The prompt: A struggling detective has been given one last chance before his badge is revoked, a string of murdered pimps and drug dealers. All have only one thing in common linking them together; a love poem left on the body... addressed to the detective.

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     Drops of soft morning rain pattered softly on the chipped window of detective Elliott Saunder's office. He was sorting reports regarding his last case, which had ended in a degree of failure. His previous case had been catching a serial killer. Two cops ended up dead, but at least the killer was caught. 

     His office door creaked open. A police officer clad in a regulation navy blue uniform stepped in. "Hey, Elliott, we got something for you. The chief said it is a chance to redeem yourself." The officer threw a folder on Elliott's desk and left.

     Elliott set down the reports, threw away an empty whiskey bottle, and grabbed the folder. Two murders were found. One was found yesterday evening. The other was found only two hours ago.

     Both victims had copious amounts of drugs on their person. Too much for your average junkie. Too much for diehard junkies also. Most likely dealers. 

     "Double homicide? Serious stuff," Elliott wondered aloud. He glanced down at the autopsy report. The cause of death was being shot in the forehead for both of them. A closer examination revealed the bullets were fired from the same gun. 

     "Nothing useful there..." Elliott flipped over to the next page. Evidence. The bullets were used to kill the victims, a torn piece of brown and black checkered cloth that may belong to the killer, and love poems at each scene. The verses were addressed to someone. That someone being...Elliott Saunder? 

     "Well, that explains why I was chosen to investigate this," Elliott placed the folder in his black trench coat's inner pocket, "I should go visit the crime scenes.". Grabbing his fedora, Elliott left the local police department headquarters. 

     Elliott hailed a taxi and directed its driver to take him to the first murder scene. The first scene was found in the Montiare apartment building. The building was first constructed in 1957, six years ago. The drive there didn't last more than five minutes. 

     "Here we are, sir," the taxi driver pulled over to the side of the road. 

     "Thank you," Elliott handed the driver the fee. Stepping out of the taxi, he was greeted by the sight of a dilapidated 2-story building. The building had more shattered windows than he could count, giving off the impression it was nearly a hundred years old rather than six.  

     Elliott reluctantly entered the building and walked up to the second floor, "The report said it happened in the room at the end of the hallway..." He walked to the end of the hall. The door on his immediate right had crime scene tape over it. He pushed open the door and entered.

     "Greetings, sir."

     "GAH! WHAT THE...Oh, hello, officer," the sudden voice had caused Elliott to nearly jump out of his skin. 

      A police officer, seated at the edge of the room, stood up, "I'll leave so I don't distract your investigation."

     Elliott stepped all the way into the cramped apartment. The room had one lamp in the far corner, a single, cracked window, a couch that doubled as a bed, a small kitchen area, and white tape on the wooden floor marking where the victim's body had been found.

     Elliott grabbed a slip of paper that had the poem on it. It had been written down a bit hastily but was readable. It read, "Female deer are doe. Dear Elliott. Love you, but you must go." Elliott placed it back in the police folder, 'Who wrote that? A seven-year-old?'. 

     Elliott checked the victim's file next. Eric Miller, age twenty-seven. Had been arrested for thievery three years ago, but other than that, he was a model citizen.  

     Elliott glanced around the room. No signs of a struggle or a break-in. Perhaps the victim knew the killer and let them inside the apartment, or the murder took place somewhere else, and the killer brought the body here.

     Elliott left for the next crime scene. It was a short walk as it was only a few blocks down from the apartment. 

     Two officers were on the scene, finishing up the preliminary investigation. One of them noticed Elliott, "Hey, Elliott. Long time, no see."

     Elliott glanced down at the white tape marking where the body had been found, "Hello, officer Duncan." 

     Elliott grabbed the victim's file. Mark Stevens. Age thirty-seven. Arrested for burglary four times and possession of illegal substances. He had only just been released. 

     "Officer on his way home found the body. It was still slightly warm, so it happened within the last twelve hours," Duncan said.

     Elliott glanced over to a warehouse on the left, "Huh, I remember that building. The mafia used it to store ungodly amounts of drugs, weapons, and stolen objects. We got a tip from two drug dealers who wanted to get out of jail. They told us about that storehouse. I was part of the raid that seized that stuff. Ah, I remember the days when we dealt with the mafia. Half the force was in the mafia's pocket. I remember guarding the three witnesses set to testify against the mob boss himself."

     Duncan rolled his eyes, "Ya know, I was on the force when all that happened. I know all this stuff."

     Elliott ignored Duncan and began looking around for anything that forensics missed, "I don't even remember the faces or names of the witnesses. I had them use different fake names and wear new disguises every day. False beards, moles, mustaches, hair dyes, and other stuff. It was a bit obsessive, but I needed to ensure they survived until the trial. Fortunately, Chief Diane helped me hide the witnesses. Oh, what's this?" Elliott bent down and grabbed what appeared to be the shaft of a wooden pipe next to a drainage grate.

