MILLENNIUM:

"The Snow Killer"
by Mandi Sheridan (mandisheri@aol.com)


"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that, in the process,
he does not become a monster. . . ."
                                                         Friedrich Nietzche 

-----

Seattle, Washington. 
January 1998. 
6.30am


They almost did not find the body amid the darkness and the heavy snow. It
was by chance that the police cruiser happened to pull into that particular
unlit alleyway; just another street to drive along, to pass the time and 
stay awake until the end of their shift.  It was the driver who, 
concentrating on the road through his headlights, noticed it first. He 
stopped the car along side the piles of rubbish and shone his torch out 
into the snow and the gloom.

"Hey, we got something here." He nudged his partner and got out to 
investigate. "Looks like another frozen stiff."

They approached cautiously. "Another tramp, finished off by too much 
cheap wine and the cold, I guess."

"Yeah, that`s all. I`ll call it in." He reached for his radio.

-----

Frank Black shifted uncomfortably in his jeep, parked in the lay by off the 
main road. He was cold and tired, although the clock on the dashboard told 
him it was only 7.05pm. He watched as snow fell in large flakes on the 
windscreen. Already four inches had fallen since last night and the 
forecast was for a lot more. This year the weather was harsher, more 
colder than previous Seattle winters, or maybe it just seemed that way 
since his wife had left him, taking their daughter with her. His thoughts 
were with Catherine and Jordan as he waited in the cold. He pictured them 
in his mind, conjuring up images of times spent together, and he wondered 
what they were doing at this moment and if they were thinking of him. At 
least she phoned often, always concerned for him, and their conversations 
were friendly, loving, and every now and then he thought he detected a hint
of longing in her voice. But she would not, or could not discuss what had 
happened late last summer nor would she even consider any suggestion of 
returning to him, and that broke his heart.

The sound of a car engine intruded on his thoughts and he looked up to see 
the familiar dark green Ford pull up alongside his own vehicle. He looked 
at the time on the dashboard clock. 7.30pm. The man Frank had been 
waiting for was, as always, punctual.

Peter Watts got into the passenger seat. He was warmly dressed in faded 
jeans and a cream coloured chunky polo neck sweater under a blue padded 
coat. Frank found it strange to see him in such casual, attire; normally he 
would wear darker, more subdued, if somewhat more expensive, designer 
clothing. Obviously he had been relaxing at home when Frank had called.  

"I was surprised when you requested this information." He handed him a 
large brown folder. "It goes back a few years."

"There may be a connection with a death earlier today." Frank opened the 
folder and pulled out the top file. "I`m not sure, just a feeling."

"These were all closed as accidental overdoses, except for three, which 
were listed as suicides." 

"Then maybe they should be re-opened." Frank did not elaborate on his 
statement.

"I haven`t read them in detail, but from just browsing through them I can`t 
see anything which would lead me to think that. . . .although I must admit 
the circumstances surrounding them are a bit strange."

Watts watched him as he glanced over the files. Technically speaking this 
man was his father-in-law although there was only a few years age 
difference between them, and until recently theirs had been a good 
relationship. Not overly friendly, neither of them were inclined to make 
close friends, having lost enough over the years; but they had got on well 
together, and were comfortable within the bonds of family and work. All 
that had changed with the events of five months back. The friendship was 
still there, but it was strained with the memories and the need by all 
concerned to put those memories away where they could not cause further 
pain. Thinking about it was bad enough, but to talk about it was just too 
much.

"Do you think this warrants the involvement of the Group?"

Frank closed the file he had been reading. "Yes."

He voiced his thoughts aloud, testing them on Watts.

"I think we may have a killer who is using drugs to despatch his victims 
and I think that these old unsolved deaths are the work of the same man."

Watts took a long breath. "Okay. I`ll go along with you on that. . . . for 
the moment. What about the local police?"

"Well, Holland wasn`t too forthcoming. We exchanged a few. . . . words." 
Frank thought about his run in with Nathan Holland, Bob Bletcher`s 
replacement. "He`s concerned about his crime stats. and would be happy to 
write this off as an accidental death."

"You know not to push him, Frank. We cannot afford any antagonism. The 
Group can only work on something at the request of the local police. . . . 
or we can do our own parallel investigation, but that`s all."

"Yeah I know. Anyway the autopsy is scheduled for eleven am tomorrow, 
they have a bit of a backlog at the moment, a lot of deaths caused by the 
cold. So it depends on the outcome, whether we go ahead or not. But I do 
feel this one is definitely for the Group. Cheryl Andrews is going to do 
it. I`ve asked her to meet me there. Holland is okay with that, at least."
 
Frank put the files back inside the folder. He looked out at the snow. 
"How`s Annie?"

"She`s doing fine, Frank." Watts said quietly.

The other man seemed to want to say more, but instead remained silent, 
staring out at the snow.

"Look, okay it`s a bad evening, but it`s not too late, why don`t you follow 
me over for some supper? I know she would be very pleased to see you."

Frank smiled. "Thanks Peter, but another time. Maybe Catherine will phone 
and I`d hate to miss her."

Watts was disturbed by the hope he heard in Frank`s voice. But he merely 
nodded and got into his own car.

"I`ll meet you at the morgue." He shouted back as he drove off.

-----

Annie was watching TV when he got home and he sat down beside her 
warming himself in front of the fire. She switched the set off and lay 
along the couch placing her feet up on his lap.

"Well, what did Frank want?"

"Some old filesÉ..he thinks he has found a connection with a suspicious 
death earlier today. I`m meeting him and Cheryl tomorrow for the autopsy."

"How is he?"

"Just the same, I`m afraid."

Annie sighed as she thought about her father. She made a point now and 
then of calling to see him especially when Peter was away or busy, and he 
was always cheerful in her company, but she detected an undertone of 
loneliness in him that nothing other than the return of Catherine and 
Jordan could dispel. Since the incident, Catherine had never once contacted
her, not even while she was in hospital or recovering at home. She missed 
her friend, but could understand her silence.

She felt Peter`s eyes on her and smiled at him. Their own relationship had 
suffered some strain after she had been accidentally shot and almost 
killed by him, in truth she had been killed, but by some miracle, she was 
revived and in time had made a complete recovery. Eventually they had 
come to terms with it and although their relationship was still not one 
hundred percent the way it had been, they were still together and things 
were gradually getting better between them.

"Penny for them." He smiled at her.

"No, they`re not worth that much." She got up and took him by the hand. 
"Come on, let`s get some supper."

-----

8.30am


"Can I go along with you today?" Annie sat on the edge of the bath and 
watched while he shaved. She was already up and dressed in her jeans, 
boots and a warm sweater.

"To the morgue?"

