 
# Devil's Breach

## By

## K. G. Lawrence

Poverty ridden and neglected for decades, the Hollows is terrorized by the violence of two gangs constantly at each other's throat, yet also aided by their own Robin Hood. Kayla Bartlett is confronted with the machinations of a determined opposition as she tries to keep the Hollows Redevelopment Project on schedule to start in one week. But a new serial evil has come to the lost and forgotten of the Hollows that may finally justify its vile nickname: Devil's Breach.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 K.G. Lawrence

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Discover other titles by K.G. Lawrence:

Wear Something Red

Rembrandt be Damned

Symetary

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For Sharon with all my love, now and always

ONE:

Twenty-six, considered too young by many of her opponents at city hall, of mostly Afro-American heritage, which could also be part of the opposition to her, a Masters Degree in Community Development with a specialization in Social Planning and Management, including social housing, public health and welfare, and addiction treatment programs, Kayla Bartlett returned to Devil's Breach two years ago and immediately put her education and drive to work as a community activist. Twelve months later, she was invited to become a member of the Community Advisory Committee representing the three boroughs that made up Devil's Breach: Satan Town, Central Village and East Crag. A year after that, the Social Housing Initiative and the Hollows Redevelopment Project was approved by city council. Now, seven days before the official sod-turning ceremony to begin the first phase of the redevelopment project, she arrived at the Hollows Community Center located in the center of Central Village to begin her second month as its new director.

Marjorie Britton, fifty-one, her assistant and every director's assistant at the center for the past twenty years, her auburn hair kept short and straight, her brown eyes as penetrating and intense as always, wearing a navy blue skirt and a white blouse as always—it was her sweaters that varied in color and style when she bothered to wear one—her bifocals hanging on a necklace of plastic beads made for her by her granddaughter in a repeating rainbow pattern, had already opened the front doors when Kayla arrived at 8:30 a.m.

"Cutting it close today," Marjorie said when Kayla entered the lobby of the center.

"It's my hair. I couldn't do a thing with it."

Marjorie handed over a cup of coffee. "Emily, Christopher and Wyatt all reported in. As usual, Wyatt won't arrive until after nine."

She led Marjorie into the main auditorium of the center and to the model of the Hollows Redevelopment Project. Two tables set up in front of the small stage supported the model.

"What do you think?" She sipped only a bit of the very hot coffee, the way Marjorie always prepared it for her, and the way she had probably always prepared it for every previous director of the center.

"How long will this project take?"

"Last week's estimate was five years for the last bit of construction on the new hospital to be completed as long as no unforeseen problems pop up." She put her hand on Marjorie's back. "I know that can still seem like a long time to you after so many false starts in the past. No one has been working for as long as you to see this come to fruition."

"I just hope they quit calling our home Devil's Breach when it's all finished. It's a vile nickname. It was always just the Hollows before. That was bad enough, but at least it made geographical sense."

Kayla walked around the display. "I hope so too."

The Hollows had been so named because it was surrounded by hills on six sides, the north, south, east, west, northeast and southwest. Even the flats to the southeast that provided access to the old port and to the northwest that provided the main arterial routes in and out of the Hollows didn't extend very far out of the neighborhood before they began to rise up to higher elevations as well. It wasn't below sea level, but it was the lowest point in the city, which many residents considered the first knock against it.

Marjorie followed her around the display. "I don't much like the other nicknames either."

As the city developed more to the north and the east, the Hollows lost contact and employers. It was left behind. As the neighborhood declined and the crime rate increased, the area became known as Devil's Breach, and was then further divided into three arbitrary boroughs.

The most dilapidated section of the Breach was Satan Town. So named because of the high rate of drug use, crime and gang activity, the area was also sometimes called Satan's Kennel. Most of the homeless squatted there.

East Crag, home to most of the residents who subsisted on welfare, charity handouts and food banks, terminated at the closed and derelict Port Gates site in the southeast and at a granite cliff rising just over fifty feet to Silverdale Park to the east. The cliff prevented the undesirables in the Breach from seeping into the gentrification taking place in the enclave east of the park. Part of the redevelopment project for the Hollows called for a set of steps to be carved into the granite to provide access to the park—the buffer zone.

The Village, in the exact center of the Breach, was home to most of the residents who had jobs and owned their own homes. Kayla Bartlett lived in her mom's old house in the Village.

"That is all going to change, Marjorie, I promise you it will."

Christopher Brown entered the auditorium. In his mid-thirties, standing a couple inches over six feet tall and just under three hundred pounds, with a shaggy black beard to go with the long, shaggy hair that could be concealing one or two snagged combs, he appeared to be the exact opposite of Santa Claus until he flashed that wide, friendly smile of his that always brought a twinkle to his eyes.

Marjorie's eyes would never twinkle. Any light in them would be in the form of a hot beam focused on whoever was the object of her anger. Everyone on this committee had at one time or another been a target of Marjorie's heat vision.

Emily Tucker, City Director of Social Services, stepped out from behind Brown. A foot shorter, at least ten years older, barely over one third Brown's weight, with long, straight ginger hair, bright, freckled skin to go with an equally bright smile, she wore a pale-blue dress ending just above her knees and cinched around her waist with a white leather belt.

Compared to Brown's huge, dark, hulking figure, Tucker resembled a dazzling Christmas decoration.

Kayla would never call her doll-like, however, certainly not to her face.

Brown and Tucker waved their greetings simultaneously and came straight to the display.

"Wyatt should be here soon."

"I'll get some coffee," Marjorie said and headed for the doors.

Emily shook her head. "You don't have—"

"Let her," she said as Marjorie exited the auditorium. "She considers getting coffee for everyone as much a part of her job here as you and I always adding up the number of housing units in this plan and then trying to find spots where we can squeeze in more."

Brown chuckled. "You should know better by now, Emily. She always gets us coffee?"

"Seven days," Emily said. "I can't believe we're that close."

"What about displacement?"

"By the time Christopher's crews start their demolition work at the border between Satan Town and Central Village, we should have more than half of the temporary modular housing units in place for the residents who have to vacate the area." Emily then asked Christopher, "How is the construction proceeding?"

"We can complete a TMC unit in three days, and that includes structural insulated panels, mechanical, electrical and plumbing installed as well as fixtures. Each unit is about four hundred square feet in size and include a sleeping-living area, a small kitchen-eating area, two closets and a bathroom with a shower."

"And they haven't tried to disqualify your design or the end product yet?"

"They can't, Emily. We have the most advanced modular construction factory on the West Coast. It includes 3D-printing for specific parts. And our units meet or exceed the most stringent building and environmental safety codes anywhere in the country, anywhere in the world, as a matter of fact. We are one of only three manufacturers of modular construction units approved for worldwide projects by the United Nations."

"That won't necessarily stop them from trying. Look at the problems we're having with the Legacy Court Mobile Home Park. Mayor Turpin has manufactured one outlandish issue after another for those poor people to contend with."

"We are in constant contact with both the mayor's office and the mobile home park, Emily," she said. "They aren't going to get anything past us. The project is a go in seven days."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"You're beginning to sound like the devil's advocate for Devil's Breach."

Emily shook her head. "We had all agreed not to call the Hollows that."

"Sorry, I was trying too hard to sound clever."

Brown tapped each relevant piece of the model as he said, "We move the people into the TMC units, we get their lives stabilized as best we can and then we get them into the affordable housing apartments once they're completed. Our estimate is between six to eight months—twelve at the most, I hope—from being assigned a TMC to getting a place to call their own.

"Then the TMC units become PMC units as they are integrated into the Social Housing Program's administration and field worker's offices, as well as repurposed units for the new hospital's day patient, psychiatric and addiction outreach programs. We can partially disassemble each TMC, clear out interior partitions and any MEB that are no longer needed. Then we can combine them with other TMC units in groups of three, four or six depending on what they are to be used for. They are even stackable."

"How many will still be available?"

"As of last week, the plan is to have about sixty TMC units remain available for temporary housing and emergency shelters for the homeless. There are going to be holdouts who won't accept the confinement and restrictions of the new units for whatever reason, but we should still be able to take care of them."

"What about use as safe injections sites?"

"They aren't the best design for that."

She said, "We're getting ahead of ourselves, Emily. We haven't yet received permission to have safe injection sites as part of the social housing program."

Brown placed his big hand on the top of the six-story apartment tower of the Apex Center section of the development model. "We have five months until winter hits. Most of this spot will still be just a big muddy hole in the ground then. Shelter is our primary concern at this stage."

"We have prepared for up to eighteen months in a TMC for anyone who has to be moved out of the way. We will take in the residents in three waves as the construction progresses. We can accommodate five waves of additional short-term housing if we need it."

Emily took Brown's hand off the apartment tower. "You've read the sign on the display, right? Hands off."

"I built this display. I designed the whole development."

"Emily, if Chris wants to touch his toy city, he can."

"I should have done it with Lego blocks."

Marjorie came back into the auditorium with a coffee cart and Councillor Wyatt O'Neal.

O'Neal had been a city councillor since his late-twenties. At forty-two, he was considered a lock to be the next mayor and had the neatly suited appearance of someone groomed for the position. He was, therefore, the one member of their committee Marjorie had taken the longest time to warm up to and trust.

Kayla waited for everyone to get their coffees before she took a refill. Marjorie was the only one without a caffeine fix in her hands. She drank tea.

"These two," she said to O'Neal, "are acting like giddy children."

"It is only a week away." He took a sip of coffee and reached out to put his hand on the same apartment tower as Brown. "There is reason to get excited."

Marjorie stepped between O'Neal and the display. "We haven't seen one shovel of soil dug out anywhere yet." She then left them to their advisory committee meeting.

"I don't blame her," O'Neal said. "Emily and I have been fighting for this for the better part of five years. Chris has been handing out shovels every year only to have to ask for them back. And then you, Kayla, come in two years ago and fan the flames that Emily and I thought had all but died out."

Tucker said, "Spoken like a true politician."

"Forgive me for that, but Marjorie has always been here."

"Born and raised."

"I think she's as optimistic as we are, and still just as tenacious as ever, but she shows the proper caution."

Brown placed his empty cup on the table beside his display. "How many times has she heard all this before only to see it all bog down in committees and go nowhere?"

She said, "We're the committee this time. We better make sure that doesn't happen."

Emily picked up Christopher's cup off the display table and put it on the front of the stage with hers.

"I have some news about that." O'Neal put his cup beside the other two.

There were probably three permanent coffee-stain rings on that part of the stage.

Kayla held on to her cup. "And that would be?"

"We are still encountering pushback from some very influential developers."

"Another concise political summation bereft of any helpful details."

"Emily, let him finish."

"They still want to reduce the capacity of our initiative by another ten percent. It's in the form of an easement at the base of the cliff to provide a green space."

"That again? We've already limited the three Apex towers to six floors to prevent them from rising above the top of the cliff. It will stop us from spying on our betters."

"It's not that, Kayla."

"Of course it is. By knocking three floors off each tower, we've already lost sixty-three apartments from our approved plan for affordable-rental housing. There is no basis for their recommendations. Their precious gentrification projects are sufficiently buffered by the park from any threat we undesirables might present."

"Hear me out, Kayla before you go charging down to city hall breathing fire. It sounds worse than it really is."

"What's different this time? That's the same narrative they've been presenting since the project was approved, nice and sanitized and environmentally sensitive. Their version would remove the three towers altogether and eliminate another one hundred and twenty-six housing units."

"I'm to attend a closed-door council meeting this afternoon at two o'clock. I can't be sure, but I have a feeling we may be getting a few more financial contributors for our project."

"Who?"

"I'll find out this afternoon."

Marjorie came back into the auditorium. "A woman has been found dead in the Starways Motel."

Brown said, "That would be the third fentanyl overdose there in the past two months."

"The fifth," Emily said.

"She was murdered." She reached out for Kayla. "It's Kimberley Deering."

"Oh, God."

Emily put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kayla. She was your brother's girlfriend, wasn't she?"

"Girlfriend is too much commitment for Marco, but, yes, they were seeing each other."

"Come on," O'Neal said. "I'll go with you."

TWO:

O'Neal asked, "Were they close?"

"I don't know how to answer that question, Wyatt."

"Sorry, Kayla, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's not that. Marco had to be tough after our mother died. I was eleven. He was only seventeen." She looked down at her hands clasped together on her lap. "I can't describe what we went through, what he had to do to get us through a very difficult time, without making him sound like either a saint or the most ruthless person you could ever encounter. But if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here now. It's just. . . ."

"He's not easy to get close to." He turned left onto 33rd Avenue to enter East Crag.

"I knew he and Kimberley had been seeing each other—for whatever that means to Marco—but I had only had them over once. And when Marco visited alone, he never talked about her. Of course, he rarely visits me anyway."

Police squad cars, unmarked cars and two Mobile Crime Scene Unit vans were parked in the Starways Motel lot. None of them were using a designated parking spot. O'Neal had to wend his way through the haphazard barricade of vehicles to get them to the room on the first floor where Kimberley Deering had been found.

A policeman of Polynesian descent, larger than Christopher, and a tall Afro-American policewoman stood guard at the door to the room. Two detectives were talking to them.

"The older one beside Daniel Taliauli is Detective Myles Jacobsen. He's probably in charge. The younger one is Detective Ben Harris. The patrolwoman is Thelma Ramsey."

"Do you know the whole police force?"

"Just about," he said before getting out of the car.

Jacobsen was also the shorter of the two detectives. About six feet tall, his neat, light-brown hair parted on the right, he appeared to be within the healthy weight range for someone his height and age. Jacobsen wore a grey suit.

Harris stood at least four inches taller, had broader shoulders and an obvious athletic build that his jeans, running shoes and police department jacket couldn't conceal. In his early thirties, Harris was the one losing hair. What black hair he did still have along the side and back of his head was short.

Jacobsen saw them first. "What brings you here, Wyatt?"

"We were meeting at the center when we received the news."

"Where would that have come from?"

"Kayla Bartlett, this is Detective Myles Jacobsen, and this is Detective Ben Harris. Gentlemen, this is Director of the Community Center in the Village."

Harris said, "I've heard about you. You're the one causing all the headaches at city hall."

"I hope so."

"Who told you about the murder?"

O'Neal shrugged. "I thought I'd just explained that."

"He means me, Detective Jacobsen. To be more accurate, he means my assistant, Marjorie Britton. She has connections in the Hollows. Someone nearby called in to her."

"How did she learn the victim's name?"

"I thought I'd just explained that."

Harris said, "Maybe your assistant should work at the precinct."

"She would be as valuable to your department as she is to mine, I'm sure, but I just can't part with her."

"And your reason for coming to Starways after receiving the news would be?"

"I knew Kimberley Deering. Well, I knew a bit about her."

Jacobsen held up his hand to stop Harris from speaking. "What did you know?"

"She lived with her mother on Taylor Street. I think her mother's name is Heather. She worked downtown. I don't know who her employer was, but Kimberley was a manager in the company's accounts receivable department."

"Your knowledge of her is—"

"Do you know what part of downtown?"

"Not exactly, but I think it was near the industrial parks only a few blocks from the new rail yards. Her company is a manufacturing or fabricating business."

"Not a lot to go on," Harris said.

"She was seeing my brother, Marco Kamren."

Harris took out his notepad. "Your last name is Bartlett."

"Different fathers, Detective Harris. If you look closely at us, you will see a family resemblance, but you will also notice that Marco's skin is a few shades lighter than mine. His father was Hispanic, mine wasn't."

O'Neal stepped between her and the detectives. "We just wanted to give you what information Kayla had, as little as it is."

Jacobsen said, "It's a good start, thank you. Where is your brother now?"

"He's on a job somewhere in the new Silverdale Park development. He works for Citadel Security. I understand they have a number of installation contracts for the mansions being built there."

"What's his phone number?"

She looked up the number on her phone and showed it to Harris. "He usually keeps it off while he's doing installations. He has another phone for work matters. I don't have the number for that one."

Jacobsen said, "Is there anything else you can think of at the moment about Kimberley or her relationship with your brother? Were they serious?"

"You'd have to ask him. He's not one for sharing personal stuff with anybody."

O'Neal asked, "What happened here, Myles?"

Jacobsen nodded for Harris to go into the motel room. "I'll be in shortly." He then said to Wyatt, "We're still gathering evidence." He glanced at her. "It appears she could have been killed somewhere else and then brought here."

"How did you identify her?"

"That is part of the investigation. How would the person who contacted your assistant know who it was?"

"I really do not know, Detective Jacobsen. Marjorie's network is extensive."

"Would Marjorie know who contacted her?"

"They are not required to identify themselves. Offering anonymity is the only way to keep her network working."

"Again, thank you for coming here."

She said, "I had anticipated having a million questions that you would refuse to answer, but nothing comes to me."

"I have told you all I am willing to tell you for now. And I trust you two will keep that information to yourselves."

"Indeed we will, Myles, thanks." O'Neal put his hands on her shoulders. "We will let you get on with your investigation." He began gently pushing her toward his car.

Jacobsen handed over his card to her as she passed him. "If you think of anything else."

Once he had her back inside his car, O'Neal said, "Sorry, Kayla, but you looked to me like you might be going into shock. How are you feeling?"

"Just get me away from here." On the way out, she watched Jacobsen in the car's external mirror give Ramsey instructions and then send her searching the motel. Taliauli remained on guard at the door to the room.

She stared forward for the ten-minute drive back to the center. O'Neal would think her silence was from the shock of her brother's girlfriend being murdered. As horrible as that was, she couldn't get past the realization that she had no idea how Marco was going to react to the news.

Once he was parked and had turned off the car, O'Neal said, "Kayla? What can I do to help?"

"Where is the pushback coming from?"

"Sorry?"

"The pushback, where is it coming from?"

"The usual sources," he said. "Mayor Turpin has been chafing since our proposal was approved over the one he backed. Brent tells everyone he is satisfied with the outcome. It is proof the 'inclusive democratic' process worked. And I think he is more or less resigned to our version of the social housing initiative going ahead, but he does still like to fiddle with zoning bylaws."

"Is he more or less?"

"Really, Coralee is the problem. She won't let go of her complete opposition to our version of project. She keeps focusing on the 'enormous' cost of the proposed hospital for the Hollows, as well as the cost of the modular housing units. And there are the public health risks, too. Oh yeah, and there is the problem of the squatters, and rats infesting the Legacy Court Mobile Home Park. She wants to speed up the demolition even though there are still people living there."

"Does she consider the squatters an infestation, too, or just the rats?" Her clasped hands had started fidgeting the way they usually did when she thought of or interacted with Marco.

"Kayla, you know how this has played out. Brent had the backing of Tillson and Malloy in his last run for mayor. They are the biggest real estate developers in the city. Mel went to school with Brent. Garrett likes to believe nothing can stand in his way. Together, they think the city is their personal sandbox and they can build their castles anywhere." He chuckled. "I'm sure all four of them have developed rashes, but we're only seven days away now. The plan has been approved. The funding has been approved. Their last effort to tweak it into something that suits them is not going to affect anything in the end."

"It better not."

"Don't wind yourself up needlessly, Kayla. We've had a horrible shock with the news of Kimberley's death. Try not to let that magnify the threat of these last minute machinations. We can't be stopped."

"Don't become a liability." She smiled a bit. "Don't ruffle more feathers."

"You've done more than that in the past six months. Every time someone tried another stalling tactic, it was all Emily and I could do to keep you from dispatching them to get them out of the way."

"Now you're exaggerating."

"Ask Marjorie to show you the restraints we sent to her in case your temper got the better of your common sense and political savvy. Emily wanted to be able to tranq you, but I vetoed that option."

"You're always looking out for members of your team."

"It's a great team, Kayla. We've accomplished a lot. Go get some more good work done if you feel up to it. I'll call you after the meeting is finished."

THREE:

"I've been told to stay here out of the way." Harris stepped aside for him at the doorway to room 108. "What do you suppose Bartlett meant by saying Deering was seeing her brother?"

Rosalind Copp and her crew of three men all wore blue coveralls. Copp was examining Deering's naked body. The killer had placed her on the single bed. Two of her crew were gathering up everything they could around the bed. The other member of the crew was photographing and videotaping the scene and had just entered the bathroom.

"It could mean anything or nothing. She told us her brother didn't talk much about his private life even to her."

"Does she think he did this?"

Jacobsen said, "How many murders have you investigated?"

"In this city? God, I don't know."

"You've been a detective for five years, right?"

"Three as Third Class, two as Second Class, yeah." Harris never missed an opportunity to highlight his rapid rise through the ranks.

At forty-nine, he had been on the force for twenty-five years. He'd been a detective for the past fifteen years, the past five years as Detective First Class. Harris was thirty-four. In his nine years on the force, he had spent five of them as a detective. Harris was the fastest rising star that the force's fast track program had ever seen since its instigation ten years ago.

"In this precinct there is close to a hundred murders per year. You and I take on about thirty percent of those."

But Harris wasn't interested in just becoming Detective First Class, even though once detectives reached that level, appointment to Precinct Captain usually followed soon after. If detectives wanted to stay in Investigations, they settled for a Second Class rank. Some were content to stay as Third Class. The difference in pay wasn't that much. The difference in the work was even smaller. Harris, however, wanted to race through First Class to be the youngest officer ever to become Precinct Captain.

"That's one hundred and fifty in five years, give or take."

After achieving the rank of Precinct Captain, Harris could expect to become Deputy Commander of one of the four major districts of the city, each one overseeing four to six precincts. Deputy Director of Police Central Command, Director of Police Operations Command, and, finally, Deputy Police Commissioner to Police Commissioner would then be within sight for him. The titles of the higher ranks had, in his opinion, become unmanageably long once the city bureaucracy had decided to stop using the word Chief in any of their rankings.

