It was Friday, 10:35 p.m. as Maggie had dropped her daughter off at mother's night out a new program at her church designed for young couples or young mothers to have a social life. Once a month, the hours were from seven till midnight. She only had about an hour and a half to find her sister, who never missed ladies night at the caravan nightclub. Maggie had been trying desperately to reach her sister for the past hour, as Maggie walked hurriedly into the nightclub. Searching through the crowd immediately she spotted her sister standing at the bar talking with a distinguished looking older man with a beer in his hand. Maggie's sister was named Andrea walking up behind her. Maggie touched her on the shoulder and Andrea turned around, spilling her drink. She shouted, hey sister, what are you doing here? She then hugged Maggie. With a worried look of desperation and tears welling up inside before Maggie could utter a word. Suddenly, a man—six foot two, scruffy-looking, and wearing a trench coat—burst into the bar, shouting, "Maggie Jackson!" at the top of his voice.

A handsome woman turned around.

The disturbed man glared at Maggie. Then he pulled an Uzi out from under his coat and opened fire in the vicinity of the woman, hitting her several times. People ran everywhere. When the clip was empty, the deranged man started to reload.

Suddenly an off-duty police officer dove under a pool table, pulled her weapon, and emptied her gun into the man. The shooter fell like a sack of potatoes.

The officer climbed out from under the pool table. Very shaken over what had just happened, she nevertheless took charge of the situation, holding her badge up high so everyone could see and shouting, "I am Officer Jamie Bell. Now everybody remain calm!"

About five foot eight, Jamie was twenty-eight years old, had long brown hair and blue eyes, and was standing at her full height when she reached for her radio. Jamie radioed, "Officer needs assistance and ambulance at The Caravan night club. The address is 1215 South Peoria Ave. We have multiple victims," she concluded, her voice starting to quiver.

Jamie started to assess how many people had been hit by the madman's gunfire. Counting as many as nine people hit, she tried to arrange the victims and perform whatever triage she could to communicate to the emergency responders a full report and direct them to the most severe injuries when they arrived. Two bartenders and four waitresses tried to help her.

When the police arrived, Captain Richard Jackson yelled out asking what had happened! The captain stood tall at six foot three. Thirty-eight years old, well built, and very handsome, he carried himself with tremendous confidence and authority.

The young policewomen stood up from helping some of the wounded. She told him what had happened and how she'd handled the situation. The crowd cheered for her, and several of the patrons came to the captain and praised the young woman for her heroism.

The captain asked, "What is your name, officer?"

She said, "Jamie, Captain, Officer Jamie Bell."

Another officer yelled across the room, "Captain, get over here!" The officer was holding the hand of a woman as she lay on the floor. She was critically wounded.

The captain came over and saw the woman in blood-soaked clothing. She looked as if she was barely alive.

The captain shouted, "Maggie," and knelt by her side. He lifted her head up and brushed the hair out of her face.

"She's his wife," the other officer whispered.

The woman opened her eyes and looked at her husband. Maggie tried to speak, gasping for air. Her husband whispered into her ear. She reached for him, poking him in the eye. He pulled back and then wiped his eyes.

A moment later, she was gone, and a few of the police officers tried to console the captain. He appeared to be very distraught, and Jamie felt shaken as she stood and watched her police captain grieve for his wife. Watching his wife die made Jamie sick to her stomach. She quickly ran to the bathroom and vomited in a trashcan.

Three other women had died also; one of the victims was Maggie's sister.

The captain stood up and instructed the officers, "Get all the statements from the witnesses and report back to me."

After the captain had left the bar, the other officers worked the room, interviewing everyone they could, including Jamie.

After about an hour, Jamie asked if she could go home. The officers told her to go home and report back in the morning. Sitting inside her car in the parking lot, the emotion of the night had finally gotten to Jamie as she sobbed uncontrollably into her folded arms on her steering wheel. That was the first time she had ever fired her weapon at anyone, much less killed someone.

She started her car and headed home. Three blocks from her house, she stopped at a stop sign. Glancing over at the sign, she noticed something written on it that she couldn't quite make out. She pulled closer. "Stop Raping Sally," the words said. How awful, she thought. Who would write something like that? Words had been scrawled over the next sign as well. "You can stop him," the sign proclaimed.

Jamie drove to the last stop sign she'd reach before arriving at home. Just like on the other signs, a hand-painted message with each letter running sickly down the sign said, "Stop and listen." She was really puzzled. She felt like it was some sort of message, but to whom?