"Yeah. I want to start working again, and it`s not like I`ll be on my own. 
You and Frank, and Cheryl will be there."

"Okay."
  
-----

The roads were in bad condition after the heavy snowfall and driving was 
slow. It took them a lot longer than usual to get into the city. On the 
journey he explained the details of Frank`s request and the notion he had 
that it may be something more than a straightforward unexplained death.

They arrived at their destination to find his red Cherokee parked not far 
from the entrance. He was already inside the building, once again looking 
over the files Watts had given him the evening before.

Frank glanced up and waved as they entered. He was surprised to see Annie
along with Watts.

"Cheryl`s already downstairs, having coffee."

The two men studied the files while Annie went off to find Cheryl 
Andrews and beg a cup of coffee from her.

As she walked away, Frank looked at Watts. "What`s she doing here?"

"Oh, she wanted to come. I guess she`s getting stir crazy just sitting 
around at home."

"You think she`s up to it?"

"Yes." Watts answered firmly.

He left it at that and they went back to work.

-----

Annie found Cheryl in one of the offices, relaxing with her feet up on a 
desk and a hot mug of coffee in her hands. She waved Annie in and pointed 
to extra mugs and a pot of coffee. Annie poured herself one and sat down.

"Hi stranger. What brings you out on a cold morning?"

"Nothing much. Just bored sitting in the house alone. Peter is only home 
from two weeks at Quantico, and when he said he was coming here I talked
him into letting me join him."

Cheryl grinned at her. "And how is Mr. Conversation?"

Annie laughed. "He`s not like that! He talks to me all the time."

The pathologist shook her head. She had been with the Millennium Group 
for a number of years and their shared area of expertise threw her and 
Peter Watts together a lot of the time. Many found his seriousness 
somewhat disorientating and occasionally annoying, and as a result few 
knew him well. In actual fact, very few were aware that he preferred this 
and deliberately kept to himself. As one of the people behind the 
conception and formation of the Group, and one of its most dedicated 
members, his ability and professionalism, could never be brought into 
question, and all who knew him respected him for this, but many found 
they could not read the personality behind the cold, always serious, 
introspective, man they worked with.

Cheryl thought the world of him. She was one of the few, outside of Annie, 
who knew something, although not all, of his past. With the familiarity of 
many long hours spent working with him, while always remaining highly 
respectful, she often joked to Annie about him. She even joked to him 
occasionally.

"Oh yeah, I just bet he chats away to you. . . .all evening long." Cheryl 
laughed and winked at Annie. "He`s a good man, honey. . . . and not bad 
looking either."

Her face then grew serious. "Everything okay between you two now?" She 
asked referring to some of the things Annie had confided to her. They had 
talked a lot since Catherine had left and the two women were becoming 
close friends.

"We`re fine. Not great, but we`re getting there." Annie replied.

Frank and Peter walked into the office and Cheryl, finishing her coffee, 
got up.

"Well gentlemen. . . . coffee first or do you want to get started?"

They both declined her offer of coffee.

Frank stared down at the body lying on the mortuary table. He relaxed and 
felt the familiar, yet often unwelcome, sensation start at the base of his 
brain as the images began to come to him. A struggle. . . . astonishment on 
the victim`s face. . . . fear as a needle was plunged into his arm. . . . a 
moment of vivid colour. . . . a journey through those colours. . . . then 
darkness. . . . coldness. He sensed. . . . victory. . . . triumph. . . . 
from the killer. . . . a sense of achievement. . . . another success.

He looked away and his head cleared. Watts and Cheryl were watching him. 
Annie was looking at the body, perhaps envisioning similar images herself.

"What did you see Frank?" Watts asked quietly, as if afraid to interrupt.

"This was a deliberate administering of a drug overdose. This killer knew 
what he was doing. He has done it before."  

"Before you arrived I ran a toxicity test." Cheryl handed Watts a sheet of 
paper. "They confirm what Frank just said about an overdose. . . . heroin."

Watts studied the results, a frown on his face.

Cheryl began. "Wednesday, January, 21st. 11.12am. Deceased is a male, 
Caucasian, aged between thirty-five to forty-five years. Outward 
appearances suggest good health and fitness. Estimated time of death, at 
this stage, I would put within the last thirty-six to forty-eight hours, 
maybe longer because the body has been exposed to extremely cold 
weather conditions, which would afford some degree of preservation. No 
external injuries apart from a small number of sub-dermal haematoma 
which would indicate a slight struggle with a third party." She carefully 
went over the body examining each inch of skin. "Needle mark to right 
upper forearm."

They turned the body over. Annie pointed to the back of his neck.

Cheryl nodded. "Small incision, about two cm wide at the base of the 
skull."

Both women studied it.

"Ritual gangland style execution?" Annie asked. "Is this what killed him?"

"Possibly."
 
"No." Watts also examined the incision. "From the tox results, this man 
died from a massive heroin OD. It was extremely pure grade, and death 
would have occurred within a few minutes of administering it."

Annie slipped on a pair of latex gloves and carefully probed the wound.

"It look`s deep Peter. . . . I would guess that the brain stem is most 
likely severed and death would have been almost instant this way too."

"I`m impressed." Cheryl whispered in Annie`s ear. "So that`s what you two 
chat about in the evenings."

Annie nudged her and tried not to grin. She looked at Frank, confirming his 
vision. "This cut is symbolic. It is the killer`s way of telling us he 
executed this man."

Watts nodded. "You were right Frank. This is a murder. We`ll have to look 
at the other ones now. Cheryl, you carry on here. I`ll talk to Holland, let 
him know what we`ve found."

-----

While Watts went off to plead their case with Holland, Frank treated 
Annie to a coffee. They sat in the canteen and talked about the weather 
and the case; everything except the things they needed to talk about. Frank 
seemed more relaxed and brighter than he had been of late, but she knew 
that it was false. Of all of them, only she seemed to have come to terms 
with what had occurred back in August, but then her injuries had only been
physical.  She thought of Sam and wondered how he was. She knew that 
Peter had visited him on a few occasions recently. He never spoke about 
the visits, but she noticed that each time he returned he was warmer and 
more loving towards her, almost as if Sam had reminded him he should be 
like that. 

Annie moved over as her husband slid onto the bench seat beside her. He 
put his arm around her and tried to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

"Lt. Holland would like to see you Frank. I think he wants to apologise." 
He grinned at both of them.

"I don`t need an apology."

"I know. But go and see him anyway. He`s just now assigned a squad of 
detectives to this and he has specifically requested your 
involvement. . . . Now that his crime rate has jumped a bit, he`s eager for
a clearance."

Frank very reluctantly left them.