"In all those investigations, how many times has someone who knew or suspected that a member of their family had committed the murder jumped into a car and came straight to us at the scene to let us know their relative knew the victim?"

"Okay, okay, point taken."

He asked Taliauli, "How did you and Thelma find the body?"

"We were on patrol. Thelma spotted them before I did. Three maybe four people were hanging about this suite either peeking in through the window or the open door."

"Did any of them enter the room?"

"Not after we spotted them," Taliauli said. "And they scattered like flies the moment I brought the car into the parking lot. We both took a quick look in through the door. One of them had dropped Deering's driver's licence on the threshold when everyone scattered. We didn't see who. I called it in. Thelma went through every room in the motel trying to find any of the witnesses while I remained at the door."

"And she found no one?"

"Every room here that isn't a complete wreck has a resident or two squatting in it, but we couldn't find a soul. I took a turn searching once Thelma came back."

Harris said, "One of the people took more than just a peek. They snatched up the driver's licence and then called Marjorie Britton. Did they know Deering or did they just want to tell Britton the latest horrific news from the front?"

"That's a very good question."

Taliauli said, "How did they make the call? There are no working phone booths in the Hollows anymore. It's hard to imagine any of them having cell phones."

As Rosalind Copp approached them, Harris said, "I'll track down Deering's mom and her employers." He walked away tapping at his phone.

Harris had so far shown little patience or stomach for crime scene work. He preferred to be handed a clean and concise paper report after all the gritty stuff was complete—the perfect trait for a police commander. One of his strengths, however, was his ability to absorb and retain close to every bit of evidence included in those reports and then process them into an effective interpretation of what could have happened.

"This is staged," Copp said. "She wasn't killed here."

Taliauli said, "It would be hard to carry a body into here without being seen."

He said, "The killer was seen. We just need to find the witnesses."

"I don't believe she was sexually assaulted, but confirmation will have to wait."

"She's pale."

"She's been in contact with bleach. She has defensive wounds and ligature burns on her arms, ankles and around her neck." Copp grabbed hold of her forearm. "Other lacerations and bruises indicate she could have put up an extended fight before being subdued or after being captured."

"If there is a chance she might have broken free from her attacker at one point, someone might have heard or seen something."

"Possible, Myles, but I wouldn't expect that. It looks like she was kept for some time bound to something, possibly in an upright spread-eagle position. The killer would need concealment for that. There are also other types of wounds. I'll have to do a close examination of them once she's on a table."

"They took their time with her?"

Copp nodded and then shrugged. "I couldn't say with any certainty at the moment. Some of the wounds at first glance would indicate a furious and frenzied attack. Other pre-mortem wounds indicate patience, possibly experimentation and torture."

"Experimentation?"

"I'll let you know. And, by the way, if you find where she was killed, I doubt we will get any good evidence. That bleach likely came from there, which tells me the killer had enough knowledge and wit to clean up after themselves."

"I have their addresses." Harris said as he returned to them. He held up his phone. "I also tried Kamren's number, but his phone is off."

"Who was her employer?"

"Hoult Industries," Harris said.

"I used to work there," Taliauli said. "They do custom fabrication work, mostly for marine vessels. Their biggest contract is with the U.S. Navy for parts for their new frigates and cruisers. Jessie Hoult took over the company when her father retired."

"I'll talk to her mom. You track down Kamren and then talk to the people she worked with."

Copp said, "I've seen that expression on your face before, Myles."

He took Deering's driver's licence from his jacket pocket. "Experimentation on the victim, having the confidence to deposit her somewhere else as a piece of stage work to confound the investigation from the start, likely the wit to clean up the kill site in case we find it; yet leaving this behind to make sure we can identify her the moment she's found. The killer is smart and wants us to find the victims under their controlled conditions. They are just getting started."

FOUR:

"That's the last of it for the main floor," Johnny said. "We just have to finish the basement. How big do you think this place will be once it's finished?"

"We'll need more cable for down. I'll meet you there."

A cop was waiting at the Citadel Security van when Marco came out of the mansion. He'd parked his car behind it.

Holding up his badge, he came to the front of the van. "Detective Ben Harris," he said. "Are you Marco Kamren?"

"Why?" He opened the driver's side sliding door and gathered up the cabling needed to finish downstairs.

"We've been trying to call you."

"I keep my phone off when I'm on a job."

"Both phones? I had to call Citadel to get your other number. Kayla didn't know what it was."

"That's because I didn't tell her." He brought out a wrench.

"It turns out that one is off too. An oversight on your part, I'm sure."

"I'm working."

Harris stepped sideways to block his path. "Kimberley Deering has been murdered."

Marco tossed the wrench back into the van.

"You heard me, didn't you?"

"I heard you."

"You have nothing to say about that?"

"Not to you."

"You're a cold bastard."

"Who broke the news to me gently?"

"I would think you'd have questions."

"None for you."

"When did you see her last?"

"When was she killed?"

"We can do this here or we can do it at the precinct station."

"Or you can just fuck off, go find the killer and let me get my work done."

A white Cadillac Escalade turned on to the driveway and parked beside the van. Marion Jamieson Chadwick-Amherst, owner of Citadel Security, got out and came to them. Taller than him, shorter than Harris, but easily forty pounds heavier than either one of them, Chadwick-Amherst considered himself a benevolent, fatherly boss, which, with his white hair and white beard, made him insufferable at Christmas time.

"Good morning, Marco. Good morning, Ben. What brings you here?"

"I turned off both phones," Marco said.

"We are investigating the murder of Kimberley Deering. Marco was in a relationship with her."

"Is that right, Marco? I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"I don't."

"If you don't mind me asking, Ben, when did this happen?"

"We don't have the exact time yet, but it was likely sometime last night."

"Marco and Johnny were with me until eleven last night. We had a staff meeting with everyone at Citadel to coordinate all the installation contracts we have for Silverdale Park."

"Johnny?"

"Johnny Reynolds. He and Marco work together."

"What about after the staff meeting?"

"Ben, I can vouch for Marco. He's my best installer."

"I'm not looking to hire him."

"I would never work for the police."

Chadwick-Amherst held up his hands in his usual benevolent and condescending way. "There is no need for this to spiral out of control. Marco if you can just answer Ben's questions, he can get on with his investigation, and you can get back to work."

He glanced at the wrench in the van before nodding.

"Were you in a relationship with Kimberley Deering?"

"She might have thought so, I didn't."

"When did you last see her?"

"Maybe a week ago, I don't remember."

"You've had no contact with her since?"

"She kept texting me or calling, but I never responded."

"Why?"

"I already told you why."

"If you have her phone," Chadwick-Amherst said, "you can easily verify what Marco just told you."

"Are we done?"

"Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Kimberley?"

"I didn't know anything about her life. I didn't want to. Are we done?"

"Marco will be here for the rest of the workday, Ben, if you have any further questions."

Harris took out his card. He hesitated for a few seconds before handing it to Chadwick-Amherst. He then left.

"Ben can be blunt and insensitive with his questions, Marco, but he is a good detective."

"If you say so," he said before accepting Harris's card from him.

"Do you need some time?"

"I'm good. Why are you here?"

"Joseph and Frieda Haussmann will be dropping by to check on the progress of the construction and our installation." He checked his Rolex. "They should be here in about ten minutes. I've been told they are very punctual."

"Johnny and I will be downstairs. We should be done in three to four hours."

He left Chadwick-Amherst waiting at the front door, made his way past the construction work crews and headed for the stairs. The framing for this monstrosity was completed. The focus now was finishing the interior.

Johnny was pacing at the bottom of the stairs as Marco descended. Tall and ridiculously thin, his head thrust forward with each lunging step he took, he resembled a scarecrow that had fallen from its perch and was desperately trying to keep from toppling over. "Fucking electrician."

"What happened?"

"I'll show you." Johnny led him to where they had brought down their cables from the living room for what would become a home theater capable of seating twenty people. "Look!"

The electrician had brought his wiring down through their hole in the top plate and then strung it through the holes in the metal studs labelled for their cables.

"Just use one of the other sets of holes."

"What the hell are you talking about, using another hole? These ones are marked with our labels and everything. Why aren't you flying upstairs and threatening to cut off his balls like you always do? You know the boss doesn't want our cables next to the electrical wiring. He doesn't want any chance of interference."

He put his finger through a hole in the nearest stud above the one they had labeled. "Use these ones. Let's just get this done and get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, okay, sure, but don't bite my head off. I didn't do this. That fucker up in the bedrooms did it while our backs were turned."

Marco turned on his personal phone.

"Are you going to answer her call or texts this time?"

"There won't be any." He pulled the cable down through the hole in the top plate and then connected it to the cable he'd brought from the van. "Start pulling the other end through the studs."

"I know how to pull my wire through a hole. Jesus."

His phone began ringing and vibrating. A checked of the phone number confirmed his expectation. The call was from Kayla. He declined the call and turned his phone back off.

"Was that her?"

"It was nobody."

"What's eating at you, Marco? That had to be Kayla. You don't turn on your phone to take her call and then turn it off when she does. And you don't call your sister a nobody. You need to take her calls, man."

"I'm working."

"You're drifting is what you're doing. You need to make more effort to keep contact with her after all you two have been through."

"Get back to work. I do not want to come back here tomorrow."

"What are you so angry about?"

"Just get back to work."

Chadwick-Amherst's booming voice heralded his entry into the house. The three sets of footsteps came straight for the stairs to the basement.

"Citadel Security's Executive Vanguard System is our top-of-the-line installment. It will keep out intruders and prevent burglaries. It will notify Citadel's new monitoring station being built as we speak in the very center of Silverdale Park. Our security patrols will be no more than three minutes from any house in this neighborhood. And they have instant access to police, fire and rescue and ambulance services."

Chadwick-Amherst brought the Haussmanns straight to where they were working. "This is Marco Kamren, and this is Johnny Reynolds, my two most experienced installers. These two fellows are doing my home just three blocks." He made a show of orientating himself before he pointed and said, "That way."

In his early-sixties, his greying hair receding, maybe 5'6" tall and rotund, though slimmer than Chadwick-Amherst, Joseph Haussmann was worth billions. With Maynard Foreman, he owned the Chrystal Ball Jewelry store. He and Frieda owned Hopkins Transport from her side of the family. They were partners in Haussmann & Croft Accounting. They owned two hotels downtown, two apartment blocks and the most prestigious commercial tower in the city. Then there were his three car dealerships for Mercedes, Honda and Volvo-Subaru. The speculation was they also owned or had partnerships with companies throughout the world, but no one knew which ones they were.

Frieda Haussmann, the same height as her husband but slender and fit, was eight years younger and known for promoting physical fitness programs for children that emphasized participation and fun. She had run in every one of the city's eleven annual marathons.

Joseph, with a soft voice, asked, "How is the work progressing, Marco?"

"We will be finished by the end of the day. We will only have to come back to put the covers over the outlets and test everything one more time once all the drywall is in."

With a voice huskier than her husband's Frieda said, "We know your sister, Kayla."

He said nothing as he fed more cable through to Johnny.

"She hasn't told us much about you."

"That means she has told you everything she knows."

Chadwick-Amherst chuckled and took hold of Joseph and Frieda by their arms. "Let me show you the home theater. I think you'll love how we set it up for you."

He scowled, shook his head when Johnny opened his mouth to speak and kept feeding the cable through the opening in the metal stud.

Once Chadwick-Amherst had led the Haussmanns back up to the main floor, Johnny sniggered and said, "Wouldn't they be pissed if they knew our boss's house was the only one in this shithole development that's getting the real Executive Vanguard Security System? He couldn't make a profit if he gave them what he tells them they're getting for the price he's charging." He sniggered again and gave the cable a hard yank. "They're paying three times more to get the same basic package the grunts buy." He laughed loud enough for it to echo in the unfinished basement. "Shit, man, what does it matter? Citadel Sentinel, Citadel Guardian, Citadel Vanguard, the Executive Vanguard Security System, they're all the same crap. They'll be lucky if the fire alarms go off."

"They all work as they're supposed to. Are you all the way through yet?"

"Yeah, man, I'm through. What's with you? I come downstairs all ready to work; you come back from the van and you're all, like, I'm your worst enemy in the world instead of your best friend."

"Kimberley was murdered last night. The police are going to think I did it."

FIVE:

"Dammit." Kayla ended her fourth attempt to contact her brother.

"Is he still not responding?"

"Emily, he never answers. If I'm lucky, he calls back about the time I go to bed. But he's turned his phone off again."

"The police have probably contacted him by now about Kimberley. I would have thought that would prompt him to reach out to you."

"I do not know what motivates Marco to call me or answer my calls. I'm not sure he does."

"You're brother sounds like he's—"

"Don't bother. Whatever you were going to say about him is likely correct and also wrong."

Marjorie pointed to the Axis apartment towers in the display. "Are they still planning to hold a lottery to select who gets in and who doesn't?"

"We are hoping to avoid that." Emily stepped up to the complex of apartments either three or six floors high that would occupy the site of the former Hollows' Catholic school and straddle the demarcation between the Village and East Crag. "We have a good count of the residents of East Crag and the Village because most of those populations have stable homes of one form or another. The problem is getting an accurate count of the homeless, the transients and the squatters there in Satan Town."

Marjorie said, "You're never going to get an accurate count. And you're going to have trouble getting many of them to even accept temporary shelters."

Kayla tapped the roof of the new community center. "We're still working that out. We know what we want to do. First, we get them into one of the temporary shelters and get addiction treatment for those who need it or medical care if they're ill. There will be a staff of public health workers that will include nurses, counsellors and three doctors. We stabilize their lives as best as we can, plug them into all the services that are appropriate for them, and when the time is right, we place them in their own apartments. Our new hospital is being purpose built to serve the needs of our residents. It will be the center for our public health and social programs delivery and administration in conjunction with the community center. The rent we charge will be adjusted to coincide with the person's ability to pay."

"Some will never have money to pay any rent."

"We have funding in place to subsidize people who fall below a certain level.

Marjorie moved Kayla's hand from the community center to an L-shaped apartment complex three floors high that would sit east of the new center and hospital. "You know they are already calling this the Addict Arms Hotel."

"I can't help that." She said to Emily, "Are we still at twenty-four for Thursday night?"

"Representatives from all three boroughs will be here. We have ready for them all the information packages about how the shelter and housing initiative will proceed through their respective neighborhoods."

The land line extension in the auditorium started ringing.

"Community Center, Kayla Bartlett."

Wyatt said, "We've been ambushed."

She put the phone on speaker. "What happened?"

Marjorie and Emily came to her.

"It all started out as I'd hoped. Joseph and Frieda Haussmann were there as expected. They pledged another four million dollars to the project to be used for playgrounds and sports fields."

"But?"

Emily said, "More fiddling with the bylaws? What is it this time? Are they trying to prevent the playgrounds and fields?"

"I won't agree to lower the apartment towers again."

"They've come up with something on two fronts. The first is a public health study conducted in Satan Town and East Crag commissioned by the Mayor's office and headed by Councillor Ashton. Most of the buildings have been deemed unfit for human habitation."

"We already knew that."

"But now Brent and Coralee have specific ammunition to fire at us. Molds and fungi are everywhere, and pretty much every building is categorized as being infested with vermin: rats, mice, cockroaches and pigeons. Their droppings are hazardous to human health."

"We knew that, too. We've been trying to clean it up as much as possible."

"Brent and Coralee want to use the report as a reason to evacuate everyone immediately."

"We don't have all the temporary shelters in place for a complete evacuation. The plan was to move people out from each area in the order that it's to be redeveloped."

"Those two have called for a full council meeting tomorrow night to present the results of the report and debate its recommendations. Kayla, Brent is proposing getting everyone out, erecting fences around all of Satan Town and East Crag and hiring private security. He's also insisting we accelerate the demolition of Legacy Court."

"People are still living there."

"Brent and Coralee maintain that they have been treated fairly and generously and they've been given enough time to move out. Tillson and Malloy have bought every home at a good price. Plus they have provided up to twenty thousand dollars to each resident to cover moving expenses. Brent is of the opinion that the ones still there are either unable to make up their minds or are just malingerers. Coralee thinks the ones remaining are hardcore and could be part of the rising crime rate in the area."

"That's bullshit and you know it. I'll organize a tent city of squatters. Let them just try moving us out. There will be blood if they do."

"Marjorie, that won't help anyone."

"Tillson and Malloy are just being greedy and selfish. The Legacy is the only part of the redevelopment they got and they are pushing Turpin to push the few that are left out so they can get at it."

She said to Wyatt, "Everyone has accepted the buyouts. Everyone has accepted the additional money to help with their moves. It's just not that easy to pick up and leave for some of them."

"This report is going to be a powerful argument to get whoever is left out of there."

"Get them out," Marjorie said, "and then never let anyone back in."

"Their concession to our obvious objection is to move everyone into the Village."

"Put them all in one place and then put the fence around them instead. Then it will be easier to control the herd." Marjorie looked at the display. "It was another nice notion like all the other nice notions that ended up stillborn."

She took hold of Marjorie's hand. "They haven't done it yet. We will fight this. What's the second front, Wyatt?"

"They are proposing to cut the operating budget for the community center."

Emily said, "The yearly budget has already been approved and allocated."

"But the city's budget was approved before the state's budget was. According to Coralee, who has just come back from three days in the state capital, the state's budget for social programs will be reduced as part of the need to balance the overall budget. As you know, our state legislature passed that Balanced Budget Act two years ago. It has now come home to roost like all those pigeons in Vale Creek Park."

"What does all that mean?"

"The community center's budget will be cut in half."

"We'll have to reduce our staff."

"They maintain that now that our housing initiative is about to start, the center doesn't need such a huge budget."

"We need it now more than ever. We are going to be right in the middle of that mass evacuation their planning to implement. We are going to be the ones dealing with the displaced people, not them."

"Mayor Turpin and Councillor Ashton believe the city's Social Programs Department should oversee those plans and deal with the evacuation and temporary housing needs of those displaced."

Emily said, "How am I supposed to do that without Kayla and Marjorie and all our volunteers here?"

"You won't be dealing with it. Coralee will chair a new oversight committee that will implement and supervise that part of their plan. You will supervise the pest extermination, clean up, demolition and security part of their proposal."

Marjorie said, "They are going to set you against us. They will turn you into our enemy. It will be your job to keep everyone from ever going back."

O'Neal said, "I believe that is what they think they will accomplish. They are trying to set their plan up so that once everyone is centered in the Village they spin it as everyone being successfully resettled where the city can then centralize all the services for them. Then, in keeping with the new budgetary shortfalls, our housing initiative will be seen as unaffordable and in need of being reduced in its scope. Development in Satan Town and East Crag will constantly be postponed by the massive public health cleanup required until the private funding pledged for it vanishes. And with the further decrease in funding from the state, the city will eventually declare the project as economically unfeasible and sell off the land to private developers at a reasonable profit to help balance the budget and to fund all the centralized care and services needed for the Village."

"I will resign," Emily said.

"That won't help us," she said. "I will be there in fifteen minutes."

"No, Kayla. I'm about to go into a private meeting with Brent, Coralee, Mel Tillson and Garrett Malloy. They are trying to get Mel and Garrett appointed to the oversight committee. I am going to counter with Frieda as an alternative to one of them. You need to work on your presentation for our Thursday meeting here. None of this is settled yet. Right now, everything is still a go for us. We need to do all we can to make sure it stays that way. I will call you after the meeting."

Emily headed for the door. "I better be there to provide moral support."

Once Tucker was gone, she said, "Detective Jacobsen will ask you who called about Kimberley."

"I have no idea who it was. They just left a message on my phone like all the others do."

She walked around the display, on impulse checking to see if they had worn a groove into the auditorium's floor. "Why do they keep doing this to us?"

Marjorie said, "Because we are not the pretty flowers they want in Devil's Breach."

SIX:

The Deering house at 123 Taylor Street was a three bedroom bungalow that was close to eighty years old. It had a newer roof. The wood siding had a new coat of white paint. The windows were of the double-pane, thermal design from about ten years ago. Not as efficient as the new ones he'd just had installed in his home, but they would provide greater protection against cold weather than the original ones they'd replaced. The Deering family had done the best they could to keep their home liveable while the Hollows deteriorated around them.

Jacobsen took a deep breath before knocking on the door. There was no bell. He took several more deep breaths before he knocked again.

Footsteps slowly approached the door. A woman called out, "Who is it?"

"Detective Myles Jacobsen," he replied and held up his badge to the view lens in the door.

Two locks clicked open. The deadbolt was released—she might have struggled to get it. The doorknob turned slowly and stopped once before the door opened.

He held out his badge. "Heather Deering?"

"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

Heather Deering used two canes to walk. Her fingers were swollen at their joints and bent with arthritis. She wore flip-flops on her bare, swollen feet—the ankle bones had been engulfed by the swelling—and two sweaters over her stooped shoulders. She barely came up to his chest and she could barely lift her chin to look up at him.

"Let's sit down first."

He helped her get to her armchair in the living room, helped her adjust her cushions and get her pink and purple knitted blanket over her knees. He then set her canes where she wanted them placed.

The Deering home was clean and well maintained on the inside.

"What is it, Detective Jacobsen?"

He looked around the living room. "You have a daughter named Kimberley?"

"She's at work at Hoult Industries right now." There could have been a hint of pride in her voice. "Perhaps I can help you."

Heather Deering was a kind soul, always eager to help. That was clear the instant she greeted him. Her physical challenges would not affect her generous and giving nature. She would also never suspect the worst in people, including a detective suddenly showing up at her front door.

