Chapter 1

Cal Carlson sat on the edge of the bed with one sock on and the other one lying what seemed to be a mile away on the floor. Cal hated mornings. He especially hated Monday mornings. He had decided three or four times already this morning, not to go to work. He ought to have a job where he could sleep till noon and only work till one. That would be the life. And maybe only a couple of days a week. Who made up this dumb rule about people working all day? He was tired. Tired of work, tired of play, tired of his real name, Calford, just tired. But Cal was too good at what he did to stop doing it. He was the chief of police in a small town some miles west of Denver, Colorado. A small place called Redvale. The police force only had seven people total, including the dispatcher/secretary/officer, Terrie. He kept trying to lasso the escaped sock with his gun belt. He definitely didn't want to get up from the bed. The one bright side of this particular morning was the smell of fresh brewed coffee and frying bacon, maybe maple flavored, drifting into his nostrils. Too bad it wasn't coming from inside his small pillbox house. It came in through an open window. Although most of his house was very clean, it still smelled of stale beer, dirty socks and something not rotten yet, but on its way. The coffee and bacon still smelled damn good though. The phone rang and Cal just hung his head.

“Not this morning, please not this morning. Can't I get to work once without somebody calling for some stupid reason?”

The phone rang again and the gun belt flew across the bed and knocked the phone off the nightstand.

After a second, Cal got up slowly and picked up the phone. “Don't you know what time it is, dammit? I'm not even awake yet.” he yelled into the phone.

A voice on the other end of the line said only a short sentence. “Boss, we got another one… another one of those.”

Cal hung up the phone without a word. He knew what the voice was talking about. He had hoped this thing was over. God knows it should have been over. No one could prepare for what was happening.

The caller was his best deputy and closest friend, Dennis Robbins. This phone call could only mean one thing. Somewhere, somehow, somebody found another innocent baby's headless torso. He finished dressing without the smell of coffee and bacon bothering him. Now he could only smell that thing turning rotten. And this time it was the news from the phone. This was the third dead infant in four months. He had almost had that sock the last time. He would have had it if his gun belt hadn't decided to fly across the room. Another few minutes and it would have been all his. Now he had to walk over and pick it up. Within a few minutes, he walked out of his house, got into his patrol car and headed for the station.

Cal Carlson had been Police Chief in Redvale for over six years. He was 45 years old and only stood 5' 11”, but he had the body of a 25 year old, or so he thought. He didn't have to exercise or watch his diet or anything. He was just blessed with great genes and a lifestyle that kept him from sitting around. He had slightly receding brown hair and green eyes. He never considered himself that good looking, but he didn't think he was as ugly as some other people. Raised in small town Iowa, he had gone to college for a while in California, but never graduated. When he moved and got a job as a cop in Texas, he found the work very easy. He seemed to be able to figure things out quick and was soon thought of as a “ringer.” It didn't take too many cases to get the notice of an F.B.I. Senior Agent. Soon he was working for them, and once again became a “golden child.” This was something unheard of for an agent only 30 years old. But he solved some of the cases the old-timers couldn't. He also earned a great deal of respect and gave as much back. He became the target of some very bad people, because he was so close to a big bust, and the F.B.I. Director thought it would be best if he “retired.” He ended up in Denver, then Rapid City, South Dakota and soon sought the quiet life of a smaller town, maybe like the one in Iowa he grew up in. That brought Redvale, Colorado into his life.

As his Ford Expedition patrol car got to the station, Dennis was outside waiting on him. He was puffing on a short cigarette and had a cup of coffee in his hand. On the steps was a second cup. It was the Chief's favorite Fitzgerald's casino mug.

“Morning Dennis, if you brought out my casino mug, it must be serious. And I thought you were gonna quit smoking.” Cal said.

Dennis looked pale and muttered, “When this bastard is caught and six feet under, I'll quit. As far as the mug, it seemed to be the cleanest. At least I knocked some of the topsoil off of it.”

Cal looked at the cup and answered, “Thanks, I think. Where was this body found?”

Dennis replied, “Clear Creek Canyon, out by that picnic area, right before the Blackhawk turnoff. We were the closest town so they called here. Maybe we can pawn it off on the county jerk patrol this time. Boss, this baby was found by a couple of tourist kids. They're really upset and the parents are as shook up as the kids. We took their statements and, dammit, how do these people go on…