-----

Watts looked at her coffee, then at her. "Where`s mine?"

"See that machine over there." She pointed. "With the word coffee written 
on it. Well it`s there, and you can buy me another one while you`re getting 
yours."

As he was getting the drinks, his pager sounded. He glanced at it and went 
to find a phone. Annie waited, wondering what this message was about.

When he returned he looked serious.

"The deceased does not fit the usual victim profile for this kind of death, 
and as a result this case may attract some press attention. I want you to 
stay within the Group protocols for this. . . . be very careful not to 
attract any media exposure."

"I know Peter. . . . Don`t compromise our anonymity. . . . I do know the 
rules."

"Without giving too much away, I`ve impressed upon Holland that by 
necessity we are a semi-covert organisation, but I don`t think he fully 
understands the seriousness of what I said. So keep it in mind 
yourself. . . . especially with regard to Frank. There was some media 
interest when Catherine was kidnapped and I do not want any attention drawn 
to him. . . . for obvious reasons."

"We`re here to advise and consult, not necessarily investigate. Work with 
the `tecs, not for them. I`d like you to build up a victim profile on this 
guy and the other ones. . . . don`t think we have enough for a suspect
profile yet, so we start with the victims and work back from there. Visit 
the next of kin, check  previous records, backgrounds, look for any. . . . 
What are you looking for?" He watched as she searched her pockets.

"A piece of paper and a pen, to write this all down." She replied 
sarcastically. "I know the procedure, Peter."

He laughed and took her hands in his. "I`m sorry sweetheart. I know you do. 
It`s just. . . . this is your first case since. . . . well. . . . 
since last summer and I`m concerned about you. You know that."

"I`m fine."

"Well stay close to Frank. I don`t think he`s entirely focused on this and 
he needs to be. Look after him, because I won`t be here to." He took a deep 
breath and looked at her. "I`m gonna be out of town for a while. . . . 
hopefully just for a few days."

"Where are you off to?"

"I have to fly down to Portland shortly. If this hadn`t come up today, I 
would have taken you with me, but now I`d like you here. . . . I don`t
really want Frank on his own. I`m sorry, I will try and get back in a 
couple of days, but you know how it can sometimes be."

"It`s okay."

"I do have to go Ann."

She looked at him and smiled.

"Yeah, I know you do." She finished her coffee. "I`m just thinking on what 
you said about Frank. You know all he ever wanted was to try and make 
this world a little bit safer for those he loved. He never wanted to be the 
big FBI star that he became. He`s just an ordinary man trying to care for 
his family and look what it got him."

She took her husbands hand. "Sometimes you are a lot like him, you know."

"Yeah, and I lost my family as well, then I almost lost you." He could not 
keep a trace of bitterness out of his voice.

With a sigh, Annie got up. "Come on, let`s get Frank and see if Cheryl`s 
finished yet."

-----

They met Frank on the stairs. He handed Watts a set of keys.

"Holland has given us an office, top floor. I`m going down to records to 
pull all the complete files on similar deaths and then see what Cheryl 
has."

"Okay. I`ll check out the office." He took Annie`s hand and lead her up the 
stairs.

 He locked the door behind them and caught her in his arms, kissing her 
long and hard, his hands inside her coat, holding her close to him. She 
returned each kiss, surprised, but delighted by his advances. 

He held on to her for a few minutes, his face buried in her neck, breathing 
in the smell of her hair and her perfume. She whispered to him in 
puzzlement. "I`m not complaining, but what`s this for?"

"I don`t really want to be away from you. . . .and when I get back, I`m
going to spend every possible minute with you. . . . maybe make up for the 
way I`ve been lately." With his hand, he gently tilted her chin up, looked 
into her eyes, then kissed her very softly. He smiled at her, his own eyes 
warm and sincere. "I love you, very much."

"I know you do." She replied and kissed him again. "And I`m going to hold 
you to that promise of spending all your time with me." She grinned at him.
"We had better go now or, I`m going to drag you underneath that table or 
behind that filing cabinet."

Before they left he took a few minutes to check out the office.

-----
 
Frank was waiting for her. Holland had called a conference at two pm. It 
was almost that time now. He watched as she said her goodbyes.

"Where`s Peter off to?" He asked.

"He has to go down to Portland. Group business." She replied, no necessity 
to explain further.

They made their way up the stairs again, Annie following Frank as he 
walked through the familiar corridors. For just a moment they stopped and
read the painted lettering on the door - Lt Nathan J. Holland, Homicide - 
both of them thinking fondly of the other name that, until last year, had 
been painted on this very same door. Their eyes met briefly in 
remembrance of their old friend. Frank opened the door, the familiar and 
unfamiliar faces of several uniform officers and detectives turning as 
they walked in and took a seat beside Cheryl near the back of the room. 

"Where`s Watts?" She whispered.

"Portland." They answered her in unison.

She was about to say more when Holland walked into the office. He nodded 
to Frank and took his place at the front of the room.

"Okay, listen up." He said. "We have a potentially embarrassing situation
on our hands. It would seem that, what on the surface, appeared to be 
straightforward deaths due to drug overdoses, would now appear to be a 
series of murders. I can understand why they were first thought to be no 
more than unrelated deaths, but you can be sure once this hits the press, 
we`re going to look very bad."

He let this sink in for a moment then continued. "Over the last twelve 
years, a total of seven men have died in similar circumstances. They were 
all found dead in the back streets, alleyways, one in a derelict building,
in various, rougher parts of the city. All of these men were assumed to be 
drug addicts or down and outs who died of exposure in the winter 
conditions. Its normal that our down and out population do suffer heavy 
casualties during adverse conditions, and that would explain why these 
deaths were not investigated in depth."

"However." He looked around the office. "None of these men were either 
drug addicts or down and outs. They were all middle income men, with 
families, homes and secure jobs. They had all been reported missing by 
their families. That is the part that will be hard to explain."

Holland thought for a moment, then spoke softly. "I`m not looking for a 
scapegoat. Although mistakes have been made, they are understandable, 
given the circumstances.  Bob Bletcher was a fine detective, and this in no
way should be allowed to reflect badly on him. I know that within the 
department it won`t, but outside it may, and I want to emphasis the fact 
that all I want. . . . is an arrest and a conviction." 

Annie looked at Frank, wondering what he was thinking, but she could not 
read his face. She looked up again as Holland continued.

"First up, who is he?" 

He looked to one of the uniform officers, who stood up and opened his 
notebook. "Patrick Dean Sutherland, aged forty-two, an accountant with a 
downtown firm. Reported missing by his wife a little over forty-eight 
hours ago. Body found at six-thirty am yesterday, Jan 20th, by myself, 
Officer Johnston and my partner Officer Rameriz. Found in an alleyway off 
Thirty-forth Street."