He took a slow, deep breath. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Deering, but Kimberley was found dead this morning at the Starways Motel."

He had investigated enough murders to recognize the changing expressions on Heather Deering's face. Every single-word question in response to such news was going through her mind at the same time, each one providing its own jolt: What? When? Where? How? Why?

"Was she . . . ?"

"Yes."

Though tears flowed easily, Deering did not 'fall to pieces'. She did, however, put her hand over her mouth after first muttering, "I thought she was going to escape. I was sure she would."

"Escape?"

"His reach."

Though he knew what she meant, he asked, "Whose reach?"

Her teary eyes moved up from staring at the floor—nothing?—to look straight at him. "The devil, Detective Jacobsen."

In the face of the devastating grief he had delivered, he had also just increased her sadness by displaying his ignorance, and thus his denial, of the reason this area was called Devil's Breach. A mythology had developed to account for the misery and misfortune befalling the residents of the Hollows as the city developed to the north and along the eastern slopes away from it. A breach in the earth had opened that allowed Satan to reach up from hell to inflict all manner of suffering.

"My Edward died here," Deering said. "I will die here. But I'd always hoped Kimberley would one day escape his reach."

"When did you see Kimberley last?"

Deering wiped her eyes. "That is a vicious question?"

"I am sorry. I can ask these questions another time. Is there someone I can call for you? I can send a counsellor to you."

Deering's features hardened, not with anger at his vicious question, but with a resignation and resolve that he had also witnessed in the residents of Devil's Breach when confronted with loss.

He'd once read a news article explaining that when a country is ruled by an oppressive dictator, particularly a violent one, the citizens hunkered down and endured. It wasn't that all hope was lost, just suppressed. When that ruler was overthrown, the hope re-emerged like land rising up after the receding glaciers over it had shrunk away. The problem for the new government was that while it was trying to deal with the ruins left behind by the previous regime, it now had to contend with growing unrest as that rising hope for change soon generated impatience, frustration and then anger and distrust over the slow pace of improvements in the life of the country's citizens, if there were any at all.

The residents of Devil's Breach hadn't rekindled their hope yet, even with the much publicized redevelopment that was about to start. They'd had their hopes crushed too many times in the past.

"Can I get you some coffee or tea, Detective Jacobsen?"

"What would you prefer?"

"I prefer tea. It is on the counter all ready to go."

"I'll only be a few minutes. Would you like cream and sugar?"

"Just cream, please, I have diabetes."

Heather Deering's cream was skim milk. Once he had the tea poured into the cups and delivered, Heather Deering was ready for his questions.

"I go to bed between nine and nine-thirty every night. Kimberley is always as quiet as can be. Last night, she was at choir practice at the community center. They are rehearsing for the grand opening of the Hollows Redevelopment Project next Monday."

"She would have been quiet if she'd come home to avoid waking you."

"She'd do the same thing in the morning. She went to work at six o'clock." She put down her tea cup. "That means I saw her last just before she left for the center." Deering brought out a white handkerchief that was tucked between the sleeves of her sweaters to dab her eyes.

"You had just assumed she'd come home and then gone to work this morning as she always does."

She shook her head. "At first, yes, but she had not left tea ready for me. She always makes the tea and then she removes the bag when it is the right strength. The insulated teapot can keep it hot for hours. I'd assumed she'd slept in and hadn't the time this morning."

"How did she get to work?"

"She took a bus everywhere. Or she walked. Or she rode her bike. We can't afford a car." Deering wiped her eyes and then blew her nose.

"Can I take a look in her room?'

"Do you think . . . ?"

"It's what we do, Mrs. Deering."

"Heather, please. Since Eddy died seven years ago, I haven't. . . ." She wiped her eyes again. "There's a pink heart carved out of wood on the door to her room. It has her name on it. She made it when she was twelve."

He refreshed her tea first. She turned down his offer to add more cream.

Kimberley's bedroom was as clean and neat as the rest of the house. Kimberley had put in much effort to keep their whole home that way. Her room was also the personal statement that he'd expected to find.

She liked pink and purple. Her top blanket and the pillowcases for her two pillows were pink. Her chest of drawers had been painted a dark tone of purple, as had the small pedestal stand that her laptop rested on. The stand had been secured to the wall with two L-brackets.

He lifted the closed lid. The computer desktop appeared.

From the doorway, Heather Deering said, "She didn't protect it with a password to make it easier for me to use. She did protect all her personal files and accounts with one, though. I believe that is what she called them."

"Who leads the choir?" He opened the File Explorer window and clicked on the Pictures folder. A long list of folders appeared, aligned vertically with the most recent folder by date at the top.

"April Cutler conducts the choir. She's the principal at Mayfield Primary on Malta Street in the Islands District."

"What time would the practice end?" He opened the top folder dated seven days ago. Despite what Heather had just told him, the file was not protected. Almost two dozen pictures of her and Marco Kamren at a restaurant appeared on the screen.

"They usually went until ten."

He took out a flash drive from his jacket pocket, plugged it in to the laptop and copied the files to it. He then walked to the purple chest of six drawers. "Do you mind?"

"Only the top one would contain anything personal that you might find helpful, Detective Jacobsen. The other five contain only clothes."

"She kept no secrets from you?"

"I wouldn't be that presumptuous. But if she did keep secrets from me, she wouldn't put anything in these drawers that might reveal what they are. She knew I frequently opened them. I put all the laundry away."

He glanced at her two canes. How do you do that?

He then glanced back at the laptop. The first picture in the file of restaurant photographs was still on the laptop screen. Kimberley had not set the pictures up to go through a slideshow. "Do you know who that man is?"

Heather Deering shuffled over to the laptop using both canes. "She never told me his name. She never brought him home. I believe their relationship was short and had come to an end before they'd reached that stage."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No, but I'm her mother. I knew. She was sad this past week or so. I believe she had developed strong feelings for this man, but then it was over."

"His name is Marco Kamren."

"Is he a suspect?"

"It's still early in the investigation."

"You must have to say that a lot. Thank you for providing his name."

"Did he have feelings for Kimberley?"

"I believe she believed he did, but that may have led to their end. She was heartbroken, but everyone in the Breach wakes up almost every day heartbroken over something in their lives. We struggle on, and so did Kimberley."

"Was she seeing anyone else before or after Marco Kamren?"

"Not that I am aware of. Kimberley was very picky about her men. Marco was only the third man in her life since leaving high school."

"Did she ever say anything about him to you?"

"She once said only that he wasn't the man she'd hoped he was. I couldn't get anything more out of her than that."

He searched through the top drawer, found two empty envelopes and then one containing $500.00 cash.

"She brought home two others full of money like that."

"They're in here. Where did they come from?"

"She told me not to ask."

"Could Marco Kamren have given them to her?"

"It is possible, but I really don't know. Kimberley was very proud, Detective Jacobsen. While she would be grateful for the money, she would also be embarrassed about someone giving her a handout. It could have come from someone where she works."

"Did she make a good wage at Hoult Industries?"

"She made enough to keep a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs and food on the table. But like I told you, she couldn't afford to keep her car. I'm sure someone at Hoult is aware of our situation. Kimberley would not volunteer the information, but she was polite and honest, the way I raised her. If someone there had asked. . . ."

"What did she spend the other money on?"

"I cannot help you with that."

He put the envelope of money in one jacket pocket. "I will return this once the investigation is complete." He put the flash drive in the other pocket. "What can I do for you before I go? Can I call someone for you?"

"I called my sister, Haitiah. She will be here any minute. Thank you for providing the name of the man she was seeing. Maybe one day. . . ."

"I will tell you everything I am permitted to reveal, one day, I promise."

"She had the voice of an angel."

The front door opened as he brought Deering back to her chair in the living room. A thin, fidgety woman wearing a pink sweat suit, about ten years younger, sixty pounds lighter, a few inches taller and not exhibiting any signs of being afflicted with arthritis came in quickly and rushed to Heather.

"Detective Jacobsen, this is Haitiah Gibbs, my sister."

"What happened?" Gibbs knelt down beside the chair and took hold of her sister's hand.

"It's still early in the investigation," Heather said. "Detective Jacobsen has to go. I will tell you all he told me."

He placed his card on the table beside Deering's tea cup. "Call me anytime. I will keep you informed of our progress as much as I can."

SEVEN:

Mayfield Middle School was located on Malta Street in the northwest corner of Central Village near the boundary with Satan Town. The area was known as the Islands District because six streets were named after islands. The parking lot of Mayfield was less than half-full. After parking his cruiser at one end of the school, he entered the one-storey building and walked along a corridor past classrooms that were either empty or had only a few students in them. He did not pass one full classroom.

At the office reception counter, he held up his badge. "Detective Myles Jacobsen, is Principal Cutler in?"

Amanda Sutton, the name on the plaque, called through on the phone. "Detective Jacobsen is here to see you, April."

A tall brunette came out of the principal's office wearing a dark-blue pantsuit that matched her blouse in color. Her hair was cut short. She used little make-up and wore what Ros would call sensible dress shoes.

They shook hands. "What can I do for you, Detective Jacobsen?"

"It might be better if we talked in your office."

He took one of two chairs for visitors. Principal Cutler sat in the other one rather than return to her desk chair.

"Kimberley Deering was a member of your choir, is that correct?"

"Was?"

"I thought you might pick up on that. It was clumsy of me and I am sorry, but I've never known a good way to break the news to anyone."

"My God, what happened to her?"

"She was found at the Starways Motel this morning."

When telling people who knew the victim of the murder, there was always shock. Most of the time, as he worked his way out from those people closest to the victim, the person being informed didn't display the intense and totally understandable reaction that came with receiving such news.

April Cutler burst into tears and bawled for a minimum of three minutes, almost emptying her box of facial tissues, before she could compose herself enough to answer his questions.

"You and Kimberley were close?"

"She was such a wonderful person, so positive, so enthusiastic. She had a lovely voice. She usually sang the solos. Everyone in the choir loved her." She blew her nose again. "She wanted to be a primary school teacher. She had taken some courses. I was helping her as much as I could." After blowing her nose again, she said, "I'm sorry. I'm all over the place. It's just such a shock."

"On the contrary, Principal Cutler, in those few sentences you have given me a very vivid picture of Kimberley."

"She was easily everything I just said about her and so much more." She sniffed and wiped her nose. "She worked a compressed schedule at Hoult Industries to get every second Friday off. She was always here volunteering in one class or another, helping out with one project or another. She was helping me organize a school choir for this year."

"I didn't see a lot of students on my way to your office."

She grabbed another tissue but didn't have to blow her nose. "We have less than half the students we had five years ago. We have only forty-eight in grade one. That's ten percent of what we had ten years ago. We've lost seventy percent of our faculty and staff in that time."

"What time did the choir practice end last night?"

"We ended early. We usually went to ten, but last night it was closer to nine, maybe quarter to nine. Only half the choir was here. The flu is going through us. I only got over it last week."

"Did Kimberley leave then?"

"We talked for about a half-hour before she left."

"That would put it at nine-fifteen."

"Probably about then, yes, I didn't check the time."

"What time did you leave?"

"At ten, I had to put chairs and stands away. Kimberley offered to help, but I sent her home." Cutler blew her nose and started crying again. With her voice hoarse and failing, she said, "If I'd . . . accepted . . . her help. . . ."

"What did you talk about?"

"She wasn't focused last night. We talked about that. She and her boyfriend had split up last week."

"Did she refer to him as her boyfriend?"

Cutler blinked rapidly before dabbing at her eyes. "Now that I think back, she never called Marco her boyfriend."

"She told you who he was?"

"Marco Kamren, yes, but I already knew who he was. He's Kayla Bartlett's brother, her half-brother."

"Did he ever come to choir practice? Did he ever pick Kimberley up?"

She chuckled hoarsely. "Marco Kamren has as little to do with people outside his very tiny circle as possible."

"That would be a no, then?"

"That would be a no, Detective Jacobsen." She rose from the guest chair and returned to her desk chair. "What happened to Kimberley? How was she . . . when was she . . . is Marco a suspect?"

"It's still early. We're waiting for our forensic team to piece together the evidence from the scene."

"Despite what movies and television shows do about that, I know it is not necessarily a quick process."

"We're always hopeful of finding a solid clue earlier rather than later."

"Was she . . . assaulted?" Before he could answer, she leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "It's still early, I know. I apologize. It just slipped out."

"Did Kimberley have any other men in her life before Marco, or after him?"

"I don't think so on both counts. Even though she made it clear she and Marco were no longer seeing each other, I got the impression she held on to some hope they might get back together. You know how it can go. Kimberley fell quickly and deeply. But she was tough. The end of a relationship, no matter how much it meant to her, would not be the end of her world. I could see it in her last night while we talked. She was still conflicted but she was also looking forward, holding onto hope, yes, but not dwelling on what she no longer had."

"Her mother told me Kimberley had been sad this past week."

"My impression of her last night was that she still was, but she was also beginning to bounce back." She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "It's just so unfair."

"Thank you. If something more comes to you, call me anytime." He left his card with her and returned to the cruiser.

Back at his office, his cell phone started ringing as he plugged the flash drive into the laptop. He didn't recognize the caller's number.

"Detective Jacobsen."

"This is Haitiah Gibbs. I want to know what happened to Kimberley."

"She was only found a few hours ago, Mrs. Gibbs. We are still gathering evidence."

"We are decent people. Kimberley was an angel with a heart of gold. She deserves to be treated with respect. You are not just going to walk away from this because it happened in Devil's Breach. I will not let you take her dignity away from her."

"I understand that you're upset, Mrs. Gibbs."

"I never married."

"Haitiah, we don't walk away from any murder investigation no matter where it happened. I would never walk away."

"I know Drew Campbell at the Courier. If I don't see some results soon, he is going to start investigating you the way he's investigated your vice department. He'll expose your incompetence and corruption the same way he exposed your sleazy colleagues."

"I assure you, Haitiah that my colleagues in the anti-gang task force are doing everything they can to end gang activities in our community. Drew Campbell's exposé articles are factually inaccurate and overly speculative."

"Of course you'd say something like that. But you better heed my warning, Detective Jacobsen, or else." She ended the call.

The call from Ben Harris came a moment after he'd placed his phone back into his jacket pocket.

Ben asked, "What have you got so far?"

"Kimberley had choir practice last night at the community center. It usually ended at ten, but last night it ended before nine o'clock. She stayed to talk to April Cutler, the choir leader, until about fifteen minutes after nine. Marco Kamren did not pick her up. He never did."

"Kamren's boss alibis him until eleven last night. They were in a staff meeting."

"If she was killed before eleven, then Kamren is in the clear. What else did Chadwick-Amherst say about him?"

"He's Citadel's best installer. He keeps to himself, doesn't interact socially with anyone else at work except for his partner and best friend, Johnny Reynolds. They get all the choice installations because they really are the best. Business is on the upswing with the new luxury subdivision being built in the new Silverdale Park. There is lots of work, lots of overtime. Chadwick-Amherst did not know Kamren had a girlfriend."

"That fits with what I've been told."

"The other two people I talked to described him the same way Chadwick-Amherst did. No one knew he even had a girlfriend. He's been known to be surly and taciturn, but he is their best installer. He knows their products and systems better than anyone else and he does his work better than anyone else at Citadel. He is also a fully qualified electrician. Another installer I talked to suggested he might take independent contracts outside of Citadel work, but he had no proof of that."

"Kimberley's mother knew of him but had never met him. She didn't even know what his name was until I told her. They never interacted socially. Cutler knows who he is because she knows his sister. She also confirms that he's on the antisocial side."

"Why keep their relationship secret?"

"He wasn't keeping it secret. He just wasn't inclined to tell anyone about it."

"Any word on her car?"

"She didn't own one. She used bus, bike or feet to get around."

"Yet she had a driver's licence."

"Mother says she couldn't afford to keep her car. All the work I saw at their old house makes that understandable. That's where her money went."

"I'm on my way to Hoult Industries."

"Swing by the community center and see if Marjorie Britton knows who called in about the murder."

"I should be back to the station within the hour."

He opened the most recent picture file. Kimberley had taken twenty-seven pictures in total with her phone. The change in expression on Marco's face as the pictures continued indicated that he might have become impatient with posing for them.

Jacobsen went back to the first picture, a shot of them sitting at their table. It was a close shot. Kimberley's smiling face—beaming?—and Marco's less-smiling face filled the whole frame. Their heads were tilted toward each other and touching. When he returned to the final picture, Kimberley was still as happy, but Kamren hadn't just stopped smiling. He was scowling. Kimberley held her phone farther away for the shot and the couple had sat back in their chairs. More of the restaurant's background was visible in the picture. In that background, he saw another possible reason for Marco Kamren to be scowling.

EIGHT:

"See you at midnight," Johnny said. "The van's ready."

Reynolds drove the Citadel van back to the office. Marco got into his orange Camaro and circled in a northwest arc along North Pacific Boulevard to the Cambridge Viaduct and then descended into East Crag.

As part of the new Silverdale Park development, North Pacific Boulevard was to be straightened and diverted to become an arterial route from Silverdale Park to downtown. Cambridge Viaduct was slated to be demolished, eliminating another escape route out of Devil's Breach.

From the viaduct, he headed south along Princess Avenue to the Vistaview Court apartments. The view from the apartments at the front of the three-storey building would overlook the eastern edge of the new Hollows Redevelopment Project until Vistaview was demolished to make way. The view from the back of the apartments was of a granite cliff sixty feet to the east and almost that high.

There was an intercom system for Vistaview that rarely worked anymore. The lock on the entrance door had been broken for a decade or more. The bare patch of exterior wall to the right of the entrance had lost a few more chunks of faded pink stucco since his visit last week. It wasn't the largest bare batch on the outside of the building; it was just the one nobody could miss seeing on the way to the entrance.

Apartment 303 occupied the northwest corner of Vistaview Court's top floor. One of six three-bedroom apartments, it was the largest in the building by twenty square feet.

He set down the four cloth bags of groceries and knocked on the door.

Dorothy Baker unlocked the deadbolt, released two chains and pulled back the one bolt. She hugged him a second after opening the door.

"Hello, Marco, sweetheart, we've missed you."

He kissed her cheek before she let go of him. "I have four more bags to fetch. I'll be right back."

When he returned to the apartment, Dorothy Baker and her two grandchildren, Angela Bynum, five, and Bobby Bynum, three, were going through the four bags. Bobby, an expert by now, already had found his buried toy, a fire truck to go with his fire hall.

"I should have brought that bag in last." He set the last four bags on the table in the dining area.

Angela and Bobby ran to him as he dropped to his knees.

Bobby got to him first. He hugged hard for a three-year-old. He also wouldn't let go of his new fire truck. The rear corner of it dug into Marco's upper back as Bobby squeezed him close.

Angela exhibited her new bracelet of glittering red and green plastic stones. "Thank you." She took her time hugging him and kissed his cheek before letting him go.

He then helped Dorothy put the groceries away. "When do you go back to the hospital?"

"I see the specialist next Tuesday. The hospital has arranged for a taxi to take me there and bring me back home. You do not need to concern yourself about taking time from work to go with me."

"I was looking forward to going with you."

"To find out if I'm going to lose my foot? Marco, you have a job and you must have more to your life than just us. How is Kimberley doing?"

"We aren't seeing each other anymore."

She slapped his shoulder. "Were you stupid with her? You have to respect a woman. You can't just—"

He put his finger to her mouth. "Angela and Bobby don't need to know yet."

"You can't just set a date to tell them. They liked her. Angela really liked her."

"I'll find a way."

"She was good for you, too. Don't you know that?"

"Mind your own business, Dorothy."

"This is my business. They just lost their momma two months ago. If you hadn't come along, and then Kimberley, I don't know how we would have managed."

"You just worry about taking care of your foot. I'll take care of everything else. Where the hell did you leave your cane?"

"I got a blister from using it."

"You have to take it slow, give it time, let your hand get used to it."

She laughed gruffly. "Tell those two that."

Bobby stood at the passageway between the kitchen and the dining/living room. "I'm hungry. What's for supper?"

"Your favorite: ravioli and meatballs," he said. "Now get Angela to help set the table."

Angela came to the kitchen and immediately took out the plates. Then she got out the glasses. Bobby did his best to get out the knives and forks. He took his small knife and fork to his place at the table first, which required two trips because he still hadn't put down his fire truck.

He added the meatballs, chopped celery, some Italian seasoning, some cream cheese to cut the acidity of the sauce and a bit more garlic. Dorothy took charge of the ravioli.

Angela and Bobby Bynum had milk with their meal. He and Dorothy drank water from the water dispenser he'd installed in the kitchen three weeks ago after the most recent boil-water notification for East Crag. Three of the large plastic bottles had been emptied. Two were still full. One was two-thirds full.

After supper, Bobby entertained him with a story of how his new fire truck was going to help him catch tigers and penguins, and how the fire hall, once he backed the fire truck full of animals into it, would provide a home for all the people who lived in Vistaview Court when the building was torn down.

Angela found her grandmother's cane for her and then sat on the floor beside Marco and sustained a comprehensive dialogue with her dolls and stuffed toys as she tried different bits of plastic jewelry on each until she found the perfect match for all. She then dressed her dolls in the new clothes she'd found hidden at the bottom of one of the grocery bags.

He put them to bed. Though it was earlier than normal for them, they settled with no fuss.

"I wish they'd do that for me."

"They don't give you too much trouble, do they?"

"Bed time is the worst. It's when they miss their momma most. But somehow I get them settled." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

He handed her the envelope. "I'll try to drop by on the weekend. Call me if you need anything."

She chuckled. "Are you actually going to turn it on?" At the door, she kissed his cheek again. "Bless you, Marco."