As she drove into her driveway, she kept thinking about the stop signs. They really bothered her. She tried to put them out of her mind. She felt like she needed to talk to someone. Jamie's mother had passed away when she was eleven years old; though she'd had a falling out with her father several years ago, he'd recently reached out to her. A month ago, Jamie's brother was an Olympic champion wrestler; the two of them had never been very close.

So for the first time in a long time, she called her father. The phone rang four times before Jamie's father answered. From his voice, it was clear that he had just woken up; it was 1:30 in the morning after all.

"Dad, it's me. I needed to talk to someone," Jamie said, her lips quivering. When she added, "I killed a man tonight," she started to cry.

Her father tried to console her, although sympathy was never one of his best traits. He was always very tough on both of his children, especially Jamie's brother. He tried to convince Jamie to move back home. She could be a policewoman there in her hometown.

Jamie answered like she always did—she had told him when she left that she wanted to make it without being under her brother's shadow. She wanted no favoritism. She wanted to do it on her own.

"I know," her dad said, "but you're five hundred miles away. Are you ever going to move back home?"

"Someday I will," Jamie answered, "but not until I've made it here as a detective. That's what I want."

They talked a few minutes more. Jamie told him what had happened and why she was so upset. He gave her his standard speech about being tough, telling her to either suck it up or quit! Jamie thought that was exactly what she wanted to hear, somewhere in the back of her mind. Jamie was quite aware that the speech was exactly why she had called her father. Jamie knew that they would both say, "I love you" before hanging up and that she would call him later next week.

Jamie went into her house, took a shower, and went to bed. She slept, and she didn't dream about what had happened at the nightclub. She dreamed about the stop signs and their meaning instead.

Chapter Two

The next morning, she felt very tired. She had tossed and turned all night, but all she could remember about the dreams were the stop signs. This is crazy, she thought. I killed a man last night, and all I can think about are three stop signs that some kid probably wrote on as a joke.

She opened her refrigerator, grabbed a can of Diet Coke, and took a big drink. After some toast and jelly, she got dressed, locked her door, and headed for the police station. When she came to the first stop sign, she saw that nothing had been written on the side that faced her. As she pulled past it, she focused on her rearview mirror so she could examine the other side. Nothing was written across the sign. Jamie rubbed her eyes to make sure they were clearly focused. She continued on to the next stop sign, pulled past it, and looked out her window. Nothing was on that sign either. When she got to the third stop sign, she got out of her car, walked out to the sign, and looked on the other side. Nothing was there.

I dreamed the whole stupid thing, she thought. Maybe I was trying to block out the shooting.

Convincing herself that must have been what happened, she got back into her car and drove to work. When she walked into the station, all of the police officers stood up and clapped. Several shook her hand. One of the police officers handed her a note. It said the police captain was waiting for her in his office and that she was to report there immediately.

Jamie was now in his office. He told her to sit down, which she did. He was reading her file to himself. "It says here your brother was a two-time Olympic champion and that you also wrestled. You studied karate. You were a top marksman on the gun range, and you finished second in your class at the police academy. Interesting."

He finally said, "I see here that you want to be a detective."

"Very much, sir, very much!" she answered.

"You think you can pass the test?"

She nodded and said, "Yes."

"Here is the situation. We have had three detectives transfer. So we are really shorthanded, and the city council would like us to promote a woman, so the mayor has given me special permission to skip the normal procedure and promote someone immediately. If you pass the test, and the psychiatrist clears you, this can happen today.

"There is one test at three o'clock today. I'm going to let you take it. If you pass you still will have to meet with the psychiatrists three times in the next two weeks. I know this is happening really fast. But if I didn't think you were up to the task, I wouldn't do it. Your first case, we will be able to put this case behind us."

Jamie looked a little confused and said, "What case?"

He answered, "The case that was opened last night when a mad gunman opened fire on a crowded bar. That would look good on your résumé, solving your first case."

Jamie just nodded and said, "Okay."

"Not everyone gets a private test," the chief said. "This is a reward for doing a good job. Now, don't let me down. You have some studying to do before three o'clock, so take the rest of the day to study and be back here at two thirty. That will be all."

Thanking him, Jamie left his office and went downstairs to the police study room. After a couple of hours of study, Jamie went to lunch.