Johnston sat down again, looking faintly embarrassed as Holland nodded.

"Ms. Andrews, you have the autopsy results on this man?"

Cheryl considered standing up, but didn`t. Everyone looked at her as she 
spoke. "The deceased, Mr Sutherland, died from a massive dose of a rare 
heroin composite. Very pure. This is not a drug that a habitual user or 
addict would take. . . . unless he was planning the ultimate trip of a 
lifetime. Even a small dose of this would kill within minutes."

Annie reached for the copy of the tox results. She recognised Peter`s 
handwriting on the side of the page, near the blood content analysis. "No 
way" It read. "Too large a dose for a normal user." And a series of 
question marks. Then another notation. "Chemical composition not 
recognisable, to me at least, but very definitely fatal. Maybe DEA are 
familiar." 

Cheryl continued. "You could be forgiven for thinking this guy is a heroin 
addict and would be in this area of the city in order to meet with his 
supplier, and naturally if this is the case, because of his background, he 
would disguise himself in order to go unobserved, but his internal organs 
and tissue show none of the usual degeneration common in habitual heroin 
users."

She looked at Frank, her dark brown face smiling softly. "The needle mark 
in his arm, has a upward rear angle, meaning the drug was administered by
someone standing slightly behind him and to the right of him. From the 
bruising on his arm, consistent with fingerprints, his arm was gripped 
tightly while the injection was given. . . . as though done under force. No 
other track marks, recent or otherwise were found, which reinforces the 
fact that he was not a junkie."

Holland had been listening intently. When she finished, he looked around 
the room then pointed towards Frank. "Most of you already know Frank 
Black and Annie Watts, but for the benefit of those who don`t, they are 
both ex-FBI, and are now working for a. . . . private consulting agency. 
They will be assisting us on this. Frank, would you care to give us what 
you have?" 

Frank got up and walked to the front of the room. He looked at the faces, 
smiling slightly at Bobby Giebelhouse and Kenny Norton; two men he had 
worked with on a number of occasions.

He cleared his throat. "This man. . . . Sutherland, was killed for a 
reason, by a person who wanted him dead. I believe there is a connection 
between the two, and if you look at the other deaths. . . . the other six 
men, you will find a similar connection to them."

Frank paused and looked to Annie. She winked at him. "Go on, you`re doing 
fine." Her smile seemed to say. He was grateful she was there.

"The killer is calm, very organised. He committed the murder elsewhere 
and placed the body there where it would be found in time. He is careful, 
he knows what he is doing and as a result will be hard to find. He believes 
he is righteous. His motive. . . . he feels is pure, like the heroin he 
uses. He is not a monster, not in his mind. He is a seeker of justice and 
this is his form of justice. But like all killers, he takes pride in 
himself. . . . and in his work, and wants us to know of his existence. 
That`s why he makes an incision to the back of the victims neck. If the
victim had been alive, this incision would have killed him, but this is 
merely a symbol. . . . his trademark. His way of telling us. . . . he 
performed this execution."

"If we study the other victims, find that connection between them, then 
we can begin our search for him."

He folded his arms, and waited for the questions, for the usual words of 
scepticism, but there was none. His reputation within this office was too 
well known.

Bobby Giebelhouse spoke first. "Frank, these are old deaths, going back 
about twelve years. How the hell do we investigate them?" 

Annie spoke up. "We can do it without crime scenes, without physical 
evidence for the moment. We build a victim profile first. Find the 
connection, Frank spoke of, the motive, then we can build a suspect 
profile. Then we take it from there."

Holland passed round copies of each file. "As Mrs. Watts says, we look to 
the victims first. Interview the families, find the background connection. 
That`s it for the moment."

Slowly they all filed out. Annie made her way over to Giebelhouse and got 
his attention. "Who is going to speak to Mrs. Sutherland?"

"Me. Why?"

"I`d like to go along with you, if that`s okay."

"Yeah sure. I`ll call her now and arrange an appointment."

She waited as he did so, arranging to meet the widow at home at four that 
afternoon. The house was out by Green Lake, not far from her own house so 
she could maybe get a lift home from there later. 

She motioned to Frank and Cheryl. Cheryl handed her the full autopsy 
report. "I`ve done my bit, so I`m heading home. Call me if there`s anything 
you need."

Frank and Annie took the report and copies of all the other files up to 
their new office. Once inside she looked at Frank.

"Peter wants us to only use this office for police activities. Any Group 
enquiries we have to do at home. He dosen`t want anything left here 
relating to the group as Holland may start to get inquisitive. So anything 
we need from our own resources, I can get at home."

Frank nodded and sat down. "Make`s sense." 

-----

They drove through the traffic towards the exclusive residential area near
the north shores of Green Lake . The houses in this area were expensive 
detached properties, each one on its own large plot, allowing seclusion 
and privacy.  They were early. Mrs. Sutherland had told him she would be 
out until about four pm, but they tried the doorbell anyway. There was no 
reply and so they parked about a hundred yards from the house to wait for 
her.

Giebelhouse opened the window and lit a cigarette. They watched as people
cleared the snow from their drives and went about their daily business. 
There was no sign of life from the Sutherland home.

"Does pretty good for an accountant." He admired the well trimmed lawns 
and the large cars parked in the driveways.

They chatted as they waited. He started to question her about the 
Millennium Group, his natural curiosity coming to the fore.

"Hey it`s no big deal, Bobby. They`re just ordinary guys, nothing special, 
apart from the fact that they are all ex-law enforcement, mostly FBI."

"What started it?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and related the story they always gave 
because the origins of the Millennium Group was clouded in secrecy, and 
must continue to remain that way. "I have no idea. I would guess that 
maybe a bunch of them got together after a round of golf one day. . . . and 
started talking about the good old days. When you stop and think about it, 
there is a hell of a wealth of expertise out there. Years of training in 
Behavioural Sciences, forensics, criminal psychology, stuff like that, and 
maybe to them it seemed a waste, so they formed the Group."

"I bet it pay`s well?"

"Yeah, it pay`s well." She smiled at him. It was a typical question one cop 
would put to another, they loved enquiring about other colleagues 
overtime.

"Where does the money come from, the government?"

"No. . . . it`s privately funded, but I`ve no idea from where exactly. I do 
know it`s not from the government." 

He thought about this for a while. "I can understand Frank doing it, but 
why you?"

"Well I was in the Bureau to, worked on profiling, when I was in D.C. Then 
I got married and moved to Houston. I worked there in the local field 
office. . . . then my first husband and I set up a private investigating 
agency. . . . mostly matrimonial work, things like that. When we split up,
Frank persuaded me to move back home and then I joined the group."