     Duncan moved a bit closer, "Looks like a common drugstore pipe. They sell those by the dozens. Connecting it to anyone would be impossible."

     Elliott pocketed the pipe, "I'll hold on to it regardless." Elliott grabbed the poem that was found at the scene. It read, "Vengeance is sweet. The time nears. Can't wait to meet." 

     Elliott sighed, 'Not exactly a love poem,' and put the poem back in his pocket, 'More incoherent gibberish. Both victims are drug dealers, so maybe the killer is a friend of someone who overdosed? Maybe this is some sort of revenge, but if so, why are the poems addressed to me? Drug dealers aren't the responsibility of my department.' 

     Duncan walked away, "I've finished the preliminary investigation. I can give you a ride back to headquarters if ya want."

     Elliott put the folder back in his pocket, "Sure." The ride in the squad car was uneventful as Elliott was pondering the case. Elliott nodded at the officers he passed as he returned to his office, 'Next step will be visiting the victim's relations.'

     "Elliott, how's the case going?"

     Elliott saw police chief Diane, wearing a checkered jacket, stepping out of his office. "Nothing definite. Might be the friend of an OD victim might be getting revenge." 

     Diane nodded, "I'm taking the day off. Try to make some progress by tomorrow."

     Elliott entered his office, 'Weird. She typically has a strong smell of smoke lingering about her.' He looked back at Mark Steven's file. His last family member, his brother, had passed away two years ago. He looked back at Eric Miller's file. His mother lived nearby. 

     Elliott spent the next three hours organizing his suspect list and finishing filing the reports for his previous case.

     "OI! ELLIOTT!" officer Duncan rushed into Elliott's office, "We got three more murders."

     Elliott shot up, "THREE?!"

     "Yeah, they were found in an alleyway by a passerby. Forensics is en route."

     Elliott leaped up, "Right. Gimme a ride."

     Duncan grabbed his keys and hurried to his squad car with Elliott. Even with lights and sirens, it took almost ten minutes to reach the crime scene. 

     The scene was taped off with three officers guarding the scene. Forensics zipped up three body bags. Elliott grimaced when he saw the faces of the victims. Permanently frozen in fear, ‘Yeah, those three were definitely pimps.’

     Elliott showed his badge to an officer guarding the scene. Acknowledging Elliott was a detective, the officer lifted the tape of Elliott. i

     Elliott walked over to another detective, jotting something down on a notepad, "What do we know?"

    "Uh, each of the victims was shot in the gut. One of them was shot twice. Ballistics will test the bullets to see if the gun used to commit the two murderers earlier was also used to kill these three."

     Elliott looked at the arrangement of the bodies. One had his back to the right wall, and the other two had their backs to the left wall, "Do we know the victims?"

      The detective pocketed his notepad, "The one by the right wall is Herman Shorter. He was arrested for selling illegal substances. He was released two weeks ago. The other two, who we believe were buying drugs, are still John Does. We believe they were buying drugs from Herman when the killer showed up and gunned them down. Oh, yeah. There was also a poem addressed to you." The detective handed Elliott a slip of paper.

      Elliott unfolded the paper. It read, "Dear Elliott, you were great. But now, your time must end. " Elliott put the poem in his pocket alongside the broken pipe, 'Whoever wrote these poems needs to take lessons.' 

     The alleyway began to be derived from light. Elliott turned to see the sunset, 'It is getting late. I will leave this scene to forensics. The first victim's mother lives nearby. I'll go visit her.'

     A short walk took Elliott to the door of a white house. Its painting was chipped, and it had few windows, but it reminded him of home. He ascended the porch steps, noting the table with two chairs around a table at the end of the porch, probably used to enjoy lunch on a sunny day. He rang the doorbell.

     An elderly woman opened the door, "How may I help you, sir?"

     Elliott removed his fedora, "Unfortunately, ma'am, your son was murdered. I am detective Elliott Saunder. I need to ask you some questions about your son."

     The woman stepped out onto the porch. "Please, take a seat," she motioned to the chairs at the end of the porch.

     Elliott did as she said, "First of all, my condolences. I am sure losing him must be tough, Miss Miller. I'm sorry that I must talk to you about his death so soon, but it is necessary if I am to find the killer. Did your son suffer from drug addiction?"

     The woman took a seat by Elliott, "No. He never went near drugs or alcohol."

      "Are you sure, Miss Miller? We found a large number of drugs in his coat."

     "Please, call me Anna. And I am sure. He would never touch drugs."

     Elliott nodded, "I see. Did he have any... Enemies or rivals?"

     Anna nodded, "Of course. Lots of them."

     Elliott looked up, "What? Why?"