Amman Cook, dark, short, wiry, with a neat mustache the only hair on his head other than his eyebrows, the leader of the Z9 gang, was waiting at Marco's Camaro. He handed over an envelope of cash. "That's forty-five hundred. I can get you more, Marco, if you'd just bring your talents to our side of the world."

"Save your breath."

"Just come by one day and let me show you what's available to you. That's all I ask. You can still walk away, but I bet you'll be impressed. And to make it sweeter, I can up your cut to forty percent, exclusive to you only."

"Thirty's good. I gotta go."

"How's Kayla doing?"

"I don't check on her every day. She has her life. I have mine."

"She's your sister, man. How can you care so much for the Baker family and be so cold to your own sister?"

"I toss and turn every night just thinking about her."

"You know, man, I do, too, every night."

"It is not the same thing. And don't even think like that. She would have nothing to do with you."

"I'm just sayin', y'know, it's all 'bout family, Marco. If you haven't got that, know what I mean?" He looked at Vistaview Court. "Take Dorothy up there with that sick foot of hers, just as an example. She's, like, what, late-forties maybe."

"She's forty-eight."

"She looks older, Marco, and you know it too. She's a poor black woman. She's overweight, her diabetes is all but out of control, and now she has to care for her grandchildren after their momma overdosed. If someone close to her were a member in good standing, we look after our own. We provide a comprehensive benefits package with membership. It's a plus, Marco."

"You keep sweetening the deal and maybe one day."

"Hey, Marco, seriously, I'm sorry about Kimberley. I thought you and she were a good thing."

"I don't care what you think. And stay away from my sister."

NINE:

He arrived at the precinct station before Harris. Rosalind Copp had left a message for him to call her.

"She wasn't sexually assaulted," Copp said when she answered his call.

"Hello, Rosalind, how are you?"

"Smartass. We haven't started the proper autopsy yet, but we've found a few things of interest."

"Like . . . ?"

"Stop badgering me. She was washed in a solution of oxygen bleach and water and probably more than once."

"It can destroy hemoglobin and make luminal testing meaningless. The killer probably got that from the internet."

"Under her fingernails had been cleaned, under her toenails, too. We might still find something, but my first impression is the ends of her fingers were dipped in pure oxygen bleach after the nails were cleaned. I won't hope for finding much."

"The killer had a plan and a method worked out. They were anticipating us finding her. They wanted us to find her and identify her."

"You know what they say, the best crimes are the ones never discovered; therefore, I agree with you. The killer or killers wanted Kimberley to be found. They are putting us on notice."

"Killers?"

"I'll get back to you on that. Based on other bruises and contusions, I would not be surprised if she had fought hard for her life, and I would surmise that she did that twice. There are two big bruises between her shoulder blades that are consistent with someone kneeling on her." Copp paused. Just as he was about to speak, she said, "She went through a hell of an ordeal before she died."

"When did she die?"

"Sometime between midnight and two in the morning I would think."

"How did she die?"

"I don't want to get ahead of myself before we complete the autopsy, but given that there are no bullet wounds or punctures from a stabbing weapon, and the ligature marks do not on first glance indicate an attempt to strangle only restrain, I think we'll find she died of heart failure. Her heart gave out from all the torture she suffered."

"What sort of torture?"

"The marks on her wrists and her ankles indicate two different types of bindings. A rope was used first to hold her in a spread-eagle position, likely on a prepared platform. The second marks, and they are hard to distinguish from the first, particularly around her ankles, indicate she was hung upside down with her hands bound behind her using the same rope.

"She has a serious bruise on her left knee. I believe we will find some ligament and tendon damage, perhaps a bruise on the bone. The bruising spread rapidly into her knee, causing it to swell. If that had happened before her second attempt to escape, she would have had difficulty moving. She most certainly couldn't run. There is another nasty bruise on her right heel."

"Did she step on something with bare feet while trying to escape? Can we get an impression to identify what it is?"

"She didn't step on it, and I know what it is. Someone struck her heel with a hammer a number of times. She might have been swinging a bit because three different impact points are clearly identifiable. The marks on her ankles tell me a great deal of pressure was being exerted on them from the binding both horizontally from being pressed together and vertically. It was likely a nylon rope. I've seen this before. That victim was hung from a hook and beaten to death with an aluminum baseball bat. Blood pooling indicates she likely died while hanging upside down, but let me complete the full autopsy to verify that."

"Call me once you're done."

"There's something else, too, Myles. We found an earthworm, six blades of grass, each one of them exactly three inches long, and a crushed cigarette under her body when we removed her from the bed."

"What do you make of that?"

"Before you ask the other obvious question, the answer is yes, or most likely yes. Both the room and the bed have been used by transients, the homeless and drug users. We are going to find so much contamination that whatever we might be able to link to Kimberley is going to be useless as real evidence. Think the JonBenet Ramsey case."

"We're not likely to find cross-transfer evidence."

"Nothing admissible in that hotel room, I believe. These killers were good, but we might be able to find something once we find where she was killed."

"You said killers again."

"The earthworm, the grass and the cigarette butt are all plants. Kimberley Deering is five feet seven inches tall and weighs about one thirty-five. One killer would have to be fairly strong to get her into the room. Two killers would have had an easier time of it."

"That's pretty weak, Rosalind."

"Myles trust your instincts. I'll get the confirmation we need, but you feel it, too. There are two sadistic killers working together out there. They are both very smart psychopaths who are familiar with police forensics."

"Yes, and they are just getting started."

"I will be able to tell you more tomorrow."

"And tonight?"

"Not tonight, I'm busy."

He hadn't noticed Harris return to his desk. "That was Rosalind. She's about to start the autopsy."

"Anything helpful so far?"

"Confounding is more like it. We are being played. What did you get?"

"Jessie Hoult owns Hoult Industries. Her grandfather founded it just before the Second World War. She took over when her father retired seven years ago. I talked to her, Haley Winston, their receptionist, and Kimberley's supervisor in Accounts Receivable, Aaron Hines. All three of them had only wonderful things to say about her. All of them were shocked and saddened. My impression was Haley took the news the hardest."

"And Marco Kamren?"

"Nothing more about him other than what we talked about earlier," Harris said as he tried to pry some piece of his lunch out from between his teeth.

"Kimberley Deering was receiving envelopes of money, most likely from Marco. He gave her three. Each one had five hundred dollars in it, according to Heather Deering. Two were empty." He withdrew from his jacket pocket the envelope that still contained cash.

"Very generous of him, but they still broke up."

"According to mom, Marco broke it off. The only thing Kimberley said to her mother about their relationship was that he wasn't the man she'd hoped he'd be."

"What did she mean by that? Was she bothered about why he was giving her money? What was the nature of their relationship?"

"She might have been bothered about how he was getting the money he was giving her. Take a look at this." He brought up the pictures from the restaurant again. He put the one he wanted onto the screen.

Harris rolled over from his desk on his chair, leaned in and looked at the picture. "Is that who I think it is in the background?"

"Amman Cook, leader of the Z9 gang, and Dante Parker, leader of the Hellcats," he said.

"I recognize the place. It's the All Nations restaurant on Victoria Street. Cook owns it."

"Purported to offer a menu of international cuisine and to be Cook's main money laundering conduit."

"We've never been able to catch him using it that way or prove it by any other means." Harris moved back from the screen. "Is Kamren getting his money from there? Which one of those two is giving it to him? Was Deering really getting the money from Cook or Parker?"

"Watch Kamren's face. As the pictures progress, Deering keeps smiling, but Kamren's smile changes to a scowl."

"He spotted them. Was he trying to hide his connection to them from her? Or had he suddenly discovered her connection to them?"

"We have not established that he has anything to do with either gang. And why are Cook and Parker even together?"

"A peace conference? There have been a number of bloody clashes between Z9 and the Hellcats over the past year. I think the body count between them stands at seven. Parker is getting bolder and his gang is getting bigger."

"Look again at this last picture."

"They've both noticed Kamren, too."

"Are they noticing just him? My first impression was they were noticing Kimberley Deering?"

"Oh shit. This could be getting a lot uglier. I know what we're going to be doing tomorrow. Or should we get our Coordinated Anti-Gang Unit to talk to Cook and Parker?"

"We'll do it. How's your new condo coming?"

"The mortgage is pre-approved. The interest rate is locked in. Assuming there are no hiccups with construction, I'll be moving into my new condo in new Silverdale Park in eight months."

"And what about Lauren?"

"What about her?"

"I'll leave it there. See you tomorrow."

Ben Harris wasted no time leaving the station. Harris did excellent work as a detective, and he would put in the hours when required to do so, but he never stayed on the job any longer than he had to. He always had a lot of 'big nights ahead of me'.

Jacobsen tried each of Marco Kamren's phone numbers. Neither phone was available.

It didn't take long to find Marco Kamren on the system. He had accumulated three charges of assault between the ages of seventeen and twenty. None of them resulted in any jail time because the other party in each case had a much longer history of breaking the law and no one wanted to press charges."

"This is interesting, however." His desk phone began ringing. "Detective Myles Jacobsen."

"Detective Jacobsen, this is Drew Campbell at the Courier. I've just been talking to Haitiah Gibbs. Where are you in the investigation?"

"You know as well as I that we do not discuss ongoing investigations with the public or the press."

"You do if you want our help."

"Are you offering?"

"Gibbs is convinced her niece was murdered by someone from one of the two gangs. Is her murder linked to the gangs? Or is her death just another sad example of the increasing chaos and decay in Devil's Breach?"

"Why would she think there's a link with gangs?"

"Gone fishing, are we? You're not prepared to give me anything but I'm supposed to give you what I have."

"I doubt Haitiah Gibbs has anything but pain, anguish and anger fueling her suspicions and accusations."

Campbell started laughing, which quickly became coughing, before he said, "Like the accusation that you are either going to bungle the investigation or just let it go cold."

"Residents of the Hollows have had reason to complain in the past, but I assured her I don't walk away from a murder investigation."

"According to her aunt, Kimberley Deering was one of the angels residing in hell."

"I can tell you we are getting that same information from everyone we talk to."

"Would that include her former boyfriend, Marco Kamren? He was giving Kimberley envelopes of cash. Where is he getting those from?"

Haitiah Gibbs was going to reveal evidence that would hinder if not completely thwart their investigation. Then she would accuse them of either not caring or being incompetent. Her confirmation bias would become self-fulfilling, but in her grief she would never accept that. It would have to be their fault.

"The investigation has just begun, Mr. Campbell. You won't help it if you put stuff like that in your article."

"Relax, detective. I am aware of how police investigations work. I've heard things about you, too. Haitiah is devastated right now. I will write something she and Heather will love, but I won't interfere with your investigation."

"Thank you," he said.

"Unless, of course, you let it go cold or bungle it." He laughed and coughed again as he hung up.

TEN:

He tried the doorknob before knocking with three quick, hard raps.

Kayla hugged him as soon as she opened the door. "I'm so sorry, Marco."

"You've finally started locking the door. Good." He backed out of her embrace and entered the house. "You still haven't got the stink out of this place. You probably never will."

"This is your home too, Marco." She followed him into the living room. "Mom left it to both of us. A few coats of paint and some new carpets would do the trick. A couple of weekends and it could be all done."

"Do what you want with it." He sat on the sofa. "Nothing will get rid of that stink."

She sat down beside him. "I've been trying to call you all day."

"You know that's a waste of time."

"Marco, Kimberley was murdered."

"I know. Some asshole cop came to talk to me while I was on the job."

"How are you feeling about that?"

"How should I feel?"

"Didn't you have any feelings for her?"

"What does it matter now? She's gone."

"She had come to me to talk about you. She wanted help from me. She was trying to find a way to get through to you. She wanted to understand you better. She wanted to know if I knew why you had started to push away from her. She thought she might be doing something wrong. And then you just walked away from her."

"It was over. What was the point to trying to understand why?" He picked at a loose bit of nylon thread sticking out of the arm of the sofa. "Why are you women always trying to understand? Why can't you just accept what is?"

"What happened between you two?"

"You don't listen, do you?"

"You've hardened yourself against pain. I understand why you had to do that, I do. It was just the two of us after mom died. You weren't even out of your teens and you had to look after me."

"There you go. You can't help yourself."

Kayla touched his hand. She knew better than to try to take hold of it. "I was going through it all, too, Marco. Your toughness got us to where we are now. But you've shut yourself off too much."

"Aren't you the brilliant analyst?"

"I'm not trying to analyze you."

"Then leave me alone about it. What I do, I do. That is all you or anyone else needs to know about me."

"All right, change of topic. Have you had dinner?"

"What have you got?"

She kissed his cheek. "Now that's the big brother I know, always hungry." She got up. "Come help me."

They said little as they made spaghetti and meatballs together.

"I've lost count how many times we've had this for dinner," Kayla said.

"And then again the next night, and the next night, and then the next night," he said. "You'd think we'd be sick of it by now."

"We didn't always have meatballs with it."

They sat at the table in the kitchen.

"Where are you with the redevelopment project? It's due to start soon, isn't it?"

"The ceremonial first shovel goes into the soil next Monday," Kayla said before slurping up a noodle. "They are still trying to cut it down in size until it's almost completely gone. And now Mayor Turpin is trying to manufacture a public health crisis."

"That's nothing new in Devil's Breach."

"Don't call it that." She put half a meatball into her mouth. "He wants to evacuate everyone into Central Village while the hazard is cleaned up. But it is just another ploy to delay the project until the funding vanishes."

He finished his last meatball and said, "You should leave. Go somewhere where all that education isn't wasted. You should have accepted the job at city hall."

"I'm needed here, Marco. And so are you." She started to clear the table.

"Not for much longer." He put the dishes into the dishwasher he'd installed two year ago as Kayla handed them to him.

"What does that mean?"

"It's a light load. Do you want to put it through or wait until you get some more?" He returned to the sofa.

Kayla came after him. "You can't just say something like that and then not explain yourself."

"You've been doing that your whole life."

She stood akimbo directly in front of him. "Doing what?"

"Trailing after me all the time, unable to keep up and bawling for me to stop and wait for you."

"I did not bawl. I never bawled."

"If you say so."

She sat down beside him and punched his shoulder before leaning against him. "You did always stop and let me catch up. You were always there for me. You kept me safe. I will never forget that, but I don't want to lose the big brother who did that for me."

"You won't."

"I'm afraid I might have lost you already. I'd hoped Kimberley would be someone you could be comfortable with. I'd hoped you would be able to give yourself to her, some part of yourself at least. And don't turn that into something crude."

"Why do you keep doing that? It's never worked."

She sat straight up. "Doing what?"

"Coming at me from a different angle."

"Why did you come here? You've told me countless times that you want nothing to do with this house even though it's half yours. I don't see you sometimes for weeks. You won't take my calls or reply to my messages. If you're not here because of what happened to Kimberley, then why did you visit me tonight? It can't be for the spaghetti and meatballs. It was obvious you'd already eaten." She stood up in front of him again. "Why are you here?"

"Can't I visit my sister? Why do you keep trying to analyze everything I do?"

"I'm trying to hang on to you, idiot."

He rose from the sofa and moved Kayla aside. "I have to go."

She trailed after him to the front door. "You're a chickenshit, is that it? You can't face any of those emotions going through you so you just run away from them."

He kissed her forehead. "The spaghetti was delicious, thanks."

ELEVEN:

He parked the Camaro six blocks away and walked to the Middlegate Mall. Slated to be replaced with low-rise, rent-controlled apartment housing, every one of the twenty-three stores in it had closed, with Franklin's Grocery being the last to abandon the site a year ago. The parking lot was empty but for one dark-blue, beater Chevy Astro van.

Johnny was in the back of the van checking their tools and equipment when Marco opened the door.

"Don't slam it," Johnny said as Marco entered the van. "The latch is going to go any day now."

"We should get something newer to use."

"Yeah, let's use your orange Camaro. It won't draw any attention." Johnny crawled forward to get into the driver's seat. "Are we going to Silverdale tonight?"

"It's not ripe yet. I've got another place in mind: The Signature Tower. It's been six weeks."

The first attempt to start the Astro resulted in a loud backfire and a stall.

"It's just cold, that's all. I've been waiting for over an hour." Johnny pulled out the manual choke he'd installed. "This will do the trick."

"Can we even make a run in this thing if we have to?"

"Don't be throwin' shade on my Beatrice. She may take a while to warm up, but once she does, man, we got over four hundred, turbocharged, nitro-injected horsepower."

"Until it all blows up in our faces. I'm sure no one will notice that."

"Shush, you'll hurt her feelings."

"Who calls his busted old piece of junk Beatrice?"

"Feelings." He tried again. This time Beatrice belched black smoke and screamed when he pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor. "That's my baby girl."

"Beatrice is older than either one of us." He came forward to the front passenger seat. "You do know what a real woman is, right, man?"

"Signature Tower, man. Grab you balls and clench."

This time Johnny's call to charge did not lead to a reckless high-speed drive along the city's streets. Their start-up ritual complete, he drove carefully to Signature Tower.

"Do you really think they'll check you out?"

"They'll check me out."

"But your record, man, that isn't going to make you look any less suspicious."

"I can't do anything about that. It's their files."

"They're going to find out how you got those eighteen stitches in your arm."

"Like I said, it's their files. Don't worry about it."

"But the guy who gave you that scar, Marco, he disappeared less than two weeks later."

"Yeah, so did the other guy."

"They'll find the connection between them and Kayla. They're not going to let up on you. What if they start tracking you?"

"They can try."

"How are you doing? We could do this some other night."

"Why?"

"Kimberley, man. Weren't you two close? You were happy with her, weren't you?"

"Turn right here. We'll come in at the back and park across the street."

Reynolds turned on to Wallace Boulevard and then turned into the King's Gate Boutique mall's lot across from Signature Tower and parked facing the twelve-storeys of mid-luxury apartment condominiums.

"Christ, just look at that shithole. I couldn't stand living in a chicken coop off a common elevator no matter how luxurious it's supposed to be. Give me a shack and wide open spaces and I'm good. Do we go up or down tonight?"

"You're halfway there, then. I'm going up. You stay with the van. It should take me thirty to forty-five minutes."

"That would mean six to seven moves. Where's the pick up?"

"Back there at Wallace and Twenty-Fifth."

"You are an asshole, Marco, but I thought she was good for you. You toned it down a bit once you started hanging with her."

"You're the asshole."

"We're both assholes. Like my reprobate, dead daddy always told me. It takes one to know one. People should stay with their own kind."

"Reprobate?"

"Yeah, I looked it up when I was trying to figure out how to describe pops. I wanted to be concise. According to the Oxford dictionary, it means one who behaves in an immoral way. That was daddy right down to his burnt-off fingerprints."

"Your father was a dick. That's what got him killed."

"The biggest there was, and I don't mean that in a flattering way. How many tonight?"

"Just the one; they're out of town." Marco snatched up the backpack that held his tools and got out through the sliding door. "They have a wall safe."

Johnny drove away as he crossed Wallace to the back of Signature Tower. The van turned right on Twenty-Third as he looked up at the external fire escape.

The Signature Tower was twenty years old, ancient by the standards of the new vision for the future of the city. The external fire escape was a safety requirement when it was built. Any building over five floors built in the city now required mandatory sprinkler systems and at least two sets of fire-proof stairwells inside the building.

Six weeks ago, while canvassing the tower for possible customers, though no one wanted to purchase a security system from Citadel, he'd encountered three prospective targets.

The couple on the sixth floor usually went out every night. The couple on the third floor were the boring homebodies. But she had invited him in anyway, had provided refreshments and confided to him that while the stay-at-home strategy was part of their economic plan to bide their time in order to let their condo appreciate in value as well as give them the opportunity to save enough money to add to their down payment on one of the new condos being built in Silverdale Park in about a year, she was becoming increasingly bored and restless with the strategy.

As a result of their thrifty lifestyle, she had come to know many of the other residents of Signature Tower in her thirty-something age range and thus had extensive knowledge of their habits and their lives that were far less boring than hers.

The couple on the tenth floor were not married and were very wealthy. The man, four years older than her husband, worked at the same law firm with him. She didn't know exactly what the woman did, her closest friend in the tower, but she also made incredible amounts of money. She did know that they were leaving this morning for three weeks in London, Paris and then Rome. She and her new hubby of six months were looking after their cat while they were away—residents were allowed one pet as long as it was quiet. They weren't getting paid to do that, though, in hindsight, she perhaps should have charged some fee for kitty-sitting. After all, those two could certainly afford it.

He didn't remember her name or any of the names she'd fired at him with that machine-gun mouth of hers. He only remembered what he needed to know.

The Signature Tower had a state of the art security system installed when it was built twenty years ago. She was more than willing to let him take a look at the control panel in her condo to verify how thorough and capable the system was, how many camera feeds it offered—just the entrance, the lobby and the underground parking—and to let him see that it was sufficient for the needs of the residents.

"After all," she'd said to him on his way out, "we've never had any hitches or glitches with it. And there have never been any burglaries or crimes of any sort for as long as people have lived here. I know that because we made a point of checking into it before we bought this place. My husband is a lawyer, so that's important to him. The Signature Tower and this neighborhood are very secure, peaceful and quiet."

State of the art twenty years ago was an easy hack tonight. Opening the main box on the roof, disconnecting and connecting the right sets of wires would prevent any alarms from triggering and would provide the surveillance system with looped videos of the underground parking lot, the lobby and the entrance that he'd recorded before leaving six weeks ago.

Another easy connection quickly bypassed the electronic lock on the door to the two-bedroom condo on the tenth floor.

