##Chapter 2: Abigail

At approximately 8:30 this morning, ten minutes ago by the clock, a manilla file labeled with first class postage was placed onto her desk by the receptionist of District Attorney Barrington. She'd just finished tidying her office when the man himself arrived.

Apologizing for not having perused the file, Abigail read the index swiftly.

Bobby Holiday. Born: August 24, 1967. Height: six-feet, three inches. Hair: Brown. Eyes: Blue. Alias(s): The Hitman. Active from 1990-Present. Current location: Cook County Correctional Facility.

She looked to her superior for confirmation of the file's validity. After speaking to the receptionist outside for a moment, Barrington closed the office door, settling into the chair across from her.

"I take it you know about Bobby Holiday, Ms. Fredricks?"

Abigail nodded, taking her time in going over all the details of Holiday's incarceration and legal charges.

"He's a notorious sociopath, sir. Responsible for at least fifteen different deaths, that we know off, across multiple jurisdictions. He's meticulous and ruthless. Chooses targets that have no resources and lures them into abandoned locales. He then dismembers and spreads the body parts across the city to be found through a series of cryptic puzzles."

Barrington opened his own file, licking his fingertips as he flipped the pages.

"Is that all you know of him?"

Eight counts of murder in the third degree. Five counts of murder in the second degree. Nine counts of aggravated assault. Numerous unlawful entry charges.

A death penalty or life sentence without parole were the proffered legal actions listed in Barrington's feathery writing.

"I know he was on the FBI's most wanted list for years. I also know that he was never formally caught despite having never moved beyond the Chicago area for his crimes. What caused him to slip up after all this time?"

Barington removed and held out two sheafs of paper. The photos of a woman and a child were imprinted in black and white. They were labeled as missing.

"A family? I find it difficult to believe someone like Bobby Holiday would allow connections like that anywhere near his line of work."

A shrug followed a tap to the papers in her hands.

"We're not here to debate the psychological nature of killers, Ms. Fredricks. We're here to determine how to best keep them in prison for the rest of their lives. Which is why I need you to find and bring into custody the two people alive who can give testimony to Mr. Holiday's behaviors."

Abigail forced her heels to stop tapping. Eagerness was well and good, but the energy must be directed. "Am I to infer that I am the head prosecutor on this case then, sir?"

Barrington chuckled. "I expect results in the next twenty-four hours, Fredricks. We can't afford to lose this one. A case like this is far too sensitive to screw up."

Abigail reached for the phone, scanning her eyes across the directory for people assigned to the case. "I'll have the reports on your desk by tomorrow morning."

She tucked the receiver into her chin as the door closed.

If anyone would have information on the missing wife and child, it would be the person responsible for coordinating the arrest warrants.

"Yes, this is Abigail Fredrick from the district attorney's office. I would like to speak with Mr. Frank Sims please."

***

The public defender had been very forthcoming about the plan to capture Mr. Holiday. He was either eager for the DA to learn his accomplishments or simply the overly friendly type.

Regardless, after nearly three hours of driving (the early morning rush had several accidents) Abigail pulled into the street beside the bakery at 12:30. She set her phone inside her steering wheel, pointing it at the establishment, writing down the date and time she arrived on paper, as well as the description of the bakery itself.

The video would provide ample clues as to where the witnesses had gone in case they had plans to escape, but technology did have a chance to fail.

The bakery itself was nicely furnished. The tiles were newly grouted. Not a speck of dust could be seen in any corner. The owner took a bit too long to look at her attire and briefcase, slapping a towel on the counter as if the flour clouds would keep her from getting too close.

"Sorry, but we're all out of treats for the moment."

The subpoena was laid face up.

"Be sure to arrive thirty minutes before the specified time so you can be prepped for cross examination. Furthermore, if you don't comply and show me where Mrs. Holiday is staying, I'm certain the DA would have no qualms about opening an investigation into criminal obstruction charges."

The woman pointed her to a set of stairs.

"Just be gentle with them, alright? They're spooked beyond belief, I've no idea what the poor things have been through to get here."

Her position was a sound one. The points would be neatly outlined and the rationale behind each explained. There would be no need for worry because nothing upsetting would occur.

The witnesses were in the living room huddled together on the couch nearest the wall. They had dyed their hair black and were wearing loose fitting pants and shirts of the same color. If Abigail hadn't known who they were, she wouldn't have been able to tell them apart from the masses.

Mrs. Holiday spotted her first. She threw herself atop her daughter, grabbing for a flower vase.

"Stay away from us! The owner has a gun! I'll scream, and she'll come running before you--"

Reaching inside her jacket, Abigail pulled her ID from her pocket and slid it along the floor.

"Please relax, Mrs. Holiday. I mean you and your daughter no harm. I've actually come to talk about how you can assist me in making sure your husband never harms anyone ever again."

