[ WP ] You are a detective who has closed every case but one , a serial murderer who has taunted you all your career . After retiring you start to suspect your significant other .

Hollywood always likes to give every copper a `` one that got away''. That stupid pompous serial killer that they just ca n't catch, to get viewers to stick through the whole series. The reality, of course, is nothing so glamorous. There are plenty that get away. It just takes one screwup in the stand, one word misplaced and suddenly your whole testimony is ripped apart by the best paid defense lawyers you ca n't believe can sleep at night. I saw that happen to a guy I thought was tougher than me. It was n't pretty. A smarmy bastard got away with a traffic violation, nothing major if he had faced the penalty but he did n't, and that killed that cop's confidence in his own ability. It's the little things. True, technology has changed the game significantly over the years, now everyone's seen at least one episode of CSI and they think they know how all of science works. Honestly, it's not surprising to see the job turn from getting the right guy to focus more on what will go through the courts easiest. Foregoing the difficult cases to get the easy ones cleaned up, but I was n't comfortable with that. I took early retirement because I did n't like how things were headed. I like to think I steered well clear of all that red tape, bureaucratic nonsense. It did n't make me any friends in high places, but at least I can rest easy, knowing that my guys did n't put some innocent black kid in jail for something he did n't do and ruin another life before it had begun. 
 
 My wife Angela has been with me through all of this. We met while I was an officer in training and she worked in accounts. She retired a few years ago too. Been together 23 years now. No kids. I was a serving officer for 18 of them. Honestly I did kinda want to make it to 20, but I feared the last stretch might have done me in. 2 years into the future is forever away, 18 years ago was yesterday. 
 
 I was n't young when I joined the force. She was n't young when we met. We probably both thought our lives were over, we were both approaching the big four-oh, and I wanted to do something with my life. Make a difference, you know? So I put a lot of bad people behind bars. And I saw a lot of good people relieved of their problems. I worked in the domestic violence unit. I got my fair share of black eyes and bruises. I moved into sex crime after that, once my line manager told me I had the stomach for it. There I saw a girl of no more than 13 working in a brothel. We pulled her out of there and I went home that night and got it off my chest My wife is an amazing woman. It was about the same time I also told her I wanted to stop drinking. There's only one stop on the end of that line and the world does n't need another drunk, discharged, PTSD ex-cop. 
 
 From there, I joined the murder crew. Nothing as fancy as you'd think. The investigators would just pick up all the pieces from the scene and then hand them over to us to put back together again. It was a little more disconnected from the real world stuff I'd been doing before, and I guess because the victim was dead I could relax and not have to think about them suffering any more. Sounds weird to put it like that but whatever. So that was my career path over 18 years. Her being by my side made it easier. 
 
 I'm walking with my wife the other day. It's freezing and we're wrapped up like always, walking along this dirt road on the way back home. There's a crock pot with a casserole in it waiting for us. The conversation always flows between us on these walks. We used to talk about work. What was playing on my mind, and on hers. She'd worry about me getting shot. I'd usually just point out that the people I dealt with were never that smart. Usually, we'd talk about current cases but since I retired and we moved out here, it's been more about what to bring to Bob and Anne's pot luck or who's still around to send Christmas cards to. It's been nice. This time though, she asked me about an old case out of the blue. 
 
 *'' Oh, whatever happened with that serial killer case you thought you had? `` * 
 
 Well, damn. I thought I'd gotten out of that one by never mentioning it around her again. Nope. Mind still sharp as a knife. 
 
 *'' What serial killer? `` * I ask. 
 
 *'' Remember you said you'd seen multiple cases of people killed the same way? `` * 
 
 I sighed. 
 
 This is where I admit my embarrassing secret, to her and to you. This was my one that got away. 
 
 The trouble with serial killers is that unless it's Zodiac or Jack the Ripper, you're never actually sure it's a serial killer until you've got them. These could just have been 3 different deaths with coincidental similarities. Truth is though, I kind of want it to be a serial killer. That way there's only one bastard out there who I could n't catch. Otherwise that's 3 deaths, 3 people who still do n't have justice for their killers, and I could n't nab a single one of'em. 
 
 *'' You mean those 3 cases? We thought there may have been a link but, none of them were ever solved. `` * 
 
 The cases were poisonings. Difficult to work because the killer does n't have to be in the same room as the victim to kill them. But they all died in their bedrooms, all with the same solution. But they did n't know each other. They lived in different parts of the town we were in at the time. Totally random victims, suspiciously similar deaths. We never really got much further than that. This is the kind of case that eats you. It takes over every stolen moment you have to yourself. People lose interest in hobbies, they do n't care about anything else other than solving the mystery of What Happened. 
 
 *'' They traced the concoction back to a vet practice in the area did n't they. `` * she said, wait... 
 
 *'' How did you know about that? `` * I ask. Suddenly curious. 
 
 *'' You told me. `` * 
 
 I did? 
 
 *'' You remember things I do n't remember telling you'' * I say with a slightly confused feeling inside me. 
 
 *'' Maybe your memory's going at last. `` * She says. 
 
 *'' Maybe'' * I add. Wondering about when I might have let that little bit of information slip. It could have happened in any one of those stolen moments. 
 
 *'' Oh do n't even... Your brain's doing fine! `` * She protests. *'' Come on, let's get home and eat! `` * She says, snapping me back out of it. 
 
 *'' Here, Fido! `` * She whistles and our dog comes running back to her. 
 
 A chill goes down my spine as I stay a couple of paces behind her for the rest of the walk home.