All the lights in the condo were off but for the one over the stove. From his right, it cast enough light into the entrance hall to get him into the living room. The drapes were open, but unless someone was looking straight at this side of the building from the one other condominium tower in the neighborhood, no one was likely to spot him.

The wall dividing the living room from the kitchen prevented the light from illuminating his passage toward the master bedroom. The other bedroom served as a joint office for the man and woman, but the safe was in the master bedroom.

He closed the door upon entering the master and stood as still as he could. The light-colored drapes were drawn. With the door closed, it required a few seconds to adjust to the dark, though the drapes didn't prevent much of the light pollution penetrating from outside. The outline of the only other apartment building in the neighborhood as high as the Signature Tower aligned across from the bedroom and the living room. Its outline could be discerned by the lights rising along its facing wall.

The safe was near the floor behind the night table on the man's side of the king size bed. A walnut panel covered it and matched other walnut panels placed around the bedroom near the baseboard as ineffectual decorative touches and camouflage.

The lamp did teeter a bit when he moved the night table out of the way, but he caught it before it fell. The hinged walnut panel did not possess a lock of any kind and easily swung open once he had pressed on it to release its spring-loaded magnetic latch.

This set up wasn't any meaningful form of security for the residents of Signature Tower. It was the equivalent of over-the-counter drugs to assuage the concerns of anxious parents when their children were ill. It made the parents feel better, but that was about it.

"Generating a false sense of security and gambling they will never be proven wrong."

The safe, a piece of Armorwise junk, announced to him with a loud click when he reached the correct numbers to the combination. He just had to go slow enough to not overshoot. Set to zero before making one full clockwise turn. Then counter clockwise to fifty—the combination dial went from zero to sixty—then clockwise to nineteen—a very loud click—and then slowly counter clockwise again one full revolution before stopping at fifty-two.

Six methodical attempts finally opened the safe's door to reveal some decent and valuable jewelry trinkets, but the real jackpot was the $3000.00 cash in an unsealed five-by-eight manila envelope.

The door to the apartment opened followed by the sound of his tipster's voice nattering away at the same speed it had while nattering away at him six weeks ago.

He shoved the night table along the carpet to get it back as close as he could before concealing himself in the walk-in closet and closing the folding door just as the woman entered the master bedroom.

He suddenly remembered her name.

"Now I know you will be more comfortable doing your business here," Malley Schmidt said. "I'll just give you some privacy while I make sure everything is secure."

He took out his Smith & Wesson M&P 9 Shield M2.0 9-millimeter as he watched Schmidt deposit the orange, long-haired tabby on the floor.

The cat purred loudly and its tail swished vigorously as it looked up at Schmidt.

"Go ahead, you little munchkin. You're box is right where it's always been."

The cat sat down and just kept purring, swishing its tail along the carpet and looking up at Schmidt.

He withdrew from his hoody's left front pocket a can of pepper spray.

"Go on. That's a good kitty. Be a lady." Schmidt pointed to the master bathroom. When the cat didn't move from where it sat, Schmidt sighed, walked over to the bathroom and turned on the light. "There, is that better?"

The cat trilled, got up on her short legs and trotted into the bathroom.

Sighing again, Schmidt left the master bedroom. Through the crack in the folding door, he could watch lights going on and off as Schmidt made her rounds.

The cat came trotting out of the bathroom and trotted toward the closet. The bedroom light came on.

"All finished? That's a good girl." Schmidt scratched the purring cat's head and then ran her hand along its back to its tail. "Well done, Miss Mango. Now it's my turn. I'll be as quick as I can. And don't worry; your box will be as clean as ever when I am through in there.

He aimed the Shield at Schmidt's back and then at the cat and then back at the woman as she entered the bathroom.

Schmidt grunted and sighed just as the smell from the cats 'business' and Miss Mango reached the closet. The cat tried to open the left folding door with her paw after she couldn't get it open by wedging her face into the gap between the two of them.

He kept his hand against the door as Miss Mango increased her efforts. She meowed in frustration. The door rattled when she pawed at it.

From the bathroom, Schmidt called out, "What is it, Mango? Did you spot a mouse or a rat? Well, there better not be anything like that in the tower or management is going to get another nasty letter from you-know-who."

The cat looked up at him through the narrow openings between the slats and meowed again. She started purring and rubbing her chin against the door.

Bugger off. He waved the Shield at it, but it didn't budge. Did Miss Mango instinctively know he wouldn't hurt her?

"All done," Schmidt announced as she exited the bathroom wiping her hands. "Now, sweetie, will you be okay while auntie does some shopping? I should be back in about an hour. You'll be more comfortable in your own home, I'm sure."

Miss Mango ignored her caretaker and continued to paw at the door, trying to get it open.

"Here, sweetie, let me do that for you." In three quick strides, Schmidt was at the door. "Get your paw out of the way, honey."

When the cat didn't obey Schmidt, the woman picked her up, giving him the time to step to the back of the closet and duck behind the outdoor coats hanging there. If she looked down, Schmidt would see his boots.

He held up the pepper spray.

"There you are, you determined cat, wide open and ready for your exploration. I'll be back in an hour." Schmidt put the cat down and exited the bedroom. She turned out every light still on as she made her way out of the apartment.

Miss Mango hissed at him when he stepped out from behind the coats.

"Don't blame me. It's your stupid name." He put the pepper spray and his Shield away.

Miss Mango crisscrossed in front of him, rubbing up against his boots as he made his way back to the safe.

"Stupid cat."

She scooted away a few steps then launched an attack on his left ankle and the shoelaces of his boots.

"I have a gun, asshole. I will shoot you."

The cat let go of him and jumped up onto the bed. From there, she stalked him for the remaining few feet to the safe. She swatted at the back of his neck as he closed the door to the safe, closed the walnut panel and then slid the table legs back into their impressions in the carpet.

When he stood up, the cat laid down against the man's pillow and began grooming herself. She purred loudly when he petted her. She stood up so he could get more of her, lifting her butt higher when he scratched it.

"You don't get a cut. I did all the work. I took all the risk."

Miss Mango reclined against the pillow again and started licking herself as he left the bedroom.

Reynolds was where he should be. "Shit, Marco, I was getting worried. I could see all these lights going on and off in there. What happened?"

"Nothing, just having a look around," he said and handed over the envelope. "You know what to do with this."

"No trinkets this time?"

"Nothing to bother about."

"Skunked again. Dante isn't going to like that."

"He'll get something soon enough. Let's go."

TWELVE:

A white Lincoln was parked in front of his bungalow when Marco parked the Camaro in the driveway. Detective Myles Jacobsen approached with his badge held out as he got out of his car.

"Working overtime?"

"Yeah."

"Is this your house?"

"You already know the answer to that."

"You bought it with cash three years ago. You got it from its previous owner Amman Cook at well below the market value of the land alone. You've been fixing it up ever since."

"Interested? I'm sure we can negotiate something."

"I'd want to take a good look at it first, particularly inside."

"You won't find anything but excellent workmanship. All the wiring is new."

"You have a number of interesting connections to interesting people in Devil's Breach."

"Don't you mean people of interest?"

"Would you mind showing me your scar?"

He pulled back the left sleeve of his jacket and turned his hand palm-up.

"Eighteen stitches. That's a defensive wound. How big was the knife?"

"I don't remember."

"Andrew Harper, also known as Andrew Harmon, also known as Douglas Blake, a suspected contract killer, gave you that scar. He worked mostly independently, but he has been associated with gangs in numerous cities up and down the West Coast, including the Hellcats right here in the Breach."

"I didn't catch his name at the time. I'll take your word for it."

"He disappeared after you two tangled."

"We didn't keep in touch, if that's what you're wondering."

"The first irony here is that was what he was famous for. That's why it was so hard to ever prove anything against him. His suspected targets, every last one of them, just disappeared. Not one of them has ever been found, not a one."

He started for his front door.

Jacobsen came with him. "The second irony is a known associate of his, Joey McDougall, also disappeared about two weeks after you got that scar."

He took out his house keys. "Never heard of him."

"We have witnesses that claimed otherwise."

"Witnesses can be very unreliable."

"Joey was a local small fry. He wasn't so much an independent or a free-lancer, not like Harper, as he was an outcast. Both Z9 and the Hellcats shunned him. The rumor is that he was too volatile to be trusted. His solution to every problem or challenge he encountered was to have that person disappear, which was Harper's speciality."

"That is irony at its best, and I would say there is some poetic justice to their stories. But you know better than I how invalid witness reports and rumors can be."

"One of those rumors was that Joey was interested in your sister."

"See what I mean?" He put the first of the three keys he needed to use into the doorknob lock.

Jacobsen gripped his wrist. "You're maybe five feet eight inches tall, at most. I'll spot you a sold one-eighty pounds. You have a large frame, a thick neck, thick arms, big hands and obviously well-developed muscles. I would peg you as significantly stronger than most men your age and size, but how did you survive a knife fight against Andrew Harper? From what we know of him, he'd have had seven inches and more than forty pounds on you."

"I talked him out of it." He twisted free of Jacobsen's grasp.

"Before or after he cut you?"

"That was just part of the negotiations."

"I'd love to know how you did it."

"I can be very persuasive." He unlocked the doorknob lock and then the two deadbolts in the front door. "It's been a long day. I'm tired."

"If you'd leave your phone on, I could have arranged an earlier meeting with you. Why did you two break up?"

"That is none of your business."

"I found three envelopes in Kimberley's dresser. One of them still had five hundred dollars cash in it. Where did they come from?"

He shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Did you give them to her?"

"What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm investigating the murder of a woman who up until last week was in a relationship with you. Envelopes full of cash have to come from somewhere."

"I didn't ask her what she did when she wasn't with me. You'll have to ask her mother."

"Heather Deering doesn't know who or where they came from or what became of the money in the other two envelopes. You never met Heather."

"That's right."

"Are you not going to help me at all?"

"I'm not a cop."

"Kimberley told her mother that you turned out not to be the man she'd hoped you were. What do you suppose she meant by that?"

"We'll never know now, will we?"

"Can we go inside? I want to show you something else I found in Kimberley's room."

"You can show me here."

"I hate to sound like a stereotype, but we can do this here or we can do it at the station."

Marco opened the door and said, "After you."

Jacobsen looked around as he entered the living room. "Where's your computer?"

"You wanted to show me something."

"I need your computer or laptop to do that."

"Then we will have to do it at the station."

"She took pictures of you two on your last date at All Nations."

"I know. I was there."

"Amman Cook and Dante Parker are in the background in some of those pictures."

"Cook owns the restaurant." He sat on the sofa.

Jacobsen remained standing. "What was Dante Parker doing there?"

"You'd have to ask him, but I suppose he was dining out like everyone else there was."

"The Hellcats have been challenging Z9 for the past two years. There have been skirmishes between them."

"I've heard about some of them. They make good news stories if you want to portray the Hollows as a lost cause."

"Don't you find it odd that they were together at All Nations?"

"What they do is their business. I was only there to eat."

"A couple of pictures show both Cook and Parker looking at you and Kimberley."

He took out his main phone, turned it on, called up the pictures and displayed the picture Jacobsen was referring to. "This one?"

"How . . . ?"

"You're not tech savvy, are you? Do you still have a flip phone?"

"That's the one."

"We were having a good time and making a lot of noise. They weren't the only ones who noticed us, I'm sure." He checked the picture before displaying it to Jacobsen again. "Cook could have been looking past us at the entrance to his restaurant. Parker could have just noticed him doing that and turned to look too. Go to All Nations and have a look for yourself. You will see the table we sat at was in the middle of the restaurant on a direct line of sight between the entrance and where those two were sitting."

"As the pictures progressed, you stopped smiling. You were scowling in the last two shots."

"There is a mirror beside the entrance door. I noticed them looking that way and for a moment thought they might be taking more notice of us than I'd prefer. I was wrong."

"You didn't like that idea?"

"Would you? I know who they are. But like I just told you, I was wrong."

"Did you talk to either of them?"

"Cook came by to make sure we were enjoying the food and his restaurant. He does that with every customer on the nights he's there. He also asked me how the renovations were going."

"Do you think Kimberley knew who those two are?"

"Everyone in the Hollows knows who those two are."

"Did her opinion of you change when she learned you knew them?"

"If it did, she didn't tell me. And I only bought the house from Cook. I do not have anything to do with him or Parker."

"Who broke it off?"

"It was by mutual agreement."

"Heather Deering told me Kimberley was sad about the breakup, as did another person close to her."

"Then they should have also told you she was too tough and resilient to fall to pieces over anything like that."

"Careful, Marco, you almost sounded like you still had feelings for her."

"I can't help it if you have hearing problems."

"Do you think she received those envelopes of money from whoever has been doing the burglaries?"

"What would make you think that?"

"She received the money from someone. If you didn't give it to her, then. . . ."

"Why don't you let that shit go and concentrate on finding whoever killed her?" He led Jacobsen to the door. "I have a shitload of work at the boss's new mansion tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

"I can put you in touch with a counsellor."

"Why?"

"You might want to talk to someone after what's happened."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"No idea."

He opened the front door. "Good-bye."

"I'll tell you this, Marco, because I know you will keep it to yourself. I believe Kimberley was a victim of convenience because she was walking home alone. I believe there are two killers working together, and I believe they are just getting started."

"I'll tell you this, Detective Jacobsen, because I know you will believe me. If there are two of them and I find them first, you never will."

"Keep your phones turned on."

He watched Jacobsen take out his phone on the way back to his Lincoln and press it to his right ear. It was still pressed to his ear when he turned the car left at Seventh Avenue and drove out of the neighborhood.

In the time it took him to get the bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, open it, return to the front door to confirm everything was locked and then come back to the kitchen, the beer was gone. He started on the second bottle of beer while looking out at his backyard through the window above the sink. What he saw made him put down the bottle of beer and reach for his Shield.

Wearing sunglasses though it was the middle of the night, and a black hooded sweatshirt with the hood up to cover his face, the black man took short strides on his way to the house though he was over six feet tall. He kept his head bowed low to further conceal his bearded face. He also kept both hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt to conceal any weapons he might be bringing with him.

THIRTEEN:

He unlocked the backdoor and handed Parker a beer as he entered the kitchen.

Parker removed his hood to reveal his big, bald head—unlike Cook, Parker kept it that way through regular shaving—his broad nose, flattish face, stringy goatee and a horizontal scar along the front of his neck just above his Adam's apple. He took a swig before saying, "What was that cop doing here?" His raspy voice was the result of surviving a sliced throat on his way up the Hellcats' franchise management ladder. He kept his sunglasses on.

He matched Parker's swig of beer. "He's investigating the murder."

"Yeah, I heard. What have you got for me tonight?" Parker went into the living room and peaked out through the closed drapes.

"Nothing tonight; it was only cash. You know the deal. If I find cash I keep it."

Parker took another peak out before sitting down. "You haven't been sending anything my way for weeks now, Marco. Who keeps that crate you use running?"

"You know how this works, Dante. Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's not so good. Sometimes it's cash. Sometimes it's product. Tonight it was just cash." He took a peak out through the curtains. "And now that the cops are investigating the murder, I might have to curtail my overtime for a while." He finished his beer. "I have two more on my schedule that I'll complete. I'll probably take a hiatus after that."

Parker finished his beer. "You're just full of fancy words tonight: curtail and hiatus." He got up and walked to the curtains but didn't peek out. "But you know, bro, I'm beginning to feel neglected."

"Tell you what I'll do. You get first refusal on these next two."

"I will hold you to that. Got another one?"

He fetched another beer for each of them.

Parker drank half of it. "I would not like to think the other two are getting preferential treatment at my expense."

"Preferential, huh? You're full of fancy words yourself. But you know I've always been fair. Every one of you gets treated equally on a rotational basis. Amman and Liberty Second Hand take their chances the same as you. It's just that the last few have been more misses than hits. There have been lean periods before."

Parker nodded. "Yeah, yeah, and you've had to stop working overtime for a while before, too. That's just how it goes. Just don't lose track of whose turn it is."

Marco sat on the sofa. "That cop who was here got hold of those pictures she took."

"You told me she sent them all to you after you split."

"She did, but she also kept copies for herself."

"She wasn't supposed to do that."

He shrugged. "You were to leave all that to me."

"I did just that, bro. But I can't vouch for Amman." He took a peek out through the curtains again. "I don't want to cast aspersions, but while we were watching you two have such a good time taking pictures, Amman said to me, in a rueful tone if you get my meaning, that it was tragic to see you so happy. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?"

"His name is Jacobsen. He'll likely pay you a visit."

Parker came closer to him, pulled out and opened his switchblade knife. "I wouldn't like it if you told him anything about me that you weren't supposed to."

Marco pulled out his Shield. "And I wouldn't like it if you tell him anything about me that you aren't supposed to. I'll see you tomorrow at our usual time at our usual place. Now I'm going to bed. You know the way out."

*****

"This isn't accomplishing anything but wearing a path in the carpet." Kayla stopped pacing for the sixth time since Marco had left. The knock at the door stopped her this time.

Johnny Reynolds was on the porch furtively looking back when she opened the door. He hugged her once she brought him into the living room.

"It's about Marco."

"When isn't it about him?"

"It's different this time, Kayla. He's always been tight and closed off, all wound up, but still in control. But there's more underneath that now. And I think his control is slipping. And I can't get him to open up even a little like he usually does when something's bothering him. "

"You can get him to open up?"

"You know what I mean. What was he like with you?"

"I've only seen him like that once before. Can I get you something?"

Johnny sat down and waved off her offer. "That's what's got me worried." He looked up at her. The innocence and despair in his eyes, and his slack, open mouth always made her think of those pictures of starving children. "We are talking about the same thing, right, Kayla?"

She sat down next to him and took hold of his hand. "We are."

"God, I hope it doesn't turn out the way it did that time."

*****

Rosalind Copp owned a very large house on a very valuable 1½ acre parcel of land just east of the new Silverdale Park development because the Copp family was very old, very prominent and very wealthy. Her grandfather had bequeathed the closed Silverdale Raceway and the expanse of stables that went with it to the city.

After Milius Copp passed away, the raceway and stables became Silverdale Park. The park ended at the granite cliff overlooking what was now known as the East Crag borough of Devil's Breach. The eastern one third of the Silverdale Endowment, after much public debate because Milius Copp had left no specific requests or conditions in his will, and to the unanimous disapproval of the Copp heirs and the Haussmann family, was turned over to private real estate development.

Get Rosalind started, and she would take hours to go through a somewhat circular litany of everything her family and the Haussmann family had done to prevent such an undertaking on what they all believed was supposed to be a total-package endowment for all the people of the city rather than having a sizeable portion cordoned off for an exclusive few.

The one positive concession all those legal and civic manoeuvres by both sides had produced was a commitment to redevelop and revitalize the Hollows. And this time it was really going to happen, or so the promise went two years ago during the public signing by city, state and federal officials of the Memorandum of Understanding outlining the monetary contribution each level of government was to provide for the project. Most of the city's contribution came from the proceeds of the sale of the endowment lands to the private sector. That requirement, demanded by the state and federal governments, had at least placated Rosalind a bit.

"That's exactly the boot up their ass they deserve," she'd said.

Detective Myles Jacobsen had learned very quickly not to get Rosalind started on either topic.

He was late, so, of course, Rosalind opened the door just before he arrived at it.

"It's after midnight. I was beginning to think you weren't coming. Look at me. I'm completely dressed."

"I did call to say I was on my way. And I'm glad you decided you weren't too busy tonight."

"Idiot." She brought him inside and closed the door. Then she kissed him. "It will all be ready in about fifteen minutes. Only the steaks have to be grilled. Everything else can be reheated."

He opened the bottle of cabernet sauvignon from South Africa that they were trying tonight while Rosalind put her apron back on and prepared the steaks. He then set the table. They traded off cooking duties, often times their roles just melding into some chaotic ballet of stirring, tasting, seasoning, tossing, adjusting the heat, getting this or that out of the pantry or refrigerator. But Rosalind ruled supreme when it came to making their weekly steak and vegetables supper. Sometimes it was steak Neptune. Sometimes it was just straight steak, lightly seasoned, and vegetables, Brussels' sprouts and asparagus for him, asparagus and corn for her.

"I can't eat anything that looks like the brains of little aliens," she said of the sprouts.

Whatever was being prepared on these occasions, he knew better than to offer anything more than minimal assistance in the kitchen. He left her to the artistry and glory of what she was making while he tended to the table setting and opening the wine. He usually helped her get her apron off, but that was when it was the only thing she was wearing.

He brought the loaded plates to the table while Rosalind took off her apron. He then poured out the wine and proffered her glass to her the moment she entered the dining room.

They touched glasses and took sips before sitting down to their meal. Rosalind's dining room could accommodate over thirty guests. They sat at the end of the table near the window. Rosalind sat at the end, he sat to her right.

Rosalind took another sip of sauvignon before setting her glass down, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "I found something." She cut off her first piece of steak and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed vigorously and smiled at the same time.

He also knew better than to appear too eager when she was in this equally glorious state as well. He cut a piece of unadorned steak and stuffed it into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed, which, as it always did, elicited a chuckled from Rosalind.

"You really do look like the Big Bad Wolf when you do that."

"The better to—"

"Finish your steak before you have a go at me."

Taking the path that lay before him, the one he knew he had to take if he hoped to bask in her glow, he asked, "Was it heart failure?"

"A full toxicology report will be a while yet, but we didn't find any obvious drugs in her. And, yes, her heart gave out." Rosalind took a sizeable gulp of wine.

This murder had affected her.

"There were no wounds or injuries that could have been the direct cause of death."

"Not a direct cause, but they all contributed."

"What did you find?"

"A dog hair, it was inside her right ear."

