Obsessed with stopping Adler's rampage, Dutton could not muster any sympathy for the cold-blooded murderer he despised much more than any other cruel killer he ever brought down. A state of rage consumed Dutton. He knew wrapping the Adler case up would be dicey, at best.

Dutton understood the number of lives that hung in the balance, not to mention those already slaughtered. Sound psychological analysis was not required to reach that conclusion.

"Maybe we've finally concocted a winning game plan to capture Adler," Ballister stated.

"None too soon," Dutton replied, "I know we can't lose this one, Mark. We'll never get over ourselves if we do."

The walls in Dutton's office were covered with theories, notes, and what-nots that pertained to Karl Adler. A procession of push-pins took over the partitions. Dutton felt he had a myriad of clues to solve the dilemma, and yet he didn't have a clue. Nothing up to this point worked. Still, he considered several different perspectives.

Sunk, almost to the bottom depths of unsatisfied, heavy heat fell on the detectives. For all they knew, Adler could have already grabbed another victim. It would have fit the psycho's M.O. Was an autopsy, or worse, to be performed today? They simply did not have the answer. Nor had Adler sent any messages. That could change in an instant.

Searching for the proverbial smoking gun, Dutton re-read his notes. The opportunity to capture Adler persisted, if he was smart enough to figure the killer out.

Dutton continued to play various word games with the clues he had. He turned to Ballister and wondered, "What are we missing, Mark?"

"Could the series of tragedies that befell him, before he became the beast he is now, be the secret to Adler's code?" Ballister asked.

Dutton considered the question. Was his young partner on to something? If Adler's intention was to drive them insane, he was successful.

"Bingo!" Dutton blurted out loud, "The obviousness of Adler's pattern is transparent."

Dutton's heart pounded in his chest. Adler had left a series of subtle clues along the trail. What appeared on the surface to be patternless crimes rang crystal clear. Adler's mission of revenge began the day he was forced off the job as a detective. Had he desired to be caught all along, then vascillated about the prospect?

"Adler's goaded us from the beginning of his rampage," Dutton said.

"That's why his ferocious and bloodthirsty murders have continued," Ballister responded.

"The question now is how to finish Adler? We need to get out of this defensive mode we've been mired in and launch our own attack," Dutton reasoned. He grabbed his weapon from the rack it hung on. "Let's roll."

Adler was on the move. Parked on a quaint side street in the suburbs of the town, Dutton and Ballister fronted a trap set for the elusive phantom. A select few other law enforcement types were on location, waiting. Gun-shy, with reason to be, they feared tipping Adler off.

The morning passed. Early afternoon arrived. Every house on the street looked like they belonged on the National Register of Historic Places. The stakeout dragged on.

A call came over the radio, "Adler has been spotted. But, there is a problem. He turned towards Bogart Boulevard. Adler saw something he did not like."

In anger, Dutton smacked the steering wheel with his hand and said, "I told you he's careful, and good. He knows how the department works."

Solid evidence needed against Adler, they had wanted to allow him to enter a home before they took him out.

Another radio transmission sounded, "Adler is on Soileau Street, headed for the four-lane. He is on the run."

"He's gotta have a shortwave," Ballister remarked.

Dutton keyed his mike and stated, "Adler's intercepting our calls. No more talking on the radio. Adler's hearing every word. That's how he knew we were here."

The car's engine fired. Dutton raced away from the curb he had parked the sedan next to. In an effort to intercept Adler, Dutton shoved his speed up to eighty on the residential road. Dutton felt everything ricocheting out of control again at the inclination of a bedlamite.

"There's Adler!" Ballister shouted spotting his vehicle headed onto Dulcimer Drive.

Afraid of the progressing car chase, as Dutton sped on, other cars he catapulted past blared their horns. Departing the city limits with the pedal on the floor, Dutton sped to the thoroughfare.

Dutton knew this would be his best opportunity to apprehend Adler and vowed, "The squirrel goes down now!"

He hammered a huge trough in the middle of the road. For a quick moment, the car left the pavement and landed with a vibrant clonk.

Ballister kept hollering, "Adler's going down!"

Thirty feet separated the hunter from his prey. Dutton pulled alongside Adler. They exchanged quick peeks. Animated, gratification pumped through Dutton's body.

Adler flipped Dutton an erect one-finger salute and called through his opened window, "We finally meet again, Compadre!"

For a fleeting instant, Dutton was as demented as Adler.