He looked at his watch. It was coming up on a quarter to four and still no 
sign of her. "Do you think Holland meant what he said about not making Bob
Bletcher a scapegoat?"

"Yeah. If it was anybody`s fault, it was uniforms for not passing it on."

"I miss old Bletch."

"We all do." Annie replied quietly.

"I`ll never forget the night he died." He had been the one to find the body 
of his boss hanging from the rafters in Frank`s basement. He still had 
nightmares about it.

Just then a Mercedes went past slowly and pulled into the Sutherlands 
drive. A well dressed woman got out and went inside. They waited a few 
moments before going up to the front door.

-----

The meeting was brief and to the point. While not overly hostile, Leanne 
Sutherland, had very little to say to them. When asked by Annie why she 
had waited until her husband had been missing for well over thirty-six 
hours before she had thought to report it to the police, she merely stared 
at her for a short while and informed her that she had not thought it was 
necessary. She became agitated at the suggestion that her husband may 
have died of a drugs overdose, but was not overly alarmed. They concluded 
by informing her that the death was now being treated as suspicious and 
that they would be in touch.

"Not exactly the grieving widow." Annie said as they drove towards her 
own home.

"Those types tend to be like that." The detective responded. "Both living 
their own lives, no real togetherness other that dinner at the country 
club, or bridge with the neighbours." He imitated a posh accent, making 
Annie grin. "Bet she had him well insured. What did you think of that 
house? Impressive wasn`t it?"

The house had been impressive. Large and spacious, immaculate and 
expensively furnished. Annie thought about it, either one or both of them 
came from well-to-do families or accountants earned a lot more than 
anyone realised.

Darkness had fallen and it was beginning to snow again when he dropped 
Annie off at her own house. She invited him in for something to eat, but he 
declined, the worsening weather urging him to get back to his own home 
and the warmth he would find there. As she was considering what to eat 
the phone rang. Hoping it was Peter she rushed to answer it.

"Hey there, it`s Frank." He was ringing from a mobile and the static made 
his deep voice distant and unclear. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"A few things. Just getting something to eat, then I`ll sit down and 
collate everything."

"I`m not far away, I`ll call over in about thirty minutes."     

Annie showered quickly, then made a plate of sandwiches for them both 
and put some soup on. A car pulled into the drive and she went to the door 
assuming it was Frank, but it was Peter. He kissed her as he walked 
through the doorway, set his bag down and together they headed into the 
kitchen. He lifted  one of the sandwiches and began to eat it. She made 
some extra.

"It turned out the wife did it, I wasn`t required, so I turned around and 
caught the next flight home." He said between mouthfuls. "How are things 
here?"

"Frank is on his way over, we`re going to go through everything together. 
I`ll tell you it all then." She rubbed her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." She smiled wearily. "Just very tired. It`s been a long day."

He looked at her in concern. Physically she still had not recovered 
completely from her injuries. She was still very thin and over the winter 
had developed a number of colds. He was about to say more when the 
doorbell went.  
 
Frank was carrying a bottle of white wine which he gave to Annie. He sat 
down and began to eat, while Watts explained the reason for his early 
return. After supper they headed upstairs to Peter`s office. Annie picked 
up the notes she had made.

She took a sip of wine. "Seven men, all of similar backgrounds, found dead 
in similar areas, with massive doses of a form of heroin being the cause 
of death. No obvious connections to each of them. I spoke to the widow of 
the latest. She does not appear to be unduly concerned about her husbands 
death. They appear to have lived well, good home, expensive cars in the 
garage, good furnishings within the house. That strikes me as strange, but 
there may be a perfectly legitimate reason for this. I`ll check the bank 
records in the morning?"

Watts nodded. "Yes, do that. I`ll give you what codes you`ll need."

She continued. " Of the other six; three of the families have moved; David 
Horton`s to Tacoma, Michael Jarmin`s to New York and the third, a. . . . 
Leslie Olsen, his widow`s current location is unknown. The other two 
widows still live locally and Giebelhouse and I are going to try and 
interview them tomorrow."

Frank had been listening to all of this. He picked up the photos of the 
dead men from the files.

"I`d like to go with you on that." He looked at Annie, who nodded.

"Frank, what about the forensics, the heroin?" Watts asked.

"Well I spoke to some guy from the Drug Enforcement Agency. It`s an 
unknown substance. Too pure to be on the streets, obviously industrially 
refined, but unless it is mixed, broken down, it could never be on sale on 
the streets."

Watts looked once again at the analysis of the drug. "No dealer would use 
this stuff. He`d only be killing off his customers, not exactly good 
business."

"That`s what the DEA guy said. This stuff has never been seen before."

Annie had been watching this exchange between her husband and father. 
There was nothing more she could add to the conversation, so she excused 
herself and with a kiss on the cheek for both of them, she went to bed.

As she closed the door behind her, Watts noticed her unfinished glass of 
wine. He rubbed his moustache. "Just give me five minutes, Frank." He 
picked up the glass and followed her.

She was already into bed, when he opened the door. Her clothes were lying 
where she had dropped them as she undressed. He sat on the edge of the 
bed and looked at her. There were dark circles under her eyes.

"Tell me what`s wrong." He asked quietly.

He gave her the glass of wine, and she took a mouthful, then set it on the 
table. "I`m very tired." She admitted. "Worse than I thought I`d be, and a 
bit sore. Guess I`m out of condition."  

"I`m not surprised. You were in hospital a long time and over Christmas 
you still weren`t in great shape. It`s going to take a while sweetheart, 
getting over what I did to you." He bit his lip.

He put his arms around her, holding her close to him.

"I can take over tomorrow if you want to take it easy."

She nodded in agreement. Watts kissed her gently and she settled down in 
the bed.

-----


Frank looked up as he walked back into the office. "Annie okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, she`s just tired. Come the spring, she`ll be better, with a bit of 
fresh air and sunshine. She`ll be fine."

He sat down. "Where were we?"

"Peter. . . . talking of spring. . . . I think I do see a connection here, 
albeit a very flimsy one. Is there any way we can check the 
weather conditions at the times these murders occurred?"

Watts looked puzzled, but went to the computer and typed in some 
commands. He waited for the results.

"Is this what you are looking for?"

Frank looked at the screen. "Yeah. That`s it. This guy only kills during a 
snow storm. I`d been trying to figure out a pattern, and couldn`t 
understand the gaps. They appeared too random. Snow is rare here, but over
the last twelve years, there has been five fairly severe winter snow 
storms." He looked at Watts. "That`s got to be a factor."