On her way, she glanced at the first stop sign. "Stop Raping Sally" it said again. It was like the stop sign by her house. Staring at the sign, she nearly rear-ended another driver. She pulled over, walked up to the sign, and touched it with her hand. She had already convinced herself the writing on the signs had been a dream. Maybe it was this sign she had seen and it had gotten into her subconscious somehow.

She drove to one of her favorite eating spots. She could order her food and study quietly. After an hour, she went back to her car. She could see that a local restaurant had put flyers under every car's windshield wipers. She picked the flyer up and read it. Just as she was about to throw it away, she noticed that something was written by hand on the back side of the flyer.

"Stop Raping Sally," it said.

Jamie was so startled she dropped the flyer immediately. Then she ran to the next car and pulled the flyer off of its windshield. She turned it over. There was nothing. She went to the next three cars and did the same exact thing. Nothing was written on any of their flyers.

Someone is playing a trick on me, she decided. That has to be it. I'm a young police officer about to become a detective. This must be some kind of prank. I bet whoever's behind this is having some kind of laugh back at the police station at my expense. I'll just pretend nothing has happened.

She drove back to the station. She only had an hour before the test. She knocked on the police captain's door.

"Come in," he said. "Are you ready for the test?"

She nodded her head and said, "Yes." Jamie started out the door and then paused and turned around, facing the captain. "Captain, do you know of anyone who might be playing a prank on me?"

He answered that he wasn't aware of any.

"Three separate occasions I have come across the same handwritten message—twice on a stop sign and once on a restaurant flyer. Each time, the message says `Stop Raping Sally.'"

The captain looked puzzled. He leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and said, "That's weird. Do you think someone is doing this to you? Or is it just a coincidence?"

Jamie just shook her head and said, "I don't know what to think."

At that instant, the captain's phone rang. He answered, nodding his head back and forth. He hung up the phone and said, "They're ready for you."

Jamie went upstairs to the testing room.

The test took about an hour and a half. It had been a pretty grueling test, but she felt she had done well. It was now six o'clock, and she was still waiting for the results.

Finally they came. The captain called her into his office. "Congratulations, Detective," he said, shaking her hand. He then handed her a photo of the man who had shot up the bar and asked her to find out what she could and report back to him. "Remember, make your report complete and thorough. Be sure to question all the people at the bar that you can find and, remember, you're a police detective now. Sometimes these cases aren't what they seem. Sometimes there's no reason for people's crazy behavior at all. He was probably just a nut with a gun and nothing more."

Jamie smiled and left the captain's office. Several other officers congratulated her as she left the station.

On the way home she stopped at the Caravan, the nightclub where the shooting happened. Inside, she asked for the manager. When he came out, she took out her pad and pencil and asked him several questions about the previous night. He answered them the best he could. Jamie then asked him which waitresses were on duty. He pointed out Jill and Sandy and said the others hadn't showed up for work yet. Jamie thanked him and went over to the women.

Jill said, "Hey! You're that cop from last night. You sure stopped that asshole with a gun last night."

Jamie replied, "It's not something I'm proud of. I just reacted. I'm sorry he died."

Sandy said, "I'm not. If you hadn't killed him, he probably would have killed more people."

Jamie just nodded her head and said, "I have a few questions about last night. Have either of you ever seen that guy before?"

They both shook their heads no.

"Was there anything odd or different you noticed last night—anything, anything at all?"

"Well," Jill replied, "I thought that was strange when that woman lunged at that man and poked him in the eye."

Sandy said, "She wasn't lunging for him. She was reaching for him. That was her husband, dummy," Jill retorted, "From my angle," she said while shaking her head in disagreement, "it looked like she was going after him, if you know what I mean." Then Sandy said while rolling her eyes, "You're so stupid. You think everything has a hidden meaning. It was an accident. She was dying. Not everything is a big conspiracy. You watch way too much TV."

As the waitresses continued to argue back and forth, Jamie could tell this was getting nowhere. She asked them if any of the customers who'd been at the club last night were there now.

Sandy pointed out a couple of regulars standing at the bar. Jamie walked over to them and flashed her badge.

The two men recognized her and in unison said, "You're the chick who killed that psycho last night." Jamie nodded her head and asked them several questions. She basically got the same answers. Nobody really saw anything, and nobody knew the guy who had shot into the crowd.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Stop Raping Sallyby Jim Ivy Copyright © 2011 by Jim Ivy. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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