Mrs. Holiday kicked the card back, pulling her daughter closer.

"I'm sorry. I've no interest in making any kind of statements. I know how these things go."

Perfectly reasonable. The woman was focused on her safety. Taking a seat on the couch opposite them, making sure her ID card was always displayed on the table between them, Abigail removed a handkerchief from her skirt and offered it.

"I've heard all about your part in ensuring the arrest happened smoothly. What you did took an immense amount of bravery. I would hate to see that go to waste because the law was unable to prosecute Mr. Holiday for his atrocious acts."

Mrs. Holiday looked at her sharply. Abigail held her hands up and smiled.

"As much as I hate saying this, the law is not a perfect thing, Mrs. Holiday. Charges cannot stick based on conjecture and good faith alone. We need evidence. Proof that his behavior is meditated and not just a heat of the moment performance brought on by stress or some other external factor."

The woman shifted in her seat, idly rubbing her daughter's back.

"Would… something like that really happen?"

Abigail hummed, ticking off the possibilities on her fingers. "They could go for an insanity defense. They might claim that the defendants standing in the community renders it impossible for him to have committed any acts at all. They may even try and present the case as a crime of passion. Convince the jury it was desperation to save a failing marriage."

The girl whispered something to her mother. The woman shook her head, letting her eyes roam the room as if she expected the room to burst to life at any moment.

"I don't think I could be any help to you. I may have been married to Bobby, but that doesn't mean I know all about that much. I mean I…"

The door opened and there were quiet murmurs. Abigail paid them no mind. This was a women's shelter after all. It was likely just some new tenets. If they entered the room she would ask them to give them privacy.

"You could still give us insights into his actions during the times of his crimes. The times he left and came to the residence. The state of his personality. How often he changed his wardrobe. Mundane things that seem to have no bearing can be what wins the entire--"

The rustling of bags caused Abigail to look at the entrance where, despite her best efforts, her gaze stayed.

The woman walking towards them made the room her own.

What exceptional eyes she had. They were full of warmth. The deep blue color left a calming sensation in the chest. The curls of her hair, far lighter than her own blonde, softened the expression on her face. There was no doubt if she asked, the woman would give her the clothes she wore.

The way she walked was equally interesting. She wobbled a bit. A jumping half step that swayed her hips. It was possible the weight of the bags had her off kilter, but the items inside were clothing, it was impossible. The likely culprit was a leg shorter than the other.

The waddle reminded her of a young colt. Full of energy to take the world yet unable to for the strength of their frame.

This image was reinforced by the woman's smile. It radiated the good humor that came from years of dealing with sorrow and finding beauty in the individuals left behind. Practice uplifting others from depths they never thought they could reach.

The lips were a cupid's bow. They turned up at the corners naturally. It made it easier to spot smiles of genuine emotion and those which were forced for the sake of social politeness. They were pulling at the corners of her eyes now, tightening the pink skin until Abigail feared it would split.

Would she mind having her dab at them with her fingers? Just to see if they were real. They looked too realistic. An artist's rendition of life.

She crossed the room in no time, yet in too much time. An anticipation for the moment of meeting made the word seem... quiet and still.

She was before her. A gentle warmth encased her.

Abigail looked at the hand shaking her own. The woman's grip was firm, but the skin was soft enough that the hand felt as if it did not exist. She wondered when the other woman had gotten so close. Struggled to make sense of the words she spoke.

Elaine Roberts. A social worker? Such strength of will it took to work so thankless a job. Not to mention the knowledge of people would be sure to come in handy towards convincing Mrs. Holiday of the need for testifying. This Elaine had come at a most fortunate time.

Abigail hoped her face was cooperating correctly. She was never the best at cordial greetings.

She rushed to assist Elaine with her bags as she sat on the couch. When the woman mentioned having need of something, it was impossible not to feel elated at the prospect of partnership. Clearly, this Elaine was of a similar mind to her own.

The first instance of meeting a new… uh... partner would do for now. It should be one in which you put your best behaviors and personality forward. Your best qualities should shine. You should invite the other to see the worth in you. This was the proper way of things.

She was going to be helpful. Answer any and all questions Elaine had. She would even show off her folding skills and make the bags lighter to hold.

This was not how the situation unfolded.

The moment was awkward. She was fumbling her hands. Why could they not work properly when she needed them most? Every time she reached for a bag to grab, Elaine did too. They muttered apologies at one another. Abigail felt her cheeks turn red enough she was certain the woman thought her feverish.

She cast her eyes to the floor, unable to look into Elaine's face. She could salvage this. Just offer assistance with the case. Put the words in a manner no one could construe as overbearing.

"Please don't hesitate to ask anything. I am prepared to outline the facts in the case you are uncertain of."