bickford’s picture and

“THERE ARE NO IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS”

under Jessica Hertzman’s photo. It was no surprise I hadn’t recognized any of the names or people. Evergreen’s senior classes were always very large, and all of the victims had changed their names when they had married. And, too many years had passed since my high school days.

In horror, my eyes drifted over to the photo immediately to the left of Jessica’s. A young, smiling Joe Hertz stared back at me. I remember the day in study hall, when Joe told me about asking Jessica for a date, but she had refused him. He laughed, but I could see he was greatly pained and confused by the rejection. In fact, I never remember him ever going out on a date. I didn’t want to look, because I knew the answer. There, under Joe’s name, were the words,

“DON’T GET MAD - GET EVEN”

I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and speed dialed Hal Coates.

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