Fully charged

"Smack!"

The little girl planted a wet kiss firmly on Nick's cheek and said in her soft little voice, "Thank you, Detective Burkhart."

Some kind of almost tangible energy flowed into Nick's body with that kiss, making the detective's smile stiffen slightly.

He immediately suppressed his delighted surprise, stroked her silky blond hair, and reassured her, "You're welcome, sweetheart. Remember to listen to your mom from now on. Don't be like Little Red Riding Hood. Always take the main road home."

Little Robin nodded solemnly, kissed Nick on his other cheek, then turned and flung herself into her mother's arms.

Standing to one side with his arms folded, Hancock had completely lost his earlier unease. His face wore a doting smile as he cheerfully watched it all.

PPB reinforcements arrived quickly, not only because Hancock had contacted headquarters, but also because they had received an anonymous tip from a concerned citizen.

Nick's backup plan hadn't gone entirely to waste. His original intention had been that, if his and Hancock's "polite" visit failed to achieve anything, he could still use an anonymous tip to try forcing a search.

The quiet Cabin in the Woods was now surrounded by police vehicles of various models. The newly arrived forensics team and medical examiner's assistants were busy at the front and back of the house.

"The whole thing was a little strange, and I still haven't even figured out how you found this godforsaken place, but I've got to admit, you did a damn good job."

Watching Robin get into a car with her family and leave, Hancock grinned and moved to sling an arm around Nick's shoulders, only to be startled when his partner turned around, his expression instantly darkening as though he had switched faces.

"What's wrong?"

Nick didn't answer. Instead, he headed straight back into the cabin and strode into the kitchen.

A forensics officer was collecting fingerprints in the kitchen. Nick approached the strings of sausages and stared at the appetizing food for a long while, his expression shifting, before speaking in a low voice.

"Take these back to the lab too. Test their DNA. And this sausage stuffer, of course."

Neither Hancock nor the forensics officer caught on at first. Once they realized what his words implied, both their faces turned grim.

"How did you know... Are you sure... I mean... Fuck! Goddammit!" Hancock stammered for a while. Though he didn't really want to admit it, reason told him his partner's deduction might have some merit.

But Nick hadn't been making a deduction. After leaving the kitchen, he returned to the living room and climbed down the ladder into the basement again.

Hancock hurried after him. As he descended the creaking wooden ladder into the basement, he saw two forensics officers busy there as well.

Nick borrowed rubber gloves from one of them, stepped forward, and opened the wardrobe opposite the bed. There, hanging inside, was a row of red coats in different styles.

Hancock's eyelid twitched as he silently counted them. Apart from the smallest one, which presumably belonged to Robin, there were four whole sets of slightly larger red coats.

With a grave expression, Nick patted his Black partner on the shoulder. "You personally took down a serial killer. A cannibal. Good work."

This time, it was Hancock's turn to take critical incident leave. After rushing to the scene and hearing the report, Inspector Raynard wore a sour expression as he held back his anger and issued a gag order concerning the media.

The case was far too heinous. Every day they could keep it under wraps counted. At the very least, they had to hold off until the District Attorney and the bigwigs on the City Council understood the situation.

After all, the Portland of today wasn't the garbage city it would become more than a decade later, with public safety completely shattered and addicts and homeless people everywhere.

Beer, roses, diversity, a livable environment, and public safety that ranked among the best in America were all points of pride for local residents.

Of course, when it came to the two partners who deserved the lion's share of the credit, the middle-aged inspector still suppressed his anger and greeted them with a smile. Not only did he personally see Hancock into the ambulance, he also thoughtfully suggested that Nick could take a few extra days of paid leave.

The remaining work would be handled by a Task Force jointly formed by the PPB and FBI. This didn't really count as stealing credit. Since the case involved a serial killer and child abduction, it was the feds' job to begin with.

The two detectives were happy enough to have Federal Agents help clean up the mess. After all, Hancock had shot the suspect dead at the scene. No one could take that principal credit away.

Two agents from the local FBI office even came over to shake their hands and express their thanks. After the turn of the millennium, advances in police investigative techniques had made horrific serial murder cases like this very rare.

For a case to be solved so quickly after the crime, with a victim even being rescued, was rarer still. It practically amounted to credit falling into their laps.

The FBI defined serial killers as those who murdered at least three people, with cooling-off periods between their crimes.

They differed from mass murderers, who carried out a massacre in a single location over a short period, or spree killers, who went from place to place killing people.

Generally speaking, serial killers were the hardest to deal with. They tended to have relatively high intelligence and no outwardly abnormal traits.

Their targets were primarily strangers, and their crimes were usually premeditated, rarely spur-of-the-moment acts. Their motives varied even more widely. Some killed simply to vent their emotions or satisfy a psychological need.

Although a certain amount of "coincidence" had gone into solving this case-Nick stated that he had merely noticed something off about the killer while checking suspects with his partner, only for the man to suddenly erupt into violence and attack them, with Hancock's two broken ribs as proof.

The two FBI agents were still delighted and took over the follow-up work without the slightest attempt to pass it off.

Having witnessed certain scenes he couldn't make sense of, the Black detective didn't correct any details in Nick's account either. All he wanted now was to have a proper talk with his partner after going to the hospital.

Nick accompanied him to the hospital. Only after Hancock had finished all his examinations, had a metal plate strapped to his chest to stabilize his ribs, and been taken to a ward did Nick say goodbye to the enthusiastic nurses and take a taxi home alone.

After a whole night of running around, it was broad daylight by the time Nick got home. Yet he wasn't sleepy at all. The moment he shut the door, he eagerly spread his hand, and a card radiating a soft golden light materialized, floating above his palm.

Nick's breathing grew a little rapid. It had only been two years since he last used this golden finger item. At its previous sluggish charging rate, he would have been doing well to enter a movie world for another bit of fun before turning thirty-five.

Yet when the little girl had given him that kiss of gratitude earlier, an energy he had never felt before had flowed into his body. He had immediately sensed this miraculous Movie Ticket stirring.

So, was this the right way to charge the golden finger? Solve cases, save innocent people, and receive their gratitude.

Nick touched his cheek and grinned foolishly for quite a while before remembering what he ought to be doing right now. He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hi, Aunt Mary. How have you been feeling lately?"