Dahmer's Not Dead

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To Doris June and J-Fer.

Also, for Debra Miller, Patricia Bradley, Vette Myers and the rest of my federal and civilian friends who indulge me in my eccentricities and animal adventures. Thank you!

And for R.K.

— | — | —

PROLOGUE

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN, JULY, 1991

“PV-Two-Zero-Seven, do you copy?”

“This is Two-Zero-Seven, I read you. Go ahead.”

“PV-Two-Zero-Seven, are you 10-8?”

“Roger.”

“Proceed to AB on North 25th Street, Building 1055, Unit 213 for possible Signal 22. Investigate and report.”

“Roger, but what’s the scoop?”

“Possible domestic complaint. Standby for complainant descript via case number filed by PV-Two-Zero-Eight… Tenant’s name is Dahmer, Jeffrey, 31 years old, white male…”

««—»»

“10-4,” Chase groaned. “Two-Zero-Seven 10-6 to North 25th Street. Out.”

What a pain in the ass, he thought, hanging up the mike. He stubbed out a Winston and honked the cruiser’s horn. Kick me too, why don’t ya? In moments Chase’s partner, Sergeant Dallas Gollimar, returned to the patrol car with two coffees and a bag of Burger King Double Whoppers with Cheese. “What!” Gollimar snapped.

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