Watts studied the readout, and checked the dates of death of each of the 
six. "Horton Dec 1985, Olsen, Jan 1986, then a break until 1990, Jarmin 
died January 2nd 1990, then the other three in March 1994, and now 
Sutherland. I  believe you could be right, Frank. . . . The Snow Killer." 

"But why? Is the snowstorm some sort of catalyst?"

Watts shook his head. "No I think. . . . this is part of his cover. 
And up until now he`s been able to get away with it, because 
of that reason. . . . the deaths were treated as weather-related."

They looked at one another, each trying to find the mental pathway that 
would take them a step further.

Frank took off his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair. "There is 
something more to this that we are missing. The killer believes he is 
righting a wrong. Could it be this is his way of purifying the world?  
You`ve heard the saying - pure as the driven snow."

Watts nodded, deep in thought. "And the drug is exceptionally pure. . . . 
white. . . . like fresh snow. It could possibly be. But why these guys? We 
still need to make a connection to them, and I can`t see anything."

For a while they sat in silence, but neither of them could come up with 
anything. Eventually Frank looked at his watch. "Peter it`s late, and 
you`ve just flown up from Portland. Let`s leave this until the morning."

"Have a beer with me first? You can stay over. The road`s are pretty bad."

"Thank`s, I will."

Watts shut down the computer, and they went downstairs again. He went 
to the fridge and handed Frank a bottle of beer, then opened one for 
himself.

"If you don`t mind, I`d like to ring Catherine later. She may be wondering 
where I am."

Watts nodded, then looked at him. "You know that I was married before?"

Frank was surprised. "Yes I had heard it mentioned. What happened?"

"They died, Frank. My wife Sharon and my two sons. . . . there was a bomb 
underneath my car. When she started it up, it exploded. . . . I saw it from 
the window.

"Christ."  He looked at the other man in sympathy. "Pete, I`m sorry. I 
never knew. I just assumed you were divorced. I take it Annie knows this?"

"Yeah. I told her soon after we got together. Very few people know about 
it. I hate to talk about it. The bomb was meant for me, in retaliation for 
something I had been working on. They never caught the bomber."

He took another mouthful of beer. "Only Annie knows, that when it 
happened, Sharon was in the process of leaving me. . . . we had been 
fighting a lot and had started another one that morning. She grabbed 
enough clothes for her and the kids, loaded up the car and they got in. It 
was wired to the ignition, when she turned the key it went off."

"That`s why you are sometimes so over-protective of Annie, why you took 
it so badly when you shot her?"

"Yeah. Part of me blamed her for taking such a risk. I know she did it for 
the best reason in the world, but she knew how much I worried about 
losing her. I was always so afraid to care for anyone again, so afraid of 
being hurt, and she knew that. . . . I almost hated her then."

Frank took another beer from the fridge. "So why tell me?"

"Because I want you to realise that I do love her, probably as much as you 
love Catherine, and I have some of an idea what you are going through 
now."

"Just make sure Annie knows how you feel."

"She does." Watts finished his drink and stood up. "I`m off to bed. I hope 
you get through to Catherine."

Annie was fast asleep when he got into bed beside her, she stirred and 
rolled over towards him, but did not waken. He put his arm around her and 
lay awake for a long time, listening to her steady breathing, glad to be 
back home.

-----

7.30am


Frank woke early, for a moment confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. 
He dressed quietly and headed downstairs. The house was cold. He put on 
the kettle and looked out at the snow. In the early morning light the white 
world looked fresh and clean. "pure as the driven snow" he thought then 
smiled. Jordan would love this, out there dressed up warmly, playing and 
throwing snowballs at him. He could almost see her face glowing with the 
cold, her dark curls bouncing underneath her blue woollen hat. She was a 
miniature version of her mother. He had tried to phone them last night, but
there was no reply. 

The kettle boiled and he made some tea. He sat down at the table and 
looked around. The kitchen was open and led into the living room. This was 
a well designed house, a good deal of planning and money had gone into the 
building of it. The furnishings were simple, but expensive. Watts had lived 
here alone for a few years, before Annie moved in, then shortly after 
married him. She had added a few things of her own. The antique rocking 
chair in the corner, had been his mothers, Annie had loved it and he had 
given it to her as a wedding present. On the far wall hung pictures of 
Annie and Peter on their wedding day, old photos of her parents, Frank`s 
own parents, and on the mantlepiece one of himself, Catherine and Jordan. 
He lifted this picture and looked at, remembering the day it had been 
taken. He could see a slight resemblance between Jordan and Annie. He set 
it down again and went back to the table. He finished his tea. There were 
no pictures from Watts life before Annie. Even at home he preferred to 
keep his past well hidden.

The sound of footsteps broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see Annie, 
in jeans and a sweatshirt, barefoot and sleepy-eyed. She switched on the 
kettle and sat down beside him, pulling on a thick pair of socks.

"Morning." She smiled at him. "Sorry I crashed last night."

"That`s okay. I think maybe you overdid it."

She nodded in agreement and made more tea for both of them.

"Peter was worried about you."

"Yeah Frank, I know. Sometimes he worries too much. I am okay, just get 
tired now and then. I`ve hardly been out of the house since. . . . the 
accident."

"Last night he told me about the deaths of his family."

She stopped what she was doing. "I`m surprised he did. He`s always been 
very secretive about it."

"Yeah, well I`m glad he told me. I understand him a lot more now." He 
smiled at her. "You`re good together, you and Peter."

-----

Seattle Police Department. 
9.30am


Frank pulled into the parking lot. Immediately they saw the crowd of 
reporters at the front entrance, and Holland addressing them. He did a 
quick u-turn and they were out again before they were noticed. Neither 
man wanted to come under the attention of the press. They drove round the
block and away from the area. Frank decided where they should go.

He stopped the jeep and looked out of the window. "I know there`s not 
much to see, but I want to look at where Sutherland`s body was found."

Watts watched him from the car. Frank stood with his hands clasped in 
front of him, his head bowed, as if in prayer. Motionless for a few 
minutes, he then shook himself and looked around. He blew into his hands 
to warm them and walked back to the car.

"I think there is more than one person involved, Peter."

Watts was silent, waiting for him to explain.

"There`s conflicting emotions from the killer, on the one hand he is angry 
at something, there`s a terrible rage within him, yet on the other hand, he 
is cold, clinical. . . . as if this were a job he has to do, distasteful, 
but necessary. . . . and he is hardened to doing it." He looked at Watts. 
"Like a vet putting a sick animal to sleep. I can`t explain it, but it 
gives me the impression, there is more than one involved."

"Maybe it is just conflicting emotions. God know`s we`re all capable of 
that."    

"No there is more to this."

-----

The press had gone when they returned. Giebelhouse looked up as they 
walked in.