"I didn't notice any signs of a dog when I talked to her mother."

"Good. It wasn't in the database we have, but it did have its root structure and some tissue attached. I've sent it to the Criminology Forensics Laboratory at the university. Todd will find out what breed it is. I should have an answer in one or two days depending on how busy he is."

They finished their meal without mentioning the investigation again. Once they were seated in the living room, he made his confession.

"I had a talk with Marco Kamren. That's why I was late." He finished his wine and then set the glass on the coaster.

"Did you get anything more out of him than Ben did?"

"You and I, and maybe ninety percent of the people in the world, will always be guarded to some extent depending on the situation we're in. We will keep things to ourselves. We'll fudge for the sake of—"

"Fudge, huh? That's what you call it now?"

"We're trained to play our cards close our vest."

"I'm not. The people I see don't lie to me."

"What I'm trying to say is Marco has us all beat. You can say it is second nature for him. You can claim he has the gene for it. But he gives off nothing. I might as well have told him the sky was blue for all the reaction I got out of him."

"Is he a sociopath, a psychopath, a bit of both, something new, or is he the devil who has just come through the breach?"

He shook his head and lifted his glass. "I need some more."

"Only if you can assure me it won't impair your technique later."

He bent over to kiss her and take her glass. He returned with each glass full with Taylor's Vintage Port 1985. "He may be coming across as a rock, but he's feeling it, I'm sure of that."

"Is he incapable of expressing those feelings?"

"It's still early with him, but if I had to guess, I would say he's using what he's feeling for his own needs." He finished his port. "I told him about my suspicion that Kimberley was a victim of convenience, that there were two killers working together and that they were likely just getting started."

Rosalind finished her port. Then she puckered her lips and took in a deep breath through her nose. "That might have been a mistake you will come to regret, Myles."

"I'll risk it."

"Did your prod get any reaction out of him?"

"He told me if he finds them first we never will."

"Do you think he has some idea?"

He shrugged. "Want another?"

She kissed him and then got up. "Just half a glass, and bring them upstairs. The Jacuzzi's waiting for us. It's your turn to give the massage." She began undressing as she left the living room.

FOURTEEN:

Harris was at his desk leaning forward and staring at his computer screen.

"I think we're all going to develop neck problems," he said as he turned on his computer.

Harris straightened up and pushed back from the desk using his arms, one of the exercises they were all encouraged to do throughout the day to prevent his prophecy from coming true. A poster of the six recommended posture exercises was pinned to the wall beside Harris's desk.

"Kamren has an interesting background," Harris said as he moved his head around to stretch his neck muscles—exercise number four.

"I had a look yesterday. Then I had a talk with him."

"Did he tell you how he tangled with Andrew Harper and came away needing only eighteen stitches? Did he tell you what happened to Harper or McDougall?"

"I don't have anything more to add to that report. He also did not give me any more on his relationships with Deering, Cook or Parker."

"This investigation is off to a spectacular start. Our main suspect has a violent past and a present association with two gang leaders. He breaks up with his girlfriend after what appears to be a good date in one of the gang leader's restaurant and a week later she's found murdered in a derelict hotel."

"I don't believe he had anything to do with Kimberley's death."

"I'll keep an open mind on that."

"Rosalind confirmed Deering died between midnight and two in the morning."

"Kamren's alibi is only good until eleven that night. She was walking. He could have picked her up."

"She was walking home while he was in his meeting. She would have arrived long before it was over had she not been grabbed up."

"But you told me her mother cannot confirm one way or another whether or not she made it home. Mom was asleep and only assumed her daughter had returned. What if Kimberley had come home and then gone back out again? What if she was meeting Kamren to discuss a possible reconciliation and it went bad for her? It's obvious he's an angry man. What if she pushed too hard?"

"That is still a possibility. There is the hour between the end of Kamren's staff meeting at Citadel and the earliest she could have died. Rosalind does believe she suffered through hours of torture, so her time of death is likely closer to two o'clock than midnight."

"You don't like it playing out with Kamren."

"In your scenario, Kamren would have lost his temper and killed her. That would be a sudden outburst of rage and violence, not something as prolonged as Deering endured. I think there are two killers. They were out on the prowl for their first victim that night. Deering was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How do you get two killers from what we've got so far?"

"Let's see what Amman Cook has to tell us about their last date at All Nations."

Cook's Imperial Auto Body was on Imperial Street in the northwest tip of Satan Town, a jagged projection on the map of Devil's Breach nicknamed Satan's finger because on the map it looked like a finger being poked at the newer sections of the city. Imperial Auto Body sat at the very tip of this cursed geographical digit.

Satan's finger, if it was poking anything, was aimed at the new dockyards and the railway tracks across the bay where most of the automobiles still imported from Japan and South Korea and the shipping containers arriving from Southeast Asia were unloaded from ships and then sent on their way by truck or train. The soundscape for employees at IAB would be the extended honks of the tugboat horns, the banging and rattling of rail cars bumping together and rolling through the yard, trains arriving and leaving. Mixed in amongst all that noise would be the constant calls of the seagulls. The air would reek of salt water, diesel fuel and artificial new car sent.

Imperial Auto Body had a contract to prepare the vehicles after their arrival or to repair minor damage before sending them off to their final destinations. All reports indicated Imperial Auto Body did excellent work. A clear indicator of their excellent reputation greeted Jacobsen and Harris when they arrived.

"Those," Harris said, "are some sweet rides."

Three BMW M-series coupes, all shiny grey, six Mercedes sedans, from their smallest to their largest, all shiny Mercedes-silver, and two Audi 7-series sedans, one black the other dark blue, were parked in the largest of Imperial Auto Body's three lots. The BMWs were nearest the gate.

The shop building housed three sections, including four bays for prepping the vehicles, seven bays for minor repairs and four full-service painting bays. Dozens of men and women, all wearing the same yellow and green company overalls regardless of what job they were doing, were busy in every bay.

Amman Cook was in his office. "Detective Jacobsen." He came out from sitting at his desk and shook their hands. "Detective Harris, welcome to my busy little beehive."

Harris said, "It's not all that little."

"How many do you process a month?"

"It varies. We're busy now because new arrivals came in three days ago."

"And what about the ones that don't come in by ship?"

"Detective Harris, I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"That Bentley didn't just arrive, did it?"

"A minor fender bender unloading it from the ship, we're just about to start painting it."

"Hit something making your escape?"

Cook bristled and scowled appropriately. "This is a legitimate body shop, Detective Harris." His scowl then switched to a golden smile. "And that Bentley would be the last thing I'd steal. It's too obvious, being the only one in the city."

Jacobsen brought up the pictures on his iPad. "How do you know these two people?"

"I don't know either of them."

Harris said, "You were showing some interest in them in these pictures."

"They were at my restaurant. They were having a wonderful time, as those pictures clearly show. I notice stuff like that. I want all my customers to enjoy themselves."

"She was murdered two nights ago."

"Was that her? What a shame, and how tragic. Just look at her in those pictures. Could anyone be happier than she was then? It's just tragic."

"Marco Kamren didn't stay happy." He brought up the last two pictures.

"That is a nasty scowl. What did you say his name was?"

"I asked him about the scowl. He told me he noticed you and your guest noticing them. He knows who you two are."

"Why would that make him scowl?"

Harris said, "We didn't come here to dance with you. Kamren knows who you two are. What was your main rival doing at your restaurant?"

Jacobsen said, "We know you sold a home to Kamren a few years ago at well below market value."

"Okay, you caught me in a little lie. But there is a good reason for that." He offered chairs for each of them and returned to his chair on the other side of his desk. "You know he has a sister."

"Kayla Bartlett. She's the director of the Hollows Community Center."

"She's also very beautiful. I notice stuff like that, too."

"You're interested in Kamren's sister," Harris said. "That is why you sold him a house on the cheap."

"It's complicated, Detective Harris. There are rumors going through the Breach about me. Kayla Bartlett doesn't want anything to do with those kinds of rumors." He poured himself a glass of water. "You see where I'm going with this."

Jacobsen accepted a glass of water. "Not entirely."

"I was hoping my good friend Dante Parker could help dispel those rumors about me. Unfortunately, when Marco noticed us together, he just assumed the worst of us." He took another sip of water. "I can't have that."

Harris chuckled. "You're trying to get to her through him. You're telling us that you're trying to go straight to get in good with Kayla Bartlett, or, at least, you want her and us to believe that's what you're doing."

"I need to come to her clean, know what I mean? It's the only way I'd stand a chance with her."

Jacobsen placed his empty glass on the desk. "Let me see if I got this right. At first, you're telling us that you don't know either Marco Kamren or Kimberley Deering because you want to project some image of yourself as legitimate so you can make a move on his sister."

"I did say it was complicated."

"What do you know about Marco and Kimberley? What led to their break up?"

"I truly don't know. But I wish they hadn't. Marco is a good dude in his heart. He'll rip your heart out in a split second if you cross him or threatened Kimberley, or Kayla, but deep down he does have that rough goodness buried within. I think Kimberley was bringing more of that up to the surface." He finished his water and turned around to look out at the cars in his lots. "I don't know what's going to happen to him now. This might be that last big hit, the one he never gets over."

"What were you doing between nine and two in the morning the other night?"

"I was either here or at All Nations until well past one o'clock. I have witnesses who can confirm that."

Harris said, "I suppose you have witnesses for everything you do or don't do."

"Gentlemen I have to run a business here. Are we done?"

Once they were back in the car, Harris said, "I don't believe a word he said. It was all bullshit."

"Not all of it."

"Either way, we didn't get anything useful out of him."

"So it would seem."

"I really hate it when you start giving those short, cryptic responses to everything I say."

"I know." He started the Lincoln. "Let's pay another visit to Hoult Industries."

*****

On the way to Hoult Industries, he told Harris about the dog hair.

"Did either of them own a dog?"

"Add that question to our list."

Hoult Industries was contained in an extensive single-floor factory that could hold two of Cook's whole Imperial Auto Body complex within it. Built fifty years ago to replace the three original Hoult Industries buildings when the company garnered its first US Navy contract, it was painted white on the outside. The white, corrugated metal walls appeared to have both rust and water stains scattered about them to go with significant amounts of corrosion in places.

As they walked toward the office that protruded from the north end wall, Harris said, "The first person we'll encounter is their receptionist, Haley Winston. She's on the small side, but she is cute. She's also the one who will know the most about Deering."

Haley Winston was a towhead, twenty-eight years old, though she appeared to still be in her teens, with green eyes and a pinkish complexion overlaying pale skin. Her smile was bright and inviting, perfect for a receptionist.

"Good morning, Detective Harris," she said with that smile spread across her face. "What brings you back to us?"

"This is Detective Myles Jacobsen. We have a few more questions for everyone."

"Am I first this time or last again?"

He asked, "Were you and Kimberley close?"

She nodded and continued to smile. "We weren't quite girlfriends yet, but I think we were getting there. We called ourselves salt and pepper for obvious reasons. I don't think she was offended by that. I wasn't. We talked a lot when we got the chance."

"What did she tell you about her breakup with Marco Kamren?"

Her smile shrunk away. Her pinkish complexion became brighter. "That was a topic she said little about, even when I was persistent. You know what girlfriends can be like." She scrunched her face. He couldn't tell if it was a genuine response or just a show of considering what to tell them next. "I got the impression Kimberley was very reluctant to break it off, but also that she was resigned to her belief that it was for the best." The scrunched face might be genuine because she did it again and this time it seemed to be an unconscious but standard behavior when she was searching her memory. "She wasn't so much heartbroken over the split as she was frustrated that it had to be. She was determined to make the best of it. Does any of this help you?"

"I think it will. Thank you, Haley."

Winston moved her chair closer to her side of the reception counter. Her smile returned as she notified Jessie Hoult. "Detectives Harris and Jacobsen are here, Jessie. They have a few more questions for us."

Jessie Hoult had told Harris yesterday she was fifty-one. She stood less than halfway between five feet and six feet tall and weighed between 180 and 190 pounds. Her florid complexion—a much deeper red than Winston's face—made her appear to him as though she was just about to start perspiring, and could be a hint that running the business was causing her more stress than she would admit to anyone.

She shook hands with a firm, strong grip. "What can I help you with? Ask me anything. I will answer the question if I can."

Harris said, "Haley was just giving us her impression of the relationship between Kimberley and Marco Kamren, as well as how she thought Kimberley was coping with the breakup."

"Haley would be far more knowledgeably than I about that. Kimberley and I never talked about her personal life." She leaned against the edge of her desk. "Don't get me wrong. Kimberley was a certified gem of a person. She was so wonderfully positive all the time. But she and I weren't that close. We just never seemed to get the chance. We attended all the company social events. We'd talk about the company, fellow employees, that kind of stuff. But our relationship never seemed to go any further than that." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Much to my everlasting regret, I must admit now. I just always thought there would be time. Kimberley was on her way up. She would be a member of the board soon enough. I guess I thought that would be our opportunity to get close."

Hoult reached for some facial tissue but stopped short of taking any from the box. "As I told Ben yesterday, I was unaware Kimberley had a boyfriend. Haley might have been the only one here who did know." She snatched up three tissues and blew her nose. "I haven't been of any help at all to you, have I?"

They had to pass reception to get to the office of Aaron Hines, the Accounts Receivable Supervisor.

"Not much, huh," Halley said as they passed. "I told you Kimberley was a private person."

Aaron Hines was a lest seven inches taller than his boss, but at least twenty pounds lighter, if not thirty. In his late-thirties to early-forties, he kept his sandy brown hair short on his head and his face. He wore black loafers, black slacks, a white dress shirt and a blue silk tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

"Haley called me," Hines said as he shook their hands. "I'm afraid I will have to defer to her for providing you with any meaningful information about Kimberley's personal life."

He asked, "How was she as an employee?"

"She was our best ambassador. We have suppliers who can be tardy with their deliveries and customers who can be tardy with their payments. But if I put Kimberley in touch with them, it all got straightened out in no time at all. She was smart, witty, charming, friendly, just someone you instantly liked. She'd listen to everything they'd tell her. She'd be very empathic to their troubles. And that was sincere because that was Kimberley. And our clients got that, too. She always got it sorted out quickly no matter how big or small the problem was. More than half the time, I swear, not only would deliveries get back on time or the bills would get paid, but Kimberley would get flowers from them. That right there tells you all you need to know about her." He rubbed his chin. "I don't want to sound selfish in the face of such a horrible event, but I hope it doesn't all fall apart now that she's. . . ."

He asked, "Was her role really that important?"

"It wasn't her role, it was her. And hell, yeah she was that important to us. She had it all. She could make the tough decisions and then sell them to whoever was on the receiving end."

"Did she have any problems with anyone?"

"The exact opposite of that, Detective Harris," Hines said. "Employees wanted to come to this department even if they weren't inclined to accounting or record keeping so they could work with her." He smiled and ran his hands back over his hair. "I know I'm making her sound unbelievable, and maybe some of that comes from heartache and shock right now. Everything any of us have told you about her may sound overly intense or exaggerated, but take out the kernels within and that is Kimberley." He ran his hand over his hair again. "To hear me tell it, she does sound too good to be true, but that also was Kimberley. If that guy broke it off with her, he's an idiot."

"She had a bright future at Hoult Industries."

"I'm going up to Manager of Operations next year when Jessie semi-retires. Kimberley didn't know it yet, but she was going to take my place here. But she could have worked anywhere at Hoult. She could have run the whole company singlehandedly."

"But she never told you anything about Marco Kamren?"

"Not a peep out of her. I didn't even know about him until Haley explained to me why Kimberley's mood had changed recently. It never affected her work, though, and she soon bounced back." Hines scratched his chin in the same spot he had rubbed it earlier. "I'm thick-headed about personal stuff like that. I always fail to pick up the signals."

Winston gave them a sympathetic smile on the way out because she knew they had struck out again. "I hope you find the killer soon. When you do, bring him here. We have some very mean presses that would do a slow, painfully messy job on him."

On the way back to the Lincoln, he said to Harris, "You're rather chummy with the city's business elite. Hoult was using your first name. You know Chadwick-Amherst personally."

"I do like to socialize, rub elbows and make the rounds. I meet a lot of people."

"How do you find the time?"

Before getting back into the car, Harris said, "If Kimberley Deering was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was a murder of convenience, then everything we are learning about her, as unbelievably incredible as it is, isn't going to get us any closer to finding the killer or killers." He opened the passenger door. "And it just occurred to me. We are about to get as little information of use to us from Parker as we got here and with Cook, but for entirely different reasons."

"Always keep a positive thought."

FIFTEEN:

It was easy to read more than was there into the opposite positions in the Devil's Breach of Imperial Auto Body and Parker's Auto Service Center. Imperial Auto Body sat at the northwest tip of Satan Town. Parker's Auto Service Center was set near the southeastern limit of East Crag three blocks from the old Port Gates and only one block away from the cliff. A mere 11/2 miles as the crow flies separated the two businesses. Cook was at least twenty years older than Parker; however, he'd only started his shop seven years ago when the newer, deeper docks took over all major import-export operations. Parker's Auto Service Center had been a family run business for over forty years. Imperial Auto Body was an impressively large going concern as a business. Parker's Auto Service Center was operated in the backyard of the Parker family residence and had probably never serviced a new car.

Dante Parker had taken over the business from his father three years ago, which coincided with his ascension to leader of the Hellcats and the escalation of aggression toward Z9.

When they arrived at Parker's home and business, Harris asked, "And just what exactly do we expect to get from this one?"

"There might be something imbedded in what he tells us."

"You're too old to be optimistic anymore."

"So I've been told."

Dante Parker did not attempt to put on the ostentatious display of being a big business that Cook's Imperial Auto Body did. Run out of a garage at the back that contained three service bays and had covered any hope of a lawn with concrete, they had to drive along two bumpy gravel ruts past three vehicles strewn about the yard to get to the 'service center' area. A pickup truck had its box removed. A Toyota Tercel was missing most of its front end and the engine was gone. An original Mazda Miata with one of its pop-up headlights stuck open winked at them as they neared the garage.

Parker was working on a newer Ford Mustang with two other men helping him. One man wore grey coveralls. The other man wore only jeans and a black T-shirt. Dante Parker, his head and shoulders under the red Mustang's open hood, wore blue coveralls. The two other service bays of the garage were empty.

He and Harris held up their badges as they approached the service bay.

The man in the jeans and T-shirt nudged Parker as he picked up a wrench.

Parker looked out from under the hood before stepping back and turning to face them. "Why can't you idiots just leave me alone? I got work to do."

"Doesn't look busy to me," Harris said,

"What would you know about running a shop like this?"

"That it can process a dozen stolen cars a day or more."

Jacobsen stepped in front of Harris. "We're here to talk to you about Marco Kamren and Kimberley Deering. They were in a relationship until last week. Deering was murdered two nights ago."

"A fascinating story, short and pointless," he said and ducked back under the hood. "What's it to me? Sounds like you should be talking to her ex-boyfriend."

"You know Kamren."

"I didn't say I didn't." He exchanged tools and continued working. "Is that all?"

"Hardly," Harris said, stepped forward and pulled Parker out from under the hood.

Parker swung around holding the wrench up. "I don't have anything to say to any of you shitheads."

"You sound hoarse. Are you coming down with a cold?"

"Fuck you."

The other two men had ducked out of the service bay.

"We're only here investigating a murder." Jacobsen held up the iPad with the pictures displayed on the screen. He tapped the one that had the clearest view of Parker and Cook in the background.

"Is that them?"

"You know it is," Harris said.

"I must admit, Dante, to being surprised to find a picture of you and Cook together at his restaurant." He took a quick look at the picture before turning the screen back to face Parker. "And I don't see any lieutenants nearby for either of you. Has your trust reached a new level?"

"Where I go and who I dine with is my business."

"What do you know about Marco and Kimberley?"

"They are the two in the picture."

Harris took a step toward Parker.

Jacobsen stepped between them. "This is a murder investigation, Dante."

"So go talk to her ex-boyfriend and let me get back to work."

"What did you eat at All Nations?"

"I don't remember, but it wasn't any good. I won't go there again."

"Even to see your good friend Amman Cook?"

"We're not good friends."

"That's not what he told us."

"I'm not responsible for anything he says. He could be telling you nothing but lies."

Harris said, "Like you?"

"I'm a mechanic. I tell you guys that all the time. I can't help it if you imagine something different."

"Do you own a dog?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I thought it was straightforward. Do you own a dog?"

"It ran away last week. It hasn't come back."

"What kind of dog is it?"

"A Golden retriever," he growled. "Can I get back to work now? The owner of this car will be here in about an hour. I have to put it all back together."

"Take care of your throat," Harris said. "It sounds painful." He then said to him, "Should we see what those other two have to say?"

"They are probably off the premises by now."

"I told you it wouldn't be helpful." Harris got in the driver's side after he threw the key fob to him. "Where to next?"

He took out his phone and called one of Kamren's phone numbers.

"What do you want now?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"I know Kayla's phone number."

"Where are you?"

"At the boss's house," Kamren said and then hung up.

An attempt to call him back only confirmed that he'd turned off both phones.

"You do realize we didn't ask Cook if he had a dog. We didn't ask anyone at Hoult either. Do we go back?"

"You talk to Abernathy. Find out what our anti-gang squad knows or suspects about the meeting between Parker and Cook. Then call Watson. She'll likely know who at Hoult has a dog. I'll have another talk with the boyfriend."

After getting the Lincoln turned to head south, Harris said, "I would be considered naive if I thought the redevelopment project was really going to clean up the Breach, wouldn't I?"

"You're getting too old to be so optimistic."

