After watching forensics comb through both apartments and come back with squat, Pete decided to head back to the station. As he left the parking lot, several reporters outside tried to scream questions at him. He didn't even listen to what they were saying and just drove past without responding. He had been working with next to no sleep and was determined to get a little rest. He'd check in with the station and probably grab a few hours on one of the cots in the locker room before getting back to work. A case this big wasn't solved by someone who could barely keep their eyes open. Pete consulted his watch right after parking at the station and it was half past eleven in the morning. Once in the station, he grabbed a less than great cup of coffee and seemed to get a second wind by the time he reached his desk. He took a seat and started to make some phone calls, making contact to other departments in the Tri-state area, as well as to federal agencies to see if this killer and his M.O. had been seen before. He wasn't having much luck. At last, he put the phone down and sighed.

     "You'd think with this kind of theatrics, this wouldn't be your perp's first time." Gibbons' partner, Detective David Grozza, was munching on a power lunch that consisted of a few donuts and an over-sweetened cup of coffee. "Just saying."

     Pete groaned as he scratched his four-day-old beard. "If this perp isn't a first timer, it wasn't done here in America."

     "That wouldn't be too surprising." Grozza took a sip of his java. "That whole ninety-nine protest is worldwide. I'll make a call to Interpol before tossing in the towel."

     "Do you think it could just be a decoy?" Pete asked. "That this whole ninety-nine bullshit is a rouse meant to lead us on a merry chase?"

     "Wouldn't be the first time," Grozza admitted. "But we have to take it seriously. If this person is angry at the one percent, then this perp isn't going to stop at one greedy banker."

     "I know." Pete let out a long, deep yawn.

     "Dude." David said, putting down his powdered snack. "Didn't you leave here around here at four in the morning after working on the damn Miller case for over fourteen hours?"

     "Yup," Pete confirmed. "Then I woke up at eight to take this case."

     "Shit, you much be exhausted." David pointed to the locker rooms. "Crash on the cot for a few hours, and I'll take make some of those calls. If anything drops while you're napping, I'll wake you up."

     Pete checked his watch, which told him it was almost one in the afternoon. "All right, but don't forget to call Interpol."

     "I won't," David said as he waved to him. "Get in there and get some sleep already before another body drops!"

     Pete moaned and grumbled to himself as he strolled into the locker rooms where everyone changed to get ready for their shifts. There were some cots in the back of the room for people who were too busy to head home and sleep on their own beds. Pete put his cellphone, badge and even his gun into his own locker before walking over to one of the cots and stretching out. Usually he found the cots to be rather uncomfortable but his body didn't care at that particular moment and he quickly nodded off to sleep. To Pete, it felt like he was only asleep for a few minutes, but when David kicked his cot to wake him it was actually four hours later according to his watch.

     "I'm awake, what the fuck is it?" Pete asked.

     "McManus is looking for you," David answered. "And he's pissed."

     "Has someone else been killed?" Pete asked as he sat up.

     "Not yet," his partner replied. "But give him time; he's that irate."

     "God dammit," Pete grumbled as he pulled himself out of the cot.

     He walked into the bathroom and tossed a bit of water into his eyes and combed his hair before leaving the locker room. He went back to the coffee station and poured himself a glass before strolling over to Captain McManus' office. He could hear the old man roaring from down the hall and David wasn't kidding, he sounded like he might kill someone. Hopefully, it wasn't something that he did. He gently rapped on the door in the hopes that his boss would take a deep breath and call him in. After no answer, he just opened the door a few seconds later.

     "What's up?" Pete asked as he slowly strolled in.

     "You tell me!" McManus roared as he turned his computer screen around. "The Times posted this on their site two hours ago!"

     Pete walked over and finally realized why McManus was so irate: Remember the ninety-nine had gone public. The one thing they wanted to keep secret to avoid a panic was leaked to the media less than ten hours after the crime scene was discovered. The media was all over it and now investigating the crime was going to be a side show, with reporters wanting to know every detail and that just mucks things up. McManus had every right to be upset, as this could seriously compromise the investigation. More than that, he was pissed that someone leaked a crime scene photo.

     "I want to know who leaked this, and I want that person fired," McManus roared, "I don't care about the union; that person is off the force. I want an internal investigation on this ASAP!"

     "That won't be necessary, boss," Pete said as inspected the photo.

     "What do you mean?" McManus snarled.

     "We didn't leak the photo." Pete pointed to a corner of the photo. "Look at the angle of the sun. This picture was taken as the sun was going down. We didn't get in there until the next morning, and the sun wouldn't be in our photos because it comes up on the other side. This was taken the day before, while the crime was still being committed. This was leaked by our killer."

     "Son of a fucking bitch," McManus said as he finally understood what he was being told.

     "Our suspect doesn't like the fact that we tried to keep the message under wraps." Pete turned the monitor back around. "This also tells us he's a little serious about his message if he's willing to leak it to the media himself. This means whenever the media stops paying attention or tries to move on to another story, our suspect will do something drastic to bring the spotlight back on himself, even if it means increasing the body count."

