Have You Heard of The Alleyway Killer?

Beck knew what he was doing was wrong. It didn’t follow the legal code.

But, goddamn it all, Beck mentally yelled, sometimes even the law wasn’t enough.

The disgusting savage would get his punishment tonight, and Beck would give it. He dropped into the back alley, trying hard not to gag from the combined scent of dog faeces and ancient waste. He held his breath.

His mark had not yet looked behind him.

Bill stepped on something soft and wet.

The undesirable item, now stuck to the bottom of Beck’s shoe, made a squelching sound—almost spontaneously accompanied by an uncharacteristically loud gag from Beck.

His mark flicked his head up.

Pleasedon’tlookpleasedon’tlook.

Pleasepleasepleaseohplease!

The mark itched his neck and continued walking, apparently oblivious.

Beck caught sight of a round synthetic object protruding from his mark’s ear. The fool had headphones on.

Beck looked up at the sky and clasped his hands together. If there was a god, they had held Beck in high favour.

Beck clambered out of the alley, now directly behind his mark. As a rule of thumb, he stayed one street lamp behind.

Though calling the monster in front of him a mark never truly described the stain, the hateful smear, the disgusting blemish on humanity that was the Alleyway Killer.

Beck remembered when his partner, Dale Thompson, and he had found the first body. He remembered all the others too.

They were always just barely away from safety: a few metres from a streetlight, a block or two from home. And the Alleyway Killer was always just barely away from capture: a few minutes, a quick leap, a piece of evidence lost.

The Alleyway Killer was proof that the legal code was not omnipotent. He was the reason Beck had had to work outside the Force.

Then he had struck again. Three more deaths, all on Beck's own street.

God knew Beck had had enough of feeling powerless while one of the world's worst serial killers might be walking past his front door. He dreamed almost nightly of an endless struggle against the Alleyway Killer, one where the killer screamed and begged. Then he'd wake to the same cruel reality.

This time he was going to make the dream real.

The Alleyway Killer rounded a corner and stopped, prompting Beck to do the same.

Beck frowned as the little devil ducked into a corner shop. He considered following, then decided against it.

"Don't think you're going to kill him, you freak," Beck muttered, watching as the monster smiled at the cashier, played through its act of niceties.

Then something extraordinary happened.

The Alleyway Killer picked out a large bag of crisps and carried it to the till.

Beck stared in confusion. Had the aberration spotted him?

No. The fool genuinely wanted food.

"Eat all you want, pig- gonna die anyway."

That reminded him of his old partner, Dale Jackson, who had always cracked the funniest one-liners. It reminded him, too, of their separation. The higher-ups had been so desperate to hide the fact that the Alleyway Killer remained elusive that they had taken Beck and Dale off the case altogether.

Luckily, Beck smiled, I didn't give up.

The Alleyway Killer left the shop and continued through the weaving streets. Beck waited before following. Years of preparation wouldn't be ruined by overeagerness.

Ahead lay a stretch of darkness where the street lamps merely flickered. That was where Beck would end this story.

He reached into his pocket for his knife.

Nothing.

No.

Not today.

Old age was taking its toll. Fine. He would beat the savage to death with his bare fists.

Especially after what he'd done to Beck's partner...

Tommy Dale?

The lack of sleep had left Beck tired and disoriented.

Focus.

He remembered Tommy saying, "Get a restraining order on distraction if you have to—but focus only on your case."

That was before Tom had died.

Right?

Beck frowned.

Was Tom dead?

Who the hell was Tom?

Wasn't his partner named Cullen?

Wasn't Beck a lone wolf?

No point dwelling on it. A cup of coffee and a photo album would sort it out later. The monster ahead could only be fixed by Doctor Death.

Yes. It was coming back now.

The Alleyway Killer. The police force's failure. The lies.

They had staged a sham trial, dragged in some petty criminal, forced a confession so convincing Beck almost believed it himself.

But Beck knew better.

He was looking at the defenceless figure of the Alleyway Killer.

The pair stepped beneath the darkness.

Beck moved.

He grabbed the rascal by the neck—

—and the rest became a kaleidoscopic blur of colour, screaming, and grunting.

When it was over, Beck dragged the body into the light.

God.

The killer's face was an abstract mess of flesh and bone, how many times had Beck kicked him? Less than he deserved, Beck grinned.

Then the grin vanished.

The boy.

The teenage boy lying in front of him wore the uniform of a nearby school.

Was that Nicky?

Oh God.

The lovely kid from next door.

Beck gritted his teeth and screamed at the sky.

"For God's sake!"

He had gotten the wrong one again.

The Alleyway Killer really was getting cunning. Three times Beck had tried to catch him. Three times he had struck again.

"For God's sake!"

He hurried away from the body.

It was time to go home and sleep.

God knew old age was taking its toll.

But he wasn't going to let that stop him.

He would try again.

Beck would give the Alleyway Killer his rightfully deserved punishment.