SIXTEEN:

"No," Marco shouted through the hole from above. "I told you we needed seventeen feet of cable, not seven feet."

"It's all right, Marco. Don't stroke out or anything." Johnny got out his tool for stripping cable coverings. "I'll pull it through these two holes and then splice another ten feet to it. I have a whole roll of it down here."

"Yeah, okay."

"Marco, we got this. M.J.'s house is totally naked. It's going to be the easiest installation job we do." He started stripping the cable and chuckled. "At least Chadwick-Amherst is getting the full package." His chuckled became a hard burst of laughter. "It will be the only house in Silverdale Park that has it."

"Pass it through when you're done."

"Marco, I got this."

Johnny would take about two minutes to complete the splice. They did that frequently. They had special plugs they attached the four separate wires inside the cable to and then clipped the plugs together. The connections were good and the splice was secure.

Johnny called up through the hole they had drilled in the wall plate to bring the cable up from below, "Shit, Marco, I'm out. Have you got any F-plugs on you?"

F-plugs were female. M-plugs were male.

"How many?"

"Just the one."

He dropped the black plastic F-plug through the hole.

"Yeah, that'll do the trick. Just give me a second."

While he waited, Marco looked out through the huge front room's window. Chadwick-Amherst didn't have a vast lawn at the front of his yard. As a concession to environmental concerns, and in compliance with new building codes, water use restrictions and city bylaws, the new Chadwick-Amherst estate had a floral garden path wending its way through the front yard. Drip irrigation, proper drainage and specially selected trees, shrubs and flowering plants would minimize the estate's ecological footprint and provide a much more attractive park-like vista when everything was in full bloom. It was supposed to be good at sequestering that evil element carbon, too.

Or so the brochure for the new addition to Silverdale Park Estates cheerfully explained. There was the possibility spring and summer tours might be conducted through the enclave to let the hoi polloi see how beautifully and environmentally conscious the wealthy could afford to live.

"Hey, Marco, wake up, dude."

An orange cable with an F-plug on its end protruded up through the hole in the wall plate and waved about like a King Cobra ready to strike.

He took hold of the cable and pulled up the measured amount to get it to the M-plug dangling down through the hole from upstairs. He secured the plugs together and then he secured the length of cable to the galvanized metal studs using zip straps.

His phone rang. "Yeah."

"You turned it back on?"

"Yeah."

"It's Detective Jacobsen again. I'd like to swing by and have a little talk. Where are you?"

"I told you. I'm on the job."

"Where is the job?"

"I told you, my boss's place."

"Where's that?"

"Do you know Silverdale Park?"

"I can find my way."

"It will be the second house on your right on Davenport. You will see our van in the drive."

"See you in a couple of minutes."

"Fuck." He touched the button but didn't turn off the phone.

Johnny trotted up the stairs. "You turned it back on?"

"I've been told by the police to leave it on."

"Is that who just called?"

"It's the second time for him this morning. He'll be here in a couple of minutes."

"What the fuck does he want? He's already told you he doesn't think you did it."

"Go up. I'll pass you the cable for the upstairs control panel in the hall."

Knocking first, Marion Jamieson Chadwick-Amherst opened the front door and entered his new mansion. "Good morning, Marco, Johnny. How is it going?"

Johnny answered, "We're about to connect the basement to the control panel in the upstairs hallway just outside your master bedroom. All seven bedrooms are already connected to it. You will be able to check every room in the house the moment you come out of your bedroom. You can then take a three-sixty peek at your yard. You will be able to get your home theater started if you want that."

"That's great. Well done, both of you." Chadwick-Amherst said to him, "Do you want to take some time, Marco? Johnny can finish this, I'm sure. I can give him a hand if he needs it."

"To do what?"

"Good to hear, buddy. If you do want some time, by all means take it, but I really need you on site here. Everything is taking off like a rocket." He looked up. "If you're going up, I'll go down to stay out your way. The Haussmanns are very happy with your work."

Johnny watched Chadwick-Amherst descend the stairs until he was out of sight. "Do you believe that guy?"

"He's all right."

Jacobsen came through the door Chadwick-Amherst had left open. "Do you own a dog?"

"No."

"I don't own a dog either," Johnny said through a smirk. "But our boss does. He's downstairs if you want to talk to him about it."

"What kind of dog is it?"

Marco said, "A German shepherd, he has two of them. Why?"

"Did Kimberley own a dog?"

"Couldn't tell you. What's this all about?"

"How secure is the system you're installing here?"

"Every security system can be breached."

"Even the ones from Citadel?"

"Every system. This is the best there is right now, but who knows what criminals will come up with in a few years or tomorrow. It's an evolutionary process of predator versus prey."

"That's one way to look at it."

"I have to keep up with state-of-the-art technology. Today, Citadel can install the best home, property and personal security anyone could ask for. Three years from now, who knows what will be out there."

"Got any ideas?"

"Adapt or perish."

"Did Kimberley know anyone who owned a dog?"

"That's a ridiculous question. Everybody knows somebody who has a dog. What is this all about?"

"Just pursuing a line of inquiry, chasing every lead at this early stage," Jacobsen said as he looked up through the hole in the wall frame.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Well, you'll have to chase your own tail somewhere else. Neither of us owns a dog."

Jacobsen said to Johnny, "I'd like you to drop by the station at your convenience to provide a statement about what you were doing two nights ago."

"He was in the same staff meeting I was in until eleven o'clock."

"It's standard procedure. We like to get everything in writing."

Chadwick-Amherst said from the top of the basement stairs, "I can provide a written statement confirming Marco and Johnny were both in that meeting."

Jacobsen nodded, turned around and left.

Chadwick-Amherst said, "I don't think Detective Jacobsen could find his own shoelaces."

"He's just doing his job. He has to chase down everything."

Chadwick-Amherst patted his back as he passed. "That is a remarkably understanding attitude, Marco. I'm not sure I could keep my composure under the same circumstances." He waved over his shoulder as he left, closing the door on his way out.

"I'm going to lunch. I'll be back in an hour."

"I'll be here." Johnny started up the stairs to the bedrooms.

He fed the cable through the hole to the upstairs hall, waited for Johnny to begin pulling it through and then left.

Liberty Second Hand was on the corner of Forty-Fifth Street and Booker Avenue. It was in one of the oldest parts of the city, but it was well north of the Breach. Darren Mitchell owned the store. His father had owned it before him, opening it after returning from the Great War. Darren Mitchell was seventy-six and had never married. When he died, the store would die with him, opening up a space for another apartment tower to take its place amid the ones that currently surrounded Liberty Second Hand.

The store had held a magical fascination for him when he was a child. It was the metaphor in his life for growing up. What was a wealth of mysterious and magical artifacts when he was a child became a sad spectacle of old, forgotten and mostly useless junk once he'd reached adulthood.

Darren Mitchell had always had a craggy face. As a youngster, every line, crease and furrow of Mitchell's dark skin—it had always been impossible to imagine Mitchell ever getting out into sunlight—was the mark from some adventure, a scar from a battle with the supernatural, the unseen evil forces trying to destroy the world. Now, those telltale lines were hard-etched indicators of Mitchell's failing health. His skin wasn't so much tanned anymore as it was parched and stained from life.

Liberty Second Hand had the same musty and cluttered interior as most second hand stores. Very little of the junk piled here and there ever seemed to sell. Once in a while, he could spot a shelf with a gaping wound of emptiness. If the sun coming through the window was aimed at that particular spot, he could see the agitated dust motes swirling angrily through the air after becoming homeless.

When he entered this time, he found no new wounds. The sun had been blocked by clouds and the surrounding towers while he parked the Camaro, leaving the interior of Liberty Second Hand shrouded in a sepia dimness.

Mitchell was perched on his stool behind the counter, still, diminishing a little each day, and possibly unaware of anything on the other side of the front door of the shop.

"Darren," Marco said as if unsure he'd get a response. "How's tricks?"

Mitchell, seemingly unconcerned about whether or not to take another breath, turned his head slowly to look Marco's way. His large, dark eyes blinked as slowly as his head turned, as slowly as he took his next shallow breath. "Marco."

They never had long conversations.

Marco placed the cloth bag on the counter, opened it and emptied out its contents.

Mitchell slowly lifted his left hand, the one with only two crooked fingers. That action might have helped him take another shallow breath. He then slowly waved dismissively. "Trinkets."

"How much?"

Somehow Mitchell had placed a jeweler's lens to his right eye and lifted the bejeweled bracelet before Marco had noticed any motion from him.

"Two."

"I thought maybe three this time. That bracelet is a good piece, and that's a Rolex."

"It's a fake." He slid the watch toward him. "Give it to Dante. He has no taste and he wouldn't know the difference. It's still two."

Whether or not Mitchell was correct, and he likely was, there was never any chance of negotiating a better deal than his first and only offer. Mitchell didn't waste words or his breath or the precious minutes left to him haggling.

"Deal."

With as little motion as possible, Mitchell unlocked and opened a drawer under the counter. It was full of envelopes full of various amounts of cash. It also held his father's Colt 1911 .45 pistol and an Uzi. Mitchell took out from the row of envelopes in the drawer the second one from the left and handed it to Marco. "Two. It's done."

The trinkets, including the watch, had vanished from the countertop.

Back at Chadwick-Amherst's mansion, he gave $800.00 to Johnny. "You know who gets that."

"I know." Johnny tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and then fastened the button to secure it.

"Where are we on this?"

"There are some intercom connections still to go in the bedrooms upstairs. I can handle that. We should be able to finish the main floor tomorrow."

"I'll see you later."  
SEVENTEEN:

Marjorie came into her office with a clipboard tucked under her arm. "It's getting pretty lean." She checked the clipboard. "Our food bank has only enough supplies for today's handouts and the two meals and then it's empty."

"There is more coming Friday."

"That means two days with only empty shelves."

"We'll start working on it after the meeting. Is everyone here?"

"Everyone but Wyatt, but he promised he'd be on time today."

Emily Tucker, Christopher Brown and Wyatt O'Neal were waiting in the auditorium inspecting the scale model of the project.

Marjorie grunted. "For once he was telling the truth."

O'Neal said, "Did you get the press release?"

"Long on supportive rhetoric," Marjorie said, "short on any meaningful details. What's he up to?"

"He's trying to appear supportive of the project, but he doesn't want to alienate his base." O'Neal brought out a copy of Mayor Turpin's press release. "The polls show over sixty percent public approval of our project to redevelop the Hollows."

Marjorie said, "That's because most people just want it gone. They hope the project will bring back the shine."

"Nonetheless, the public support is there."

She said, "A figure to terrify any sitting mayor."

"Whatever cutbacks they try to implement will have to be a slow piecemeal process to avoid a major backlash in the polls. That means we will have plenty of opportunity to push back ourselves in a very public manner."

Marjorie rapped the display table hard enough to make some of the smaller models rattle. "This is all going to grind to a halt. They'll bleat about budget cuts. We'll bleat about the funding already being in place and earmarked for the project. Somehow the city's revenues won't match expenditures and the funding will disappear. The longer this is stalled, the longer Turpin has to manipulate things."

"He's not a dictator, Marjorie. City council plays every bit as big a role in setting the budget priorities. The project is a go. That is not going to change. At most, he might try to cut out parts of it, but we can counter anything he tries to do."

Kayla said, "Marjorie has a point, Wyatt. The project passed by a seventeen to sixteen vote, with Councillor Vincent Wong siding with us. He usually sides with Brent and Coralee. The longer this final evaluation stage, or whatever you want to call it, takes, the more likely Turpin or Ashton can manufacture something Wong can hang his hat on and then change his vote."

Brown placed his hand on his favorite tower model despite Tucker scowling at him. "I can talk to Wong. He understands development. And he's more capable of seeing the bigger picture of this project: the people it will help."

Marjorie lifted his hand off the tower. "But does he truly understand what we're trying to do here?"

Wyatt answered, "He voted to support the project despite his concerns about its cost. I believe we can keep him on our side. And let's not forget Brent would have a very difficult time wrangling up another vote on something city council has already approved."

Emily adjusted the tower to set it right. "We'll do everything we can to prevent that."

The phone sounded three short rings, the signal of a call from reception.

"Director Bartlett. What is it Tanya?"

Tanya Fleck said, "Detective Jacobsen is here to see you."

"Take him to my office, please. I will be right there." She said to Wyatt, "I'll be right back."

Jacobsen had sat on the loveseat against the wall instead of taking one of the two chairs next to her desk.

She shook his hand. "What can I do for you, Detective Jacobsen?"

"Do you own a dog?"

"Not since Rufus passed away six months ago."

"Does Marcus own a dog?"

She laughed. "God, I hope not. It would die of neglect."

"What makes you say that?"

"You must have talked to Marco a number of times by now. Does he strike you as a suitable pet owner?"

"I've only talked to him a couple of times."

"Believe me, Detective Jacobsen whatever your impression of him is now, it will be the same if you talk to him a hundred more times."

"Did Kimberley own a dog?"

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure. Why are you asking?"

"We're just chasing down every small bit of evidence we find." He produced an iPad and held up a picture of Kimberley and Marco to her. "Were you aware your brother knows both Amman Cook and Dante Parker? I will assume you know who they are."

"I know who they are and I am aware that Marco knows they are. I do not know anything about what the nature of their connection might be other than Marco purchased his house from Cook."

"It's probably safer for you that way as director of this community center."

"No matter where you live in the Hollows, you can't help but know of Cook and Parker and their gangs. It's all but impossible to avoid coming into contact directly or indirectly with them because your police department's special task force cannot bring an end to either Z9 or the Hellcats."

"Who is he closer to, Cook or Parker?"

"You would have to ask him."

"Is that why they split up?"

"I have no idea why they split up. I imagine I haven't got any more out of Marco than you have about that."

"Thank you," Jacobsen said, tucked the iPad into his jacket pocket and left.

"Glad to help," she muttered a minute after he was gone.

Marjorie was the only one in the auditorium when she entered. "They all had to leave."

"Damn."

"For what it's worth, Kayla, Wyatt is sure he can get Joseph and Frieda to come to our Thursday night community meeting. They have a banquet to attend, but they will make an appearance for the sake of morale. Everyone knows how supportive they've been"

"We need all the allies we can get."

"I do have one bit of good news for you. He's out back."

Marco was standing at the back of a five ton rental truck. The back door of it was open.

"Where did you get all that food?"

"Does it matter?"

She slapped her brother's shoulder. "Of course it matters, you fool. This is a community center. I can't just accept—"

He put his hand over her mouth. "You don't have to worry."

She pulled his hand away. "I worry about everything. It's part of my job."

"That's your problem. Do you want it or don't you?"

"I don't want to ask, but I need to know. How much is here?"

"Do you want the answer by weight or cost?"

She growled at him, "You are so infuriating."

He tossed to her the keys for the truck. "You'll need some help unloading it. Then you can return the truck to the rental company. I got better things to do."

He started to walk away but she grabbed hold of him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

"You have to get the truck back by noon tomorrow. Don't be late. It's on my credit card." He walked away.

"You are a pigheaded idiot," she said after he disappeared around the corner of the center, "but you are the best brother I could have ever hoped for."

Marjorie came out to the parking lot. "Your brother defies me."

"We'll need some help with this. Then we can use the truck to pick up the stuff that's not due until Friday." Then she said, "What would you say was in there, Marjorie?"

"That's easy. Marco just brought us about five thousand dollars work of groceries, more than enough to get us to Friday even if he hadn't also left us the truck to go get that, too."

EIGHTEEN:

Johnny was waiting in the Chevy Astro where he was supposed to be.

Marco got in beside him. "Drive around for a bit."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter, just around."

Johnny chuckled. "Why the tour? You know the Breach like the back of your—"

"Just fucking do what I tell you."

"Okay." Johnny made a u-turn and drove the Astro toward East Crag. "We'll start there and end in Satan Town."

When they arrived at East Crag, he said, "Drive past all the empty places."

"Marco, what are you looking for?"

"If you keep asking stupid questions, I'll do this myself."

Johnny drove them past Starways Motel. The cordon of police tape still sealed off the suite where Kimberley had been found.

"Go in there."

"I don't think. . . ." He groaned and shook his head. "Have it your way."

Johnny turned the Astro around and parked in the spot directly in front of the suite. He remained in the van.

Once out of the van, Marco walked to the motel's office and peeked in through the window beside the door. The Starways Motel had been closed for about two years. Even in the increasing darkness of twilight the counter appeared white from the accumulation of dust on it. It would fit right in at Liberty Second Hand.

Johnny said from beside him, "I wonder if some archeologist could determine the last day this dump was open by the amount of that shit on the counter."

"Come on."

They circled the perimeter of the motel first along 33rd Avenue, then Eighth Street to the back parking lot, and then alongside the remains of the chain link fence that had once separated the back edge of the lot from the old Port Gates facility where unloaded imported vehicles were kept until they were shipped out.

"Do you think the Egyptians or the Mayans walked around their pyramids wondering what condition they might be in a hundred years or more in the future? Do you think they really had a sense of permanence about them?"

"You think of the craziest things."

"Don't I though; scares the crap out of me sometimes. Was it the Mayans or the Incans who had pyramids?"

"How the hell should I know?"

That lot now contained only one remaining single-floor building that had been securely locked against intrusion, including plywood and bars over every window. An expanse of concrete was being penetrated and broken into pieces by plants protruding through every little crack they could find. Plant life had completely taken over parcels of bare land. The area immediately on the other side of the dilapidated fence was just such a parcel.

Coming back to the front along the drive at the office end of the motel building, Marco stopped and turned to look back at the Port Gates site. He then took a step toward it.

Johnny put a hand on his shoulder. "What's up?"

"I thought I saw something move in the grass."

"It won't be human. Even the homeless won't crash there. The word is the whole place is full of all kinds of toxic waste. It's everywhere. That's why no one has done anything with it. It would be too dangerous and too expensive to try reclaiming it."

"There are plants growing in that field."

"Yeah, but they're probably those kinds of plants that can absorb toxic chemicals."

"How would you know something like that?"

Johnny shrugged. "I'm just saying that's the word out about the place. They call it the Toxic Lands. No one is desperate enough to risk staying there for the night and having their skin peel off by morning."

They returned to the van.

"Stay here. I won't be long." He went to the taped-off door to the suite, opened it and peered in.

It was nothing more than a desolate, empty room now. There was nothing there to suggest Kimberley had ever been in it.

Once Marco was back in the van, Reynolds asked, "Where to now?"

"Go along Eighth to Thirty-Ninth. We'll make our way around the General's Camp and then past the community center.

They circled Patriot's Park, now known as the General's Camp because of all the tents and ramshackle shelters erected in it by the homeless, and because an Army veteran of unknown rank briefly became their leader during one protracted protest that secured them at least a temporary reprieve from eviction and a clean source of water. He soon abandoned his attempt to count the people just trying to survive until the next morning.

"It's so hopeless in there," Reynolds said.

"There's hope there still, not much, but there's some."

After circling the park once, it was a silent drive for them. Reynolds zigzagged along the streets before heading mostly in a northwesterly direction past the community center to get to Satan Town. They covered much of the route Kimberley would have walked to get home.

"Have you noticed anyone on our tail?"

"Why do you ask?"

Reynolds glanced first into the interior rear view mirror and then at the exterior one on the driver's door. "That's why we're doing this, right? To see if Jacobsen or someone else is following us?"

"I'm not a suspect, but yeah, something like that."

Reynolds turned the Astro onto Everglade Street to drive the last half-mile to Satan Town. Their cruise through the northwest borough was completed through another stretch of silence before he signaled for them to head for their target.

As they retraced their route along Everglade Street, Johnny said, "I might be getting out of here soon. All these changes are going to ruin everything."

"How can redevelopment ruin everything?"

"Don't get me wrong, Marco. Kayla is doing fantastic work at the center. She brings everyone together. But what's it going to be like once everyone gets tucked away in their very own, brand new chicken coops?"

"How can that be bad?"

"That redevelopment that everyone here is so in love with will end that sense of everyone in the Breach being in this together. Everyone will start keeping themselves to themselves. You know what that's like. I'm telling you, Marco, all this renewal crap is going to ruin this whole place. There will be no sense of community anymore."

"Don't be such a dumbass. Only you would think renewal is bad for this hellhole."

"I'm not stupid, Marco. I just process all the inputs a bit slower than everyone else. But I'm not stupid. It's slummy, sure, but I know what we have here in Devil's Breach. I know what we all stand to lose. And I don't want to be around when that happens."

"It's not going to happen like that."

"How the fuck are you going to prevent it? We are out here working overtime to steal tonight like we do every night when we aren't really working overtime for Citadel. Are we going to start stealing from these people once they get their own homes and move up in the world? Do you want to be doing that? I sure as hell don't."

"You and I are not the people to make sure the Breach is a good place to live. Kayla and her people are the ones to do that, and they will. We just—"

"I'm telling you, Marco, that redevelopment plan that your sister is working so hard to get through is going to ruin this place once and for all. Everyone who lives here will be worse off, not better off."

"They'll have proper homes. They'll have better health care. They'll have it better all the way round."

"If you say so, but you'd be smart not to hold your breath for all that to happen exactly that way. The odds of a happily-ever-after life for anyone in the Breach are very low."

"Sometimes what you say scares the shit out of me, too."

A recently erected chain-link fence surrounded the site where the new hospital was to be built. Citadel's Industrial and Business Security division had installed it, plus the surveillance cameras and sensors.

Johnny parked the Astro across from the construction site. "They haven't got very far yet. Have you got the loop ready?"

"We won't need it. I've got the placement schematics for the site and the cameras, as well as the check-in schedule. We should be able to avoid triggering any alarms or being spotted if we're careful."