    "Damn it," McManus replied as he shuffled in his chair. "We need to get ahead of this. I want you to pick three people to make up a task force to deal with this case specifically, before we're overrun by the feds. We need to let the city know catching this sick bastard is priority number one."

     "Alright." Pete thought about it for a moment. "I want Grozza to partner with me on this, and I also want Gabriel from forensics."

     "Okay, one more." his boss said. "And don't spread the departments too thin."

     "Fine," Pete said as he got creative. "I want that beat cop who was at the scene this morning. Officer Jones. She was helpful there, and I think she'll be helpful now."

     "Done, she's all yours. There's your team." McManus printed three pieces of paper and quickly signed them. "Now get back out there and catch this piece of shit."

     Pete took the three forms and walked out of the office as quickly as he could. The three forms gave him the authority to transfer the people he'd just selected to join his task force. Once delivered to the person intended, they were his for the remainder of the investigation. The first thing he did was shoot down the stairs to find Officer Jones, who was actually in the lady's locker room, getting out of uniform. Pete softly tapped on the door and asked the first lady to answer it to fetch Jones for him. Moments later, Jones arrived, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

     "Afternoon, Officer Jones," Pete greeted her.

     "Detective Harris," she replied. "Can you make this quick? I'm about to head home."

     "No, you're not," Pete said as he handed her one of the papers.

     "What does this mean?" Jones asked as she looked at it.

     "It means grab your gun and your badge and come with me. You're back on the clock," Pete answered.

     "But I just finished a shift!" Jones replied.

     "So did I," Pete said with a smile. "Welcome to my world. Meet me back up at homicide in twenty minutes. You'll be clocking some serious overtime tonight and no uniforms either, you're playing with the big boys now."

     Jones seemed to toughen up as she finally realized that this wasn't as bad as first expected. She was being promoted from the kiddie table to where the adults eat. "Alright, see you in a few."

     Pete had seen something in her earlier that day, and his instincts were never wrong. He also knew from experience that when putting together a task force, you need someone from every branch of the force, not just from one department. Doing it that way made it easier to reach out to any part of the force without stepping on any toes. It was the easiest way to get departmental co-operation and didn't thin out any one section too much. It was the way his mentor used to run task forces and now that he was a little older and wiser, it's how Pete intended to run his task force as well.

     Gabriel was still at the crime scene with forensics, so Pete dropped his form off with his supervisor and asked for Gabriel to report to him the moment he returned from the scene. Since the scene he was working was the very same Pete was at this morning, leaving him out there made sense. It also meant Gabriel would be able to give them a forensics update when he eventually returned to the station. After leaving forensics, Pete walked back to homicide and dropped the final piece of paper on Grozza's desk.

     "You're with me," Pete said with a smile.

     "Well, well." Grozza smirked. "Make one phone call for someone and suddenly you're their bitch."

     "Makes you wish you didn't wake me up, right?" Pete said as he sat down at his desk. "I assume you've heard about the photo leak?"

     "Everyone has," Grozza answered. "Who around here is dumb enough to do that?"

     "No one," Pete told him. "It was our suspect."

     "I see," Grozza said as he leaned back in his seat. "We're dealing with one impatient bugger here, aren't we? Media wasn't moving fast enough to deliver his message so he gave them a little nudge."

     "Exactly," Pete said as he roamed over to his own desk. "And odds are, he wasn't impressed with our attempt to cover up the message on the wall. That means his next move might be splashier and definitely more public, something we won't have any chance to hide."

     "I'll contact the Times and secure the original so forensics can go over it," Grozza said as he picked up the phone on his desk.

     When Jones finally made her way up to homicide, Pete could barely tell it was her. She had long blonde hair that was hidden quite well by her hat when she was at the scene. It was now in a ponytail, and she was still wearing her jeans, but had on a nice white blouse and a jacket. Pete was unsure if she wore something like that whenever she left work or if she had it stashed in her locker just in case opportunity knocked on her door.

     "Nice to see you could join us," Pete said to greet her.

     "What can I do for you?" Jones asked.

     "We're going to the Times to pick up a photo." Pete put his own coat on. "They have a photo of the scene that was sent to them by our suspect."

     "That's not a good sign," Jones replied.

     "No shit, Sherlock." Grozza said as he was waiting on the phone.

     "Our killer wants attention," Pete stated as he tossed a scarf around his neck. "That means he, or she, will do anything to make sure that message is heard loud and clear, and it doesn't appear to matter how many people have to suffer."

     "We're going down there now?" Jones asked.

     "Yes," Pete said as he pointed to David. "Don't tell them we're coming, I want to catch them by surprise."

     Grozza nodded. "Get moving then."

     Pete and Jones left the station, and as they made their way to parking, he tossed his new partner the keys. "You drive. I'm just waking up."

     "Alright," Jones replied as she caught the keys and followed him to their car. Once on the road, it only took a short time to weave through downtown traffic until they reached their eventual destination.

     Once at the Times, they strolled into the lobby.

     Pete showed his badge as he approached the receptionist at the main desk. "I'm Detective Gibbons, Homicide. We need to speak with your chief editor."