"Yo, Frank, Peter." He called them over. "Where`s Annie? She was to go 
with me today to see the other merry widows."

"No, she`s staying at home today. Do you mind if I go with you instead?"

"No problem. Just give me a minute."

Watts headed upstairs to their appointed office. He thought about what 
Frank had said in the car. He had learned over the months working with 
him, to trust this insight the man had, even though there were times when 
Frank doubted it himself. It rarely failed. He took the files and once 
again tried to find some connection between the seven men, but other than 
their lavish lifestyles and similar middle management occupations, there 
was nothing he could glean from them that would make them victims.

After about an hour, he grew frustrated with his lack of success and 
picked up the phone.

She answered eventually.

"Hi, it`s me. Where were you?"

"In the office. I`ve been busy all morning. I`ve come up with a few 
interesting things. Do you want the details?"

He considered having her fax them to him, but as she probably had used 
Group methods to obtain whatever she had found, he decided not to. He 
looked at his watch.

"No. . . . give me about an hour, then come and pick me up. I`ll treat you 
to lunch. You can tell me then." 

He left a note for Frank, then checked the office and locked it. He called 
in with Holland before leaving to discuss, what, if any progress the police 
had made. There was very little. Watts had little to say to him, preferring 
not to disclose Frank`s belief that there may be more than one killer. It 
would be just too hard to explain, without having to start a discussion on 
his partner`s gift. He did not think Holland would have the same faith he 
had. Holland related to him the details of the morning press conference, 
which did not go particularly well. Watts left the man in a foul mood, 
thankful to get away.

Annie pulled up just as he was leaving the building. She looked a lot 
better than she had the previous evening. He kissed her as he got in beside 
her. Over lunch, she quietly told him her findings. She had been able to 
obtain bank records of six of the seven deceased, and the records had shown 
over the years, several payments of large amounts of money. There were also
several large withdrawals. She had then checked further and found that 
the men had paid money in and out of several accounts they each had 
opened. It was obvious that money was being laundered, a common enough 
occupation in the drugs trade.

"It`s not conclusive, and even if it were, it`s not admissible as evidence, 
but it`s a useful pointer." She concluded. "I wouldn`t recommend letting 
Holland know that I got this for you, not unless you want to see me 
arrested."

He laughed at her. There had been many an occasion when he had resorted 
to similar methods of obtaining information himself, and he understood 
the risks. He had taught her well, and she had not retained anything on 
paper regarding what she had found.

"Any connections between these men?" She asked. "Did they know one 
another socially or anything like that?"

"Nothing that I can find so far, other than Horton and Olsen were in high 
school together, but as for the others, no obvious connection. Frank is 
going to see the widow`s of Bell and the other guy Blake today. Maybe he 
will find something."

Watts paid for the meal and they left. He drove her home. Something Frank 
had said that morning stuck in his mind, and with Annie watching he 
searched on the computer for old newspaper heading from twelve years 
ago. It took awhile but eventually he found it. He printed what he needed 
and dialled Frank`s cellphone.

-----

The squad car parked a few yards from the house. It was run down, paint 
peeling off the exterior walls. The lawn was bare, full of old car parts. A 
mangy mongrel dog lay on the porch shivering with the cold.

Watts was in the back seat along with Frank. He spoke to Holland. "This 
house belongs to the father of one of the three high school students, 
fifteen year olds, who died of a drugs overdose way back in September of 
`eighty-five. This guy could be a suspect."

"Let`s go."

Cautiously they walked to the front door. Holland knocked loudly. After a 
few minutes, a rather large grey haired man opened it. He looked at each of
them. Even without the uniform presence, he knew they were cops. His 
expression was hostile.

Holland introduced himself. "Mr. Krasmer, we would like to speak to you 
about your daughter, Tracy-Ann. She died thirteen years ago, but her death 
may have relevance to a murder enquiry we are investigating."

Krasmer stared at them uncomprehendingly. "I don`t have a daughter, never 
did." He turned to go back indoors.

Frank spoke up. "Mr. Krasmer, My name is Frank Black. I`m not a police 
officer. This will only take a minute. We have a copy of her birth 
certificate. You are named as the father." He handed the certificate to 
Krasmer.

"Oh, yeah. The bitch swore the kid was mine, but she wasn`t. You see, I 
knew she was screwing around and I told her where to go. I haven`t laid 
eyes on her in nearly thirty years. The guy she was seeing, at that time, 
one of many, he`s the father."

"Do you remember this man`s name?"

Krasmer thought for a while. "No, can`t say that I do. But he was a cop." 
He glared at them.

"Do you know where your ex-wife currently lives?"

"No." He turned to go indoors.

Thank-you for your time, sir." Frank said politely and they left.

-----

They were silent as they drove back. The parents of the other two kids 
were gone from the area and could be ruled out. This left the unknown 
father of  Tracey-Ann Krasner as their most likely suspect. A police 
officer, name unknown. It seemed that if they found this man, they would 
find the snow killer.

Giebelhouse laughed. "Well, at least it`s not my kid." He said. "I was just 
a kid myself then, growing up in New York City, twenty eight years ago. 
Can`t blame me this time." A woman he had interviewed a few years back 
about a burglary had alleged that he was the father of her child. The 
allegation had been proven to be unfounded, but he still had to live with 
the jokes from his colleagues.

Holland looked at him "Chances are, whoever he is, he`s retired now, or 
close to it."

-----

5.20pm.


Giebelhouse put down the phone and looked at his boss. "We`ve got the 
mother's current address, but she ain`t there. I had an unmarked car call. 
Neighbour states she`s visiting her sister and won`t be back until 
tomorrow afternoon. She has no idea where the sister lives."

Holland looked around the office. "Okay that`s it for now. We wait until 
tomorrow."

-----

8.00pm 
the following evening. . . .


His name was Jimmy McQueen. They pulled his service details from the 
personnel department. He had retired a little over three years ago, with an 
exemplary service record, the last fifteen years spent in DEA. Frank 
remembered him from his own days as a young detective on the force. 

Frank walked up to the house. His coat collar turned up against the 
bitterly cold wind. He knocked on the door. The others were in the car, 
waiting down the road, well out of sight, but still nearby if required. 
McQueen was surprised, but delighted to see him. He welcomed him inside.

They talked about the old days, about Frank`s career in the FBI, about the 
changing times and the violence and crime they had witnessed over the 
years, how it seemed to always get worse instead of better. They talked 
of impending old age and the joys of retirement, the adjustments one had 
to make.

Eventually the man stopped reminiscing and looked at him.

"What really brings you here to see me, Frank?" He asked.

