Danny Barnes glanced in the mirror, a last minute check. As a police officer, he thought it important to look professional in every way. Of course, he had to chuckle. The name badge across his uniform was BARNES. Everyone in Waycross, GA, knew him by his nickname, Cooter. His Captain once said it would be okay with him if he changed it, but, "All those damn Yankees coming through already think we're a bunch of rednecks down here."

He was headed downtown to have breakfast with his best friend and fellow officer, John Baker. He thought it would be great if John could also change his name badge to his nickname. He'd known John since the fourth grade. The nickname hadn't changed since that time. It was Booger.

Happenstance, they arrived at the diner at the same time. As they walked through the door, they were greeted by a fine, fragrant mist. A comforting aroma of Southern breakfast. Marlene hollered out, "Hey Cooter, hey Booger. Do y'all want the usual?" Both responded yes. Eggs over-easy, grits, sausage, biscuits and coffee. Not a bad way to start a day. Of course, Marlene couldn't help herself. "Booger, you might want to hold back on those biscuits. That there uniform is looking right tight across your beam."

"Hey Marlene, I just love it that you're looking at my beam! When you bring my biscuits, make sure to bring some of that homemade apple sauce."

The two sat at their normal booth. It magically was always available. Perhaps not magic, but more a reflection that the two had occupied the same booth, at the same time for six years. After fixing his coffee that arrived the minute they sat, Cooter said, "You know, I can't imagine living in a large city. I bet the officers there don't get the treatment that we get. It's kinda nice to know everybody,"

Stirring his coffee, Booger replied. "It is kinda nice, and it's also nice to mostly have small town crime. When we were at that seminar in Atlanta last month, it was shocking to hear about all the crap that goes on. Those boys got it rough."

They would have been through with breakfast, but the second round of biscuits slowed them down. The tactical radios that both carried, beeped. Checking in, the problem was one that needed response, even though they weren't technically on duty for another hour. A nine year old girl had been snatched at the Walmart parking lot and thrown into a van. The mother had been hit in the head with a pistol and was being treated on-site. Cooter and Booger knew them both, Cindy Lewis and her daughter, Bethany. There was a vague description of the van, dark in color, maybe ten years old, with dirty back windshields.

"Booger, why don't you go check out Walmart. Talk to the Mom and see if we can get security camera pictures. Walmart does a good job with cameras, so maybe we'll get lucky. I'll start canvasing the area, looking for the van. Call me if you get some good information."

They bolted from their booth and headed out the door. Marlene hollered out, "You boys be careful out there." They hadn't even paid. No one was worried. They could just pay tomorrow.

Cooter drove through several areas that were close to the store, areas where a van could park and not be noticed. Every second counts; why can't I get lucky just this once?

His thought was interrupted by his tactical radio. It was Booger. "Hey, man, some updates. Cindy is okay. They took her to the hospital for observation. Her husband is there with her. She didn't really get a good look at the guy. She felt that he was about my height, so six feet or so. He's a white guy and she's pretty sure he hit her using his right hand. Not much, but at least something. The camera thing is another story. They've got a camera right about where it all went down. The security manager is racking up the tape for me. He'll make a copy, but come on over and lets take a look."

Cooter activated the light bar and siren and headed to Walmart. In the eight years of his career, he had worked on two child snatching cases and he knew full well that time was of the essence.

When he arrived, Booger greeted him with a wealth of information. "Here's a full face view of the perp. His face is partially hidden by the hoody he's wearing, but is good enough for us to print and get out. As Cindy indicated, he is white. Here's a picture of him next to the Dodge Caravan, which also suggests her height estimate is right as well. This shot allows us a partial read of the license plate. North Carolina plates, that end in 287. I called North Carolina DMV, and they're running a check for Dodge Caravans with plates ending in 287. They should have something in a couple of hours. A couple of hours doesn't sound like much, but we're already ninety minutes into the snatching. Let's head back to the station and begin distributing pictures. I've already called in a BOLO for a late model Dodge Caravan with Carolina plates ending in 287."

"Hey, you've done great. See you back at the station."

On the way back, Cooter got another call. He immediately called Booger. "Hey man, a cleaning lady at the Tuck You Inn called 911. She's pretty sure she heard a child screaming. She's not too sure from what room, but has an approximate idea of floor and area."

Booger said, "The Tuck You is a pretty shady place. It is right off of South Main, near the station. It may not have anything to do with the snatching, but we should check it out. Let's go in quiet. If the perp is there, we don't want to spook him."

The two pulled in to the hotel parking lot. Cooter got out of his car first. "I've called for back-up. The Dodge Caravan over there fits the description, even down to the license plate. Let's see if we can pair the owner to a room."

The clerk at the desk confirmed the room, 207. The cleaning lady confirmed that the room was in the area that she suspected the scream came from.

Cooter talked to the clerk. "We have back-up coming, but we're not going to wait. A child might be in danger. When they arrive, just let them know the situation. Officer Baker and I are going to go to the room."

As they neared the room, Cooter conveyed a plan. "The doors don't have peep-holes, so I'm going to try and get the guy to open up."

Cooter knocked on the door. After a small hesitation, a voice responded, "Yes, what is it?"

The guy at the front desk said that you own the 2003 Dodge Caravan that's parked out front.

"Yes, I do, why?"

"Well, some guy in a pick-up truck just bashed in your side. I wrote down his license plate number."

"Thanks, that's great. Can you just slide it under the door?"

"Hey, buddy, I could have just left myself. I was hoping for some small amount of gratitude. I think ten dollars would be fair."

"Alright, let me open the door." He opened the door, but the security chain was engaged. When he got a glimpse of two uniformed officers, guns drawn, he tried to slam the door. Booger's shoulder against the door was more than enough to pull the chain loose.

The man staggered back, shouting, "Hey man, what the hell?"

The scene inside was not good. A small figure was obvious under the sheets on the bed. A torn pair of small panties visible on the floor. Booger turned the man around and cuffed him. Cooter walked to the bed and lifted the sheet. It was Bethany. He placed the back of his hand on her carotid. Her body was cooling, and he did not detect a pulse.

"Is it Bethany?"

"Yeah, I'm going to call for help, but it doesn't look good. You better read that ass-hole his rights."

Booger pulled out a card from his shirt pocket and recited the Miranda Rules. The prisoner responded that he did understand his rights. He went on to ask, "What's the big deal here?"

Cooter looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean what's the big deal? It pretty much looks like you raped and killed a nine year old child."

"I didn't kill her. She started screaming and wouldn't shut up. I just covered her mouth with my hand. She's okay, just shake her awake. It wasn't really a rape. That little girl really wanted it. You should have seen what she was wearing, tight pants and this cute little shirt. It was like she was advertising for it."

Cooter hollered back, "Listen you sick shit. Nine year old girls don't ask for it. Only a sick pervert like you might think so. As far as shaking her awake, I wish with every fiber of my being that I could do so. The girl is dead."

"I didn't mean to kill her. That would be the last thing in the world I would do. I really wanted to do her again."

Cooter pulled his service revolver out and shot the man in the forehead. He dropped like a log.

"Jesus, Cooter, what in the hell have you done?"

"I shot a child rapist and murderer while he was trying to escape. You can back that story can't you?"

"Hell, I can't do that? I cuffed the guy."

"Take the cuffs off. His gun is right there on the dresser. I'll toss it down next to him."

"Yeah, that would make it look totally believable. Let's do it."