     "You guys move pretty quick," the receptionist observed.

     "How so?" Jones asked.

     "We just called you guys a few minutes ago," she answered. "You were going to send someone down."

     "Well, since we're here," Pete said as he gestured to the elevator. "Tell them we'll be right up."

     Pete and Jones walked into the elevator. When they reached the top floor, there was a mass of people in the hallway. They were not surprised to see them, which gave Pete the impression that whatever was going on was upsetting enough to call the police over. When Jones and Pete reached the door to the editor-in-chief, he softly knocked.

     "Come on in," a voice called.

     Pete pushed the door open and flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Gibbons and this is Officer Jones."

     "Dave Mason, Chief Editor," the man behind the desk replied. "You guys don't fool around, do you?"

     "Honestly, we were already on our way on another matter when you called," Pete said as he walked further in. "We're here about the photo; we believe that your source might be our suspect."

     "I'm pretty sure you're right about that," Mason said as he picked up an envelope. "Because we think that same person just sent us a letter."

     Pete walked up and took the letter from him. "You've opened it?"

     "We used gloves; this isn't our first rodeo," Mason said as he got up from his desk. "There were two letters in there; one was for the public at large and the other was for me. The one for me said that if his letter wasn't printed on the front page of tomorrow's paper, then more people would die."

     "Damn it," Pete cussed, putting on his own gloves to handle the new evidence. "So, are you going to print it?"

     "Like I have a choice," Mason answered. "I don't want to provoke a killer into taking out another family."

     "Hopefully it won't come to that." Pete pulled out the letter from the thin envelope and took a gander. Inside were the two messages Mason had referred to. The first was a letter to the editor, threatening further killings if he didn't print the enclosed letter. Pete put that small note back into the envelope and then took out the main letter, which was a single page with a message for everyone.

To the people of New York City:

For far too long, the richest one percent have been living large off the labors of an underpaid and underappreciated middle class. They've been rolling in the profits that increase every year while all the worker bees get in return are lower wages, less hours and sometimes even unemployment. Those overpaid, spoiled brats don't care who they hurt as they squeeze their companies for every penny of profit they can get. Where is your sense of good faith? Whatever happened to paying a good wage for a hard day's work?

This display of greed is disgusting and will no longer be tolerated. The abuse the ninety-nine has been taking from the one percent is over. It's time that the fat cats on Wall Street to finally pay the true price for their disloyalty, and their criminal behavior. This country only succeeds when we work together and it's clear to everyone that the top is only looking out for themselves. For that reason, they should be removed from the big picture.

To the greedy one percent of this city, this will be your first and only warning. If you are unwilling to be fair to the people who work for you, then I will personally make sure you leave this life as quickly as the jobs you're unfairly shipping overseas. If you refuse to change your crooked ways, then I suggest you prepare to meet your maker, because I'm going to personally arrange the conference.

Remember the ninety-nine,

The Prophet

     Pete read the letter over again. It was just like Emma had mentioned earlier that day; a modern-day Jack the Ripper sending telegrams to the media in the hopes that his message would be received and followed. Mason obviously didn't want to defy the alleged Prophet, not only out of fear of what he might do in response, but out of fear for his own safety.

     Gibbons realized the Prophet was going to mail the same letter to every news outlet in the city. If the Times didn't print it, chances are someone else would and then the suspect, the Prophet, would target someone at the Times to retaliate and punish them for noncompliance. Pete clearly understand the position the Times was put in, but at the same time they did call the police the moment they realized what they had on their hands. They made the right decision to at least give what they had to investigators regardless if they were going to print or not.

     Mason was the first to speak up after the long silence. "We've already made copies, so you can take the original back to the station. We want to report the news, but we have no interest in interfering with your investigation."

     "Well, I don't think you should print it," Pete told him. "I suspect he's going to kill again anyway, so why give in here, right?"

     "I thought about sitting on it," Mason replied, "but I can't risk provoking him to lash out at us, and if we print then we can at least try to control the narrative."

     "Good point," Pete agreed. He didn't like that answer, but Mason has his own people to look out for. He put the letters and the envelope into a clear plastic bag to seal the evidence. "We appreciate your cooperation. If any more of these arrive, be sure to let us look at it first before printing it."

     "No problem," Mason agreed. "We'll do what we can to help."

     As Pete and Jones left the office, the eyes of every reporter in the lobby and at their desks were on them as they made their way back to the elevator. "Are you ready, Officer Jones?"

     "Ready for what?" she asked.

     "We're hunting a modern-day Jack the Ripper," Pete said as he hit the button. "He's sending letters to the media and ordering them to publish them. History is repeating itself. Let's hope this manhunt ends a little better than that one did."

     "He?" Jones asked. "What makes you so sure?"

     "The crime scene," Pete answered. "Our vic wasn't a small man by any means. I hope it's a man, because if it's not, the alternative is much worse."

     "And what would the alternative be?" Jones asked.

     "If it's not one nut doing all the heavy lifting himself," Pete said as he finally entered the elevator. "That means he or she has help, and we're hunting at team of people dedicated to their cause, like a cult."