My day sucks. I've been slapped, and someone's tried to burn down my bar. And me.

Suspects? Hmm. Gina, Jason had a weird look in his eye earlier, maybe Leon for getting the deal with Shannon. There's a couple of others too. Gina's pissed at me, but she's no killer. Jason's too afraid and Leon needs to keep his nose clean.

Just what I need, another mystery.

Back in business, and to be fair the system's running faster. Whatever they did to the system's it worked. Wi-fi's never been better, so it'll do. I'm tempted to hack in to the city hub though. I had a look and all it will take is to run a cable to it. Just need the permits to do the work.

However, things have quietened down. Vince is still comatose, Leon's getting better and the town's picking up the pieces. Even found time to clean the poem off the wall. Cole drops by from time to time, and I think we've formed a good respect for each other. He and Josh are getting on pretty good too.

Ah, mail's here. Better go see what bills need paying this week.

Interesting events. We've caught a murderer, we've caught a corrupt cop, we rescued Julie Smith and for reasons known only to those who were there, there was a serious freeze effect. Julie swears she saw nothing, Leon's no wiser and Vincent's in a coma.

He won't be a cop again, and I think his 'friends' have deserted him. If he wakes up he's going away for a while, which is a shame because I really want to smack him in the mouth. Spontaneous freezing... that's a new one. Not many things that'd do that. Liquid nitrogen in a cloud spray? CO2 fire extinquisher. Found squat at the scene and the PD are happy to call this one closed.

I'm not so sure, but given the lack of hard evidence, I'll go with it for now. In the meantime, I'm going to be offline for a few days, while my ISP upgrades the systems and service 'may be distrupted', which is how they say 'we're turning it off'. The sooner I get the go-ahead to connect to the main town hub, the better. The Mayor's office is still giving me the runaround on it.

Let me tell you about the voices.

I used to be an agent in the CIA. I was never going to be a cop, but I was certainly an investigator. There's a story of how I got in to that, but that's for another time. I wasn't always an agnet, I was an analyst, filtering and processing information, looking for patterns and seeing things that others might not. I was good, not great, but I did enough to get out in to the field, where my analytical skills came in handy for certain situations, except that one time where I made a mistake. It was a joint investigation, us and the Secret Service and you know when you get a gut feeling soemthing's wrong, that something looks out of place? I felt it, but couldn't tell what it was. Turns out on the Service was a rogue operative, and out target was a plant. I knew our target wasn't the mark but by the time I'd figured it, I was alone with the agent. A fire fight ensued, and and he shot me twice in the head. The bullets were slowed by the wall I was covering behind, but they entered my brain.

He thought I was dead but I promised myself I wasn't going to die, and I could hear the voices of the people trying to save me, of the people visiting. When I woke up it was a long time later. The agent had been killed trying to get away, and everything I'd known, everything I'd been was pretty much gone, because when I closed my eyes, the voice of the people who'd been speaking to me while I was in surgery and in my coma would come to me. In some situations, some voice come through clearer, like when I was at the car. I could hear a voice going 'he's dead, oh God he's dead'. Problem is when you're in a highly stressful job and you hear voices like that, you're a liability. They put me back at my desk, but Mad Jack was the name I'd been tagged with. I was given psyche after a few months and let go, with a very good package.

When the weather's on the change, my old wounds come in to play and I get a headache. I've pills to help me sleep, so the voices don't bother me, but there are moments, just moments, when I hear Debbie's voice, telling me it's going to be okay and I'll find a way to beat this. So where are we now? Shannon's dead, Cole's been released and the sherrif's back in town. Is someone going to pay for what they've done? God, I hope so, because the analyst in me is screaming there's more to this than what's apparent. So I'm going to discreetly keep an eye on things. Sunday's got the shop, and I'm going to look for something that's wrong. The last time I was too late in figuring it out I was almost killed, but there's no backup this time.

And technically I'm not supposed to interfere in a police investigation...

Had one hell of a headache last night. Damned weather... no it's not the weather's fault. Having two bullets pulled out of my brain, that's what did it. I should be dead, I'm not. I came close though, but I got lucky, which brings me to today's find. I was out for my run, as I normally do on a morning, gotta keep in shape after all and then I found it, the car.

It was Shannon's car, I knew it as soon as I got close enough, and every instinct screamed a warning, as did the voices. I pulled myself together and let the old skills take over. Take it clinically, methodically. The engine was cold so it had been here a while, and then I saw the poem.

Poor Shannon McKenzie,
found hanging from a tree.
In your coffin you make your bed,
waiting, watching,
for the next to lose their head.

I knew she was dead, but I needed to find her and quickly. I was too late, Cole Jackson had found her and called the cops. I waited with him until Josh arrived, and took time to look at the body as best I could without disturbing the crime scene. Josh Barty came and took Cole off in cuffs. Hope the guy's got a good lawayer. Anyway I let them know where the car was, what it said and Josh said I could head back, and they'd have a word with me later. Five'll get you ten it'll be Vince'll. Testosterone at ten paces, which will keep people amused anyway.

I'm going to have to mull this over for a while, as well as check up on Cole. If I remember he has some history. Then I'll open up, but you know today is going to be a very long day. Poor Shannon. She was a good kid, she didn't deserve this.

Debbie was my girl, before my accident. I'd been with her four years before my coma, and she waited six months before she found Roger's arms to hold her. Roger 'I'm a friendless bastard' Ogilvy. Bet they won't announce that name at the wedding.

It hurt, I don't deny it, but I wasn't the same person. I hear voices, I get headaches when the weather's on the turn, and I don't want to be anything other Jack Nero, coffeehouse owner. Well, anything substantial. I keep my old skills sharp, because old habits die hard. Yeah, I miss her. Yeah, I want to go to Washington, punch Roger in his smug little face, pick her up in my arms and walk off in to the sunset. That's why I said no to the invite.

She's disappointed, but she knows it wouldn't be good for me to be there. She has her career, I have my coffeehouse and never the twain shall meet. Oops, better sign off here. Customers need serving. Gotta love Wi-Fi connections.

Been a year since she died. Suicide's an ugly word, but more paltable than murder. In a coffeehouse you hear things, comments, rumours, gossip. I sit, I listen, I keep an eye on things. Cougar Ridge isn't that large a place, so you pretty much know everyone, if not as well as you should.

That was my job once, to know things, but a couple of bullets put paid to that career and now I run a coffeehouse. I should be dead, but I lived. My compensation's good, as is my pension. Coffee's a good business - they always want coffee. I have my basement, the sub-level I can retreat to when I close the shop. I'm not what I used to be, but I keep my hand in. Two bullets in the brain, a coma for a year after surgery, during which I kept calling out a name. Mad Jack was my name and they had no choice but to retire me for medical reasons. So what if I hear voices. I just block them out, but I can't block memories.

We were all warned about making claims it was anything other than a suicide, but it was an election year. People lack confidence in their officials if there are loose ends. They called a town meeting, they told us while they appreciated the concerns, there was no evidence it was a murder and without proof, there was no need to throw out wild accusations.

Yeah, suicide's an ugly word, but more paltable than murder, especially to politicians. I just wish I knew what had happened, Delores is a great many things, but she's no fool. The truth is out there somewhere. I just can't do anything about it yet. I've been warned before about poking my nose in police business before and I know they can make things difficult. I'll behave, for now, but if I find something, I'll remind them I'm no saint.

Time to open the shop. It's going to be a long day.