     "Don't you remember? He testified against the mob boss six years ago. That would make many mobsters hate him. Weren't you the one who guarded him during that time?"

     Elliott froze, "I-I was. Excuse me, ma'am, but I just realized something. Thank you so much for your time." Elliott hastily stood up and headed back to the police station. 

     By the time he reached there, the moon had begun to shine brightly. Elliott rushed to the records room.

     "Whoa. Whoa. Whoa," Duncan stopped Elliott, "What's got you in a hurry?"

     Elliott pushed past Duncan and opened a box containing files regarding the mob, "I may have solved the case. Now help me find the court records for the trial against the mob boss."

     Duncan leaned down, "Well, you won't find anything important. Most of the important stuff was censored. However, the chief's files might not be."

     "Then let's go!" Elliott ran to the chief's office, which had large windows in the place of walls. "Damn," he jiggled the knob, "It is locked."

     Duncan pushed past him and kicked the glass door down, "No one is here but us, so no one will ever know."

     Elliott began routing through Chief Diane's files regarding the mob, "HERE!" He smacked two folders down on the table. He handed Duncan the first one, "Check the names for the dealers who tipped us off about the storehouse."

     Duncan flipped through the pages, "It says they were... Herman Shorter and Mark Steven."

     Elliott opened the other folder, "The mob boss' trial. It says the witnesses were... Eric Miller, James Charlotte, and Richard Turner." Elliott looked at the witness' photos, "I knew it..."

     Duncan set down his folder, "Knew what?"

     Elliott handed him the photos, "Those are three murder victims from earlier. And the names of the dealers are the same as the other two victims. This was revenge. Killing the people who got the mob boss convicted."

     Duncan looked at the photos, "But why place drugs on them?"

     Elliott looked Duncan right in the eye, "To distract us. If they looked like drug dealers, we would assume it was the friend of an OD victim getting revenge."

     "But you escorted the witnesses. What if you recognized them?"

     Elliott shook his head, "There was no way I could. They wore different disguises each day. I barely remembered their real faces. And the killer knew this because I kept telling that story over and over again."

     Duncan set down the photos, "So, the mob boss is getting revenge?"

     "Not possible; he got the death penalty. So did the underboss, and many of the captains are still in jail."

     "Then...who?"

     Elliott slammed his fist on Diane's desk, "I don't know!" Something caught Elliott's eye. He grabbed it and saw the tip of a wooden pipe, "...That's it."

     Duncan gazed at the wooden pipe, "What's it?"

     Elliott grabbed the broken pipe from his pocket, "Look. They connect perfectly," Elliott said as he put the two pieces together.

     Duncan stepped back in surprise, "You mean... It was the chief?!"

     Elliott placed his hand on his chin, "It had to be. She and I were the only ones who knew the witness' faces since she helped me hide them. And this is her pipe. Wait, the torn cloth at the scene," Elliott grabbed the cloth, "It corresponds to the jacket she was wearing today." 

     A gunshot rang out, and Duncan fell. Elliott hastily ducked behind Diane's desk and drew his revolver.

     "Ya figured it out. Good job. I hate to kill you since you were so good at your job, but it has to be done."

     Elliott peeked around the desk, "And why is that Diane? Why'd you kill those five people? Let me guess. You were also on the mob's payroll?"

     Heels clicking at the opposite end of the building accompanied Diane's voice, "Yep. I walked away with an extra fifty thousand dollars a month back then, but you and those five jailed the mob boss. Taking away my best source of income. Needless to say, that pisses me off."

     Elliott focused on the sound of heels, "Well, I can understand that, but I like living, so could you not kill me?" Elliott pulled off his left shoe. 

     The clicking began to near Elliott, "No can do, Peter. I would rather like revenge."

     Elliott checked to see if his revolver was loaded. It was, "Why the poems? And why assign me to the case?"

     The clicking stopped, "The poems were because I always wanted to do that, like the killers in mystery novels. And I assigned you to the case for fun. I wanted to see if you could piece it all together before I killed you."

     Elliott chucked his shoe at the glass on his left. The noise of shattering glass caused Diane to jump and shoot at the noise's origin. At that moment, Elliott stood up from behind the desk, facing the sound of a gun firing, and discharged all six bullets in his revolver. 

     At that moment, six cops burst into the building, all holding shotguns, "FREEZE!"

     Elliott dropped his gun and raised his hands, "She shot at me. It was self-defense."

     Duncan groaned, "He is telling the truth. She shot me."

     Elliott looked down at Duncan, "I thought you were dead.”

     Duncan groaned again, “I’m only mostly dead.”

     An internal investigation was carried out, and it was confirmed that Chief Diane had been accepting bribes from the mob. Elliott was allowed to keep his job and participated in many more cases before getting shot by a pimp.