Short Story Saturday

The police were mystified. And embarrassed. No matter how many different directions they went in, they were always one step behind the Gerber Daisy Killer (GDK). 2 of their lead detectives had already retired in frustration, and a third one was living in the Acme Looney Bin, now trying to avoid a certain salad making Welshman who'd been recently shipped over for further treatment...
Sam chewed on his cigar, reflectively, as he studied all the images up on the wall of the local precinct. His best friend, Mo, was the detective in the nut house. Reflectively, he reached up, and adjusted his fedora, absently toying with the red feather stuck in the brim. Silently, he moved from picture to picture, seemingly not affected by all the guts and gore. Noting the location of the gerber daisy. Each one of them was put into the victims hands, which had been folded upon their chest. (Or in some cases, what was left of their chests).
The victims had been killed in every kind of different manner. The first victim was garroted with piano wire. The second was 'merely' shot. The third had been the most difficult to sort out. There had not been a mark on him, except for a tiny, tiny needle hole between his big toe and his second toe. His autopsy report had concluded that he'd died of a massive overdose of insulin. And he wasn't a diabetic.
The last victim really disturbed Sam. GDK had somehow gotten into, and out of, without detection, the Sta-Fresh Olde folks home, where he'd delicately broken the neck of one Edna Mae Kloppel. Edna Mae had no living family, she'd been suffering from Alzheimer's dementia for years, and was a ward of the state. Every one else that GDK had taken out had been males in their mid to late 40's. It just didn't add up.
"One of these things is not like the other" sang Cookie, his loyal assistant, who handed him a black coffee and a stir stick. (He liked to chew on them. She knew it).
"Shut up, Cookie" he drawled, annoyed, because, now that song was stuck in his head. He'd be damned if he went home to watch Sesame Street to get it out, either. Shrugging, Cookie re-applied her bright red lipstick, used to the vagaries of her boss. Once, about 10 years ago, he'd been her husband, as well, for two whole weeks. But they both preferred to forget that little lapse in judgement.
Turning away from the pictures, finally, he fixed the lapels on his black suit, shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth, and announced to the lead detective of the case (one Richard Kaplan, to be exact)
"My friend, we are screwed."
**************************************************
Later that evening, parked outside of the local police station, GDK laughed, watching the woman with the bright red lipstick juggle 3 cups of coffee, and a bag of donuts while trying to open the door. "They brought in that old gumshoe, Sam" GDK thought, pleased. "I will have to do something especially fun to get his attention" GDK thought with glee, watching the red lipped woman get irritated, and kick the station house door. "Hmm. Maybe I should offer my assistance, thought GDK, and with an evil smile, got out of the car, to open the door....
A few minutes later Sam went to peer into the dusk, wondering what was taking Cookie so long with his coffee and donuts. On the steps of the station house sat coffee, a sack of donuts, and a note that read
"You have 24 hours to find me".
Bending down, Sam picked up his coffee, and fingered the stir stick, trying to tamp down the white hot anger that was coursing through his veins. Inexplicably, a tear rolled down his cheek...