Frank looked at him for a long time. When he spoke his voice was low. "I`m 
here about Tracey-Ann, Jimmy."

Jimmy got up slowly and looked around for his cigarettes. They were over 
by the TV set. He lit one and sat down again, across the table from his 
colleague from years ago.

"What about her?"

"I know she was your daughter, and she died so tragically. . . . and I know 
that you found out who caused her death, and you killed him because of it."

McQueen buried his face in his hands and sat there motionless for what 
seemed a long time. Finally he lifted his head. His face was grey and old. 
There was nothing he could say.

"Come with me." Frank said gently. "Where`s your jacket. It`s cold 
outside."

He helped the man into a warm coat and led him outside into the cold 
night. Watts, his concern for Frank growing, had been waiting at the gate. 
Frank nodded to him and he stood back as they walked down the road to the
waiting car. In silence they drove back to the police station.

-----

In the interview room he remained silent as the detectives questioned 
him. He had never sat on this side of the table before. It confused and 
frightened him. It was a novel experience for him, but one he had expected 
would come one day.

Watts, his arms folded, leaned against the one-way glass, watching as 
Frank entered the room and sat down opposite McQueen. It was almost 
midnight and a long way from being over. The detectives and Holland 
entered the monitor room. They each carried a styrofoam cup of coffee, 
but they did not bring one in for Watts. They had grown hostile, and this 
was shown in the looks they gave Watts. They wanted to close ranks. This 
was one of their own and they would have preferred to deal with him 
without the presence of these two interlopers. But McQueen would only 
talk to Frank. He had stated this over and over again.

"Tell me about Tracey-Ann. What was she like?" Frank`s voice was 
metallic, coming through the intercom.

"Ah, she was beautiful, Frank. Fifteen years old and full of life. I loved 
her from a distance. My wife never knew about her; she would have killed
me, you see. But I watched her growing up, into a beautiful young woman. 
She was the light of my life." 

Frank thought about the light of his own life, a continent away in 
Virginia with her mother, the other light in his life. They were there
because he had failed them.

McQueen continued. "My soul died that day. The three of them were found 
together. She was lying in the snow, her face almost as white. It`s still 
so vivid in my memory. . . . my Tracey-Ann lying there, cold and dead, in 
the snow. I watched as they lifted her. My last image of her face was as 
they zipped up the body bag."

Tears fell from his eyes and he was lost in the past. He lit another 
cigarette and wiped them away. Frank waited patiently.

"Horton sold them the drugs. He had been dealing among the kids all that 
summer, but we could never prove it. So I killed him. I had to Frank. I 
could not go on living, knowing he was alive."

"What about the other`s you killed?" Frank asked.

"Jarmin, God forgive me, was a mistake. We thought he was dealing. We 
had been checking bank records, but it turned out that the money was left 
to him by his wife`s uncle. He was innocent. The other`s were 
dealers. . . . but we just couldn`t prove it. What evidence we had would
never have been admissible. So we took them out. We had to stop them. . . .
To save all the other kids. You understand Frank, you`ve seen the evil too.
. . . We had no other choice but to stop them."

"Who helped you, Jimmy? We need their names too."

Eventually he told them everything.

-----

Watts insisted on giving Frank a lift home. It was 9.30am and they were 
tired. They talked about it on the journey. McQueen had been working with 
three other cops, all in DEA. They formed their group in the belief that 
what they were doing was right. They had to stop the evil from spreading. 
The system was failing, they could see that every day, as more and more 
criminals walked free, and in their eyes the end justified the means. They 
had talked about it over a few beers one night and McQueen had told them 
about his daughter and how she died and about how the man who killed her 
had paid for her life with his own. That`s when they formed their little 
group and planned their own form of justice.

"The press will have a field day on this. All they will see are crooked 
cops, and police corruption. They will love it."

"Well maybe it`s better out in the open this way. Shows the public, that 
the guilty are always made to be accountable."

Frank though for a minute. "There`s not that much difference between what
they were doing and what we do. I don`t mean the murders, but these men 
were trying, rightly or wrongly, to change the world for the better. To 
stop the evil from spreading."

"Frank, they became the evil that they were trying to stop. . . . the evil 
we try to stop."

"Could you put your hand on your heart Peter, and tell me honestly that you
would not have thought about doing the same, if it were you`re kid?" Frank 
glanced over at him. "I couldn`t. . . . I`d like to believe that I wouldn`t 
have gone so far, but I do know in my heart, that I would have thought 
about it. Wouldn`t you have?"

Watts was unable to answer him.
   
Frank made coffee and both men sat and watched the aftermath on the 
early morning news. As Frank had said, the press were having a field day. 
They were both thankful to be out of it, away from the allegations of 
corruption and abuse of the law that was to come. 

Before he left Watts looked at Frank. "You know the saddest part of all, 
Frank." He said as he finished his coffee. "She wasn`t even his daughter."

Frank looked at him as he continued.

"I checked her autopsy report with his service record. The blood types 
were different. There`s no way she could have been his kid."

"Keep that to yourself, Peter. No one needs to know, especially him."

-----

Watts had left about five minutes and Frank was watching the weather. A 
warm front was moving in from the west, bring rain for the remainder of 
the week. The snow would be gone in a day or so. He smiled and sat down 
to finish his coffee when the phone rang. He was tempted to let the 
answering machine pick it up, and go on to bed for a few hours, but instead
reached for it.

"Hello." He said wearily.

"Did you catch the bad guy, Frank?" There was no trace of sarcasm or 
bitterness in her beautiful voice, as she copied one of Jordan`s favourite 
greetings.

"Yeah, sort of. . . . we caught the bad guy who was catching the bad guys."

Both of them were silent, unsure of how to carry on. Frank carried the 
phone over to his chair and sat down. He took a deep breath.

"How are you both?"

"We`re fine. Jordan`s in bed. I tried to call you earlier, to let her talk 
to you, but I guess you were busy, Nothing changes. . . . huh."

He was tempted to beg, to plead with her to gather up Jordan and come 
back to him and their yellow house. He would catch all the bad guys and 
make it safe for them to come home. But he said nothing for he knew he 
could never catch them all and because of that, he knew she wouldn`t come
home. Not yet, not for a long time.

He closed his eyes. "I`m so sorry Catherine."

----------

DISCLAIMER: "Millennium" and Frank Black, Catherine Black, Peter Watts, 
Cheryl Andrews, and Detective Geiblehouse are the property of Chris 
Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox broadcasting Company. Annie Watts, 
Lt. Holland, and the rest of the supporting cast belong to me, Mandi 
Sheridan.  This story is not written for profit and is for fan-fiction 
purposes only.

Mandi Sheridan  (mandisheri@aol.com)
Aug. 1997