Dressed in black, their hoods up, they approached the locked entrance gate.

Marco checked his watch. "Less than a minute to check-in." He entered a code using the keypad to the lock on the gate. The gate unlocked. "The system will send an all-clear signal at eight o'clock sharp. We need to have the gate closed by then."

They stepped through the gate, closed it and secured the lock. Then they waited for the faint purple light on the gate's electronic lock to start blinking.

"Base is getting the all clear." He brought out a Citadel hand-held tablet, called up the schedule and then the site's schematics of the security layout. "This way."

Most of the on-site supply and materials storage trailers were between sixty and one-hundred feet from the gate. They wanted the second closest one, which only had a conventional padlock on its doors. Johnny opened that in less than twenty seconds.

"Holy shit," Johnny said once they were inside. "There's less than a third of what's supposed to be here. What happened?"

Marco just shrugged as he inspected the low inventory of copper wiring.

"There's almost nothing happening on-site. Are they using a just-in-time supply schedule? Or did someone get here before us?"

"Grab what you can carry."

They each carried two large spools of copper wire, about sixty pounds worth, back to the van.

"It's a few hundred bucks anyway," Johnny said through a loud sigh.

"Slim pickings tonight, Marco," Dante Parker said as he and three of the largest members of his gang emerged from between two derelict stores across from the site.

The three gang members were aiming guns at them.

NINETEEN:

Dante drove the van back to his used auto parts yard. Marco and Johnny were passengers in an Escalade guarded by the three men with the guns.

"This isn't anything personal, Marco," Parker said once they were all in the yard surrounded by piles of parts and wrecks. "I'm just protecting my interests. After all, you did promise me first refusal at anything you got on your next two jobs."

"Take the wire," he said. "That will square it between us."

"I still perceive an imbalance in our account."

"I don't."

Parker came closer and opened his switchblade. "I'm just looking for some assurances going forward. A blood oath is unbreakable. I can trust something like that between us."

"That's not how I work, Dante."

"Things change, Marco. Look around you. Everything is going to be very different in a few years. What we have here and now is the opportunity to make a commitment to look out for each other during all this turmoil confronting us."

"You can trust me, Dante, but I am an independent contractor. My word and my actions are my bond. I don't make special pacts with anyone."

"Without such an agreement, I'm not sure we can continue to do business together."

"If we can't do business together, we can't. As you said, things change, that's life. We'll conclude our—"

The blow struck his spine between his shoulder blades, knocking him to his knees.

Parker then stepped closer and kicked him in the ribs on his right side. "No agreement between us isn't a problem for me either." He kicked Marco again.

Marco rolled away and looked for Reynolds.

Johnny took a swing at the first big guy to step forward. The man scoffed as he deflected Reynolds's swing, but Johnny kept spinning, lowered his other fist and gave the guy a shot in the ribs. He quickly followed that with a punch to the man's solar plexus.

The man grunted and buckled forward, but he just used his momentum to step into Johnny with his shoulder and knock him to the ground. He them aimed his gun at him.

"No!" Parker hit the man from behind. "I didn't tell you to shoot either of them."

The third big guy joined his assaulted partner to wail into Reynolds. Parker came toward Marco.

He heard Johnny grunt as he rolled up into a ball. Reynolds followed his grunt with a tirade of cursing. But his cursing was quickly cut off when the two men started in on the beating.

Parker shouted at them, "Where it won't show, you fuckers." He then kicked Marco one more time in the ribs before leaving his three men to complete their work.

Parker wouldn't permit his men to beat them to death. He was only escalating his negotiations. Parker wanted all resources and assets of any value in the Breach still functioning and under his control once the negotiations were completed.

When they woke up, they were in the back of the Astro van. It had been emptied of the copper wire.

"I guess," Johnny said through a groan, "we were being tailed after all. Or did he know where we would be?"

"We were tailed."

"Then this is on us for being so fucking blind." He groaned again when he sat up. "Fuck me." He spat blood onto the van floor.

Marco checked his ribs as he took a deep breath, as deep a breath as he could. Nothing felt broken, but every piece of him hurt.

Parker's boys knew how to beat someone up to get exactly the results their boss wanted.

"Yeah, I suppose. How are you?"

"Nothing's broken. You?"

"The same."

"Should we check ourselves in? Would they believe we both fell on the job at the same time?"

"I have a better idea."

Kayla took one look at them, stepped back and shook her head. Then she scowled as fiercely as he'd ever seen and appeared to be about to close her front door in their faces.

Marco put up his hand to prevent that just as she opened the door completely and stepped aside to let them enter.

"You two are absolutely the dumbest pair of losers in the Hollows."

"I'm not dumb," Johnny said. "I just process everything slower, that's all." He smiled at her with bloody teeth.

Kayla got Johnny to the sofa and laid him down. She pointed to Marco. "You sit there." Then she left the room and returned in a few minutes with a bowl of hot water and a cloth.

Reynolds's bloody teeth turned out to be from biting his tongue when he was punched in the stomach.

Once she was finished tending to him, she sat on the coffee table, took off his shirt and inspected his ribcage. "Why did you come to me?"

He flinched when she pressed against his right side but he didn't answer her question.

"Who did this?" She pressed a bit harder at the same spot.

He flinched again, and this time grunted, but he still didn't answer her question.

"What is wrong with you? This afternoon you're our guardian angel delivering badly needed food. Then you two show up at my door like this." She put a bandage on the one open wound on his left side and then handed back his shirt. "It was Dante, wasn't it? It had to be him. Amman wouldn't do this to you."

He put his shirt back on but said nothing.

"You can't just arrive here looking like two pathetic strays and not give me the story."

"Kayla—"

Her glare and scowl stopped Reynolds. "I'm talking to my stupid-ass brother."

He still didn't answer her questions or provide her with any story.

"This is why she left you, isn't it? I saw the pictures of you two at All Nations. She found out about your association with both of them. It broke her heart. You broke her heart."

"That wasn't it."

Kayla tossed the wet cloth she'd been using on them back into the bowel of hot water. "Then what was it?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me. It matters to Johnny. But you're too pigheaded and full of yourself to see that."

"Thanks for the first aid." He stood up. "It's late. We should go."

She grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled hard on it to help her get off the coffee table. "You can stay here for the night."

Hot pain alternated between poking each rib from bottom to top and snaking between them.

Johnny got up and chuckled. "People will talk if we do that."

"Just shut-up and get out."

He dropped Reynolds off at his uncle's place.

"Maybe we should lie low for a while." He chuckled then groaned. "All this overtime is going to kill me."

"See you tomorrow."

Back at his place, he called up the pictures from All Nations and went through them over and over. As he did he remembered Johnny's empty declaration about leaving Devil's Breach.

"It's too late."

TWENTY:

It wasn't that he wasn't aware of reality. He was because he moved in and out of it so regularly that he had to recognize it to understand he was having trouble staying in it.

"It was the trauma," that psychobabble guy said of him to his terrified elderly mother—elderly because he didn't remember exactly how old she was—and his dismayed younger sister.

"She was younger than me . . . is younger than me. But how old am I?"

Former Marine Lieutenant Darius McLemore circled the perimeter of the Starways Motel for the third time, just like those two had done some time earlier. He'd watched them.

"Your recon sucked," he muttered then put his fingers to his mouth. "Shush. Quiet. Not a sound."

Those two couldn't see warts on the ends of their noses.

"What's a wart?"

They had been dressed in black, but they had completely missed those four black men in that humongous black Cadillac watching them. And it wasn't like they were trying to hide from anybody.

"What's an Escalade? Is that anything like an escapade, a cavalcade or marmalade?" McLemore put his whole hand over his mouth this time.

Nothing he did ever prevented words from going AWOL on him. Nothing he took ever helped keep them in check either. If they needed to come out of him, out they came. "That's all there is to that. But those two wouldn't have lasted two minutes in . . . ?

"How long did I last there?" He tapped his temple and belched twice. "Fucking wieners. Should've cooked them. But that doesn't help. If they need to go in, it doesn't matter if they're hot or cold."

He ducked behind the oak tree across from the Starways Motel when a car drove by. "Not armored, probably civilians. But civilians are the worst. They are the ones that blow up in your face."

Psychobabble guy had this file on his desk. He flipped through it a bunch of times. Doing that sure as hell never stopped his head from shaking at his elderly mother and his younger sister.

"He looked so sad. I thought he might cry." He patted his pants pockets, including the two thigh pockets that were buttoned down tight. Then he patted the pocket of his heavy coat. It was a warm coat.

Younger sister gave him the coat. "She donated it to me. Her old man who isn't elderly left it behind when he left."

"There are three pieces of shrapnel still in his head," Psychobabble guy told mom and sis. "We could probably remove the one behind his right eye, but that would take away his vision in that eye."

"Don't cry. Depth perception isn't all it's cracked up to be. Perception isn't all it's cracked up to be. Who the fuck needs any of that? Ouch! Shit!"

He covered his right eye, which was essentially as effective at easing the sharp stabs of pain behind it as belching up wiener gas was.

"I need a clock, a great big fucking grandfather clock." He gripped his left wrist. "My Timex turned into a Rolex and then buggered off into orbit." He looked up at the clear, cold night sky and hollered, "My wrist not good enough for you? Fucking Rolex."

He ducked behind the oak tree again. "In case any civilians heard that outburst. Don't want any of them going off before the countdown is over."

He looked down at his polished black leather boots, stood at attention and saluted them. "Sir, yes, sir, right away, sir, this very moment, sir." He mewled at his feet, "Would it be possible to just have a wee nip of tea first? Just a sip if that's all right. No need for cream or sugar, sir. I don't think I could lift the cow high enough to get any into the cup. Oh, thank you, sir. Right away, sir."

He clicked his heals together and then stood at ease. "Damn fine shot, Arnold. Took the whole left side of his head clean off. Damn fine shot if I do say so myself. I thought that crosswind would play havoc with your aim, but you compensated beautifully, old fellow. A damn precise work of art if you ask me. I do think he was one of ours, though. A bit of rotten luck that, wouldn't you say, sir? How about we have another nice cup of tea before we bugger off?"

Those other two weren't black, but like those two blind mice tonight that couldn't spot a fucking Cadillac Marmalade full of black men, they had been dressed in black, too. And they knew how to behave with their drunken officer pal the way good mates should. "That's the kind of loyalty I like to see. The military, when it comes right down to it, sir, isn't about rank and privilege so much or blindly obeying orders. It's about the women and men one can rely upon to watch one's back.

"Any good soldier might have a nip too many on any particular night. To get one back to the barracks and neatly tucked away when they've had too much to drink, that is what it's all about, isn't it, sir?"

"The medication should help him," Psychobabble guy told his younger mother and elderly sister. He then caressed that mother-humping file like it was some woman's enormous tit and said, "You must see that he takes them all regularly. If he can't manage that, we may have to bring him back in for a tune-up."

"The oil is okay. It's synthetic and full up to the brim. Hardly have any room for tea, don't you know. Tastes much better than that green, herbal shit they serve here. There is a joke about latrines in what I just said, I know there is. Terribly sorry, I just sneezed. It's the synthetics, you see, they give me a rash along my privates and they make me sneeze. But you see, the real point here is that soldier had clearly drunk more than she could handle. She was passed out and naked with only that wee blanket wrapped around her to keep her from freezing."

He stepped out from behind the oak all ducked down and bent over and sprinted across the street. He didn't stop sprinting all crouched down and bent over until he reached some yellow tape across a doorway.

You made it. No more shrapnel entered your noggin. Good man. Now straighten up and present a proper salute.

"Is that where they sent in the bomb, sir? What gender was it this time? How old was it? Yes, that is younger than they usually are, sir. Their inventory could be running low. How many casualties? Well, sir, can we put them back to together? Well, can we get at least one out of all these parts lying about? We should make sure the legs are the same length or they will have a terribly awkward limp."

A step into the scene of all the carnage was what was called for now. "Pluck up the courage, that's a good chap. Take a step. That's it. Now take another. Yes, like that, exactly, right past the window. Stay sharp, though. It's time to check the latrine for other civilians who might go off at any moment. Stand back, sir, while I take a look."

The bathroom window was open.

"That's a good sign. Usually you can't budge them for love nor money even if you're lucky enough to get one. An encouraging sign for sure, I'd say."

There it was again . . . reality. The breeze coming in through the open window was refreshing on the face. Grounding, it was, putting one in the moment and keeping one there. Psychobabble guy would shit his pants in the face of all this reality. But with the window open like it was and the wind coming in on the face that would be refreshing, too.

"But, whoa, that excursion didn't last long did it, sir? For what do we see approaching through this refreshing open window? Come on, step up man take a closer look. You have to be sure about what you're seeing if you're going to panic."

Another peek out the open window confirmed an all too fleeting contact with reality.

"I do believe that is a naked woman, sir, coming toward us across the Toxic Lands. Sir, yes , sir, I do believe it is. What? What was that? Speak up, man, I can't hear you over that horrible din." A nod, acknowledgement of the orders received, a basic courtesy to a superior officer, it was just standard procedure.

"Sir, yes, sir, that is a very naked woman coming this way. Quite a lovely thing, I'm sure of that. Just look at her. Look at her stride, the way her hips sway with each footstep she takes. I can actually almost hear every footfall."

Turn around and salute, otherwise he'll think you're being insubordinate. "Sir, yes, sir, I assure you, there is a beautiful and naked woman crossing the Toxic Lands to get to us. Just look for yourself right out that open latrine window. See? Isn't she lovely? Oh, yes, sir, I would indeed call her a vision of loveliness. Perfect height, perfect weight, perfect proportions, everything firm and curvy and perky and where it should be, everything a man could hope for."

Put hands over the ears for a moment. Block out all the distracting noises. Take a deep breath. Just one is enough.

"I can hear her footsteps. Sir, yes, sir, I can, but if you will pardon my confusion, it doesn't make sense to me. That blast must have affected my head more than I originally thought. I can see her coming this way. She's right in front of me out this refreshingly breezy open window. Sir, yes, sir, she's coming right at us from the front lines across the Toxic Lands. What I don't understand, sir, is why the sound of her footsteps are coming from behind us."

A good officer knows when to comfort his troops. A pat on the back or a reassuring and understanding hand on the shoulder is often all that is required. But an officer should not become overly familiar. There is no need for a squeeze, especially not one that hard. "Easy does it, sir. We're all on the same side in this latrine." There must be a clear separation within the ranks. That is the way order and discipline is maintained.

"Look, sir, she's arrived. What a lovely smile, and such lovely eyes, too. She's a bit older this one, wouldn't you say, sir? She looks riper than the others they've sent our way. And look, sir, she knows she's a looker. Otherwise, she wouldn't be touching herself like that. No shame in her, I'd say, and no need to have any either, sir."

A superior officer should never slide his hand along your shoulder to your neck. Damn irregular that is, not according to rank and privilege and standard operating procedure.

"Sir, I don't believe that is appropriate behavior on your part."

And an officer should never ever put his hand around a fellow officer's throat.

"That feels cold, sir. Is that your wedding—"

TWENTY-ONE:

"What about this? Johnny Reynolds secretly loved Kimberley Deering." Harris dropped the one sheet of paper he was holding onto his desk. "When she and Kamren split, Reynolds makes his move on her but is rejected."

"Can I sit down first?" He hung his overcoat on the hook on the wall and then sat down at his desk. "It wasn't Reynolds either."

"Hear me out before you cling to that idea of yours. Reynolds doesn't take the rejection well. He flies into a rage and kills her."

"That would mean he somehow slipped out of the Citadel staff meeting without anyone noticing, intercepted Kimberley on her walk home, stashed her somewhere, returned for the end of the meeting, again unseen by anyone, and then went back to torture and kill her. That precludes him flying into a rage. And then he placed her in that room at Starways where she would be easily found and he left her driver's licence to make sure we could identify her. You've just change the name of the killer from yesterday."

"I'm just saying we shouldn't dismiss Kamren or Reynolds as suspects so early in the investigation. You think there could be two killers. What if it's those two? We don't know what kind of relationship Reynolds had with Deering. We don't know what kind of relationship Reynolds and Kamren have."

Jacobsen called up Deering's pictures from All Nations. "She was presented to us."

Harris rolled over on his chair. "One of those two could have been interested in her?"

"That's more likely than Reynolds, but which one?"

"Either one would do," Harris said, rolled forward and tapped Jacobsen's computer screen. "They are both looking at her."

"Cook confessed to being interested in Kayla Bartlett. That's why Kamren got such a great deal on his house."

"Get to the sister through the brother. It hasn't worked for him." His finger covered Parker's face. "Here's a possibility. Both of them notice Kamren and Deering, see how happy they are taking all these pictures of what would turn out to be their last date. If Cook wants a chance at his sister, he would be concerned about Parker's interest in Deering. Parker then became aware of his concern."

"You're suggesting Parker killed her and set her in the motel as a message to Cook or Kamren."

He shrugged and said, "Or to both of them."

"She was put on display for us. She wasn't killed by a spurned would-be lover. She wasn't killed as a warning to a rival gang leader or an ex-boyfriend. The warning was for us."

"You still think it's two working together."

"I believe it has to be. What have we got from the canvas?"

"Taliauli and Ramsey should be there in a few minutes to take up where they left off yesterday. We haven't got much so far. Every time we close in, they scatter like a flock of birds. The ones we have been able to catch all tell us the same thing. Lots of homeless people crash at Starways on a rotational basis because of the rumors about the old Port Gates site being full of toxic waste. Common wisdom among them is that limited exposure to small doses won't hurt them as long as they don't get any closer than Starways and as long as they get away from it for a while."

"There has never been any evidence of toxic materials being found on site."

"Then why hasn't anyone purchased the grounds and built something? Why is that area, abandoned as it is, and Starways not part of the redevelopment plans? Personally, I don't even like going there to investigate the crime scene. Even a few minutes could—"

"What else did we get?"

"Some won't go anywhere near the place."

"What else?"

"No one saw anything. I'm sure at least two or three people crashed that night, but we either haven't found them yet or they won't admit they were there."

Jacobsen's desk phone began ringing. "Detective Jacobsen, Homicide."

Haitiah Gibbs said, "I've talked to Drew Campbell at the Courier. He was very interested in what I had to tell him about Kimberley and you lot. You can expect a call from him at anytime, Detective Jacobsen."

"I have already—"

She hung up.

"That was brief."

"School students have their principals to worry about. We have the press."

Detective Bryce Abernathy from the Integrated Anti-gang Unit entered their office.

Harris rolled himself back to his desk.

Abernathy said, "Ben tells me your case could have connections to Z9 and the Hellcats."

"Take at look at this."

The picture with Marco scowling came up on the screen. It was the clearest shot of Cook and Parker in the background.

Abernathy grunted. "That can't be good, Cook, Parker and Kamren together. What are they up to?"

Harris rolled back. "You know Kamren is involved with those two? I thought you only knew him from the Harper and McDougall case."

"We can't prove it, but we believe Kamren and his buddy Johnny Reynolds are likely the burglars that keep striking all over the city. The problem is they do it so intermittently that we can't establish any pattern or get anything on them and we can't justify setting up surveillance on them on only an unsubstantiated suspicion. We can't get authorization for anything like that. Our beloved commissioner and everyone in the prosecutor's office is pissing their pants over the possibility we'll make a mistake again and arrest someone only because they live in Devil's Breach. Right now, with the redevelopment about to start, that is the most popular place in the city. No one downtown wants to be seen as persecuting anyone living there."

"There are usually two or three burglaries before everything goes quiet for weeks."

"And we've had two in the past two days that we know of. The other half of our suspicion is that Cook and Parker act as fences for Kamren."

"A dangerous game if he's trying to find a balance between dealing with Cook and Parker. Is his sister involved? Does she know something?"

"She's not involved. I think she suspects, but she has no proof anymore than we do. She and her brother have drifted apart these past two years."

"The burglaries have been happening during the past two years. Marco is trying to protect her from his criminal activities."

"It wouldn't be the first time he's done that. The Harper-McDougall case was another incident of Kamren protecting his sister." He shrugged. "That was our supposition anyway. We never got anywhere with the investigation."

"He was protecting Kayla from which one?"

"Both of them," Abernathy said with another shrug. "McDougall, we believe, was interested in her. Our suspicion, and that's all it is, is that either Bartlett spurned him or Kamren prevented him from getting anywhere near her, probably with some form of violent persuasion. McDougall then hired Harper to eliminate Kamren, and possibly Bartlett too for spurning him."

"And all he ended up with was eighteen stitches. How did he manage that?"

Jacobsen said, "He told me he talked Harper out of killing him. He can be very persuasive, he said. Do you know anything about what happened after that?"

"It's all speculation. Some would characterize it as wild speculation, but there are two scenarios bandied about. The first is that Kamren did persuade Harper to abandon his contract."

"That would have been a first," Harris said.

"I can't imagine how he'd accomplish that, but Kamren did survive their encounter with only that scar on his arm. That first scenario ends with Harper then making McDougall disappear before he left the city. That way only Harper and Kamren would know he didn't complete his assignment and they weren't going to tell anybody."

"The other scenario has to be Harper left and Kamren made McDougall disappear."

Abernathy said, "My money is on the latter scenario. The few details we could find, you will notice I do not call it evidence, indicates McDougal disappeared one week after Harper did, but we could never verify that conclusively."

"Kamren could have made both of them disappear," Harris said. "No one saw either McDougall or Harper again after Kamren showed up at the hospital needing stitches. We shouldn't underestimate him. He might be capable of anything and we still do not know why he and Deering split up."

Harris's desk phone began ringing. "Harris here." He held up his hand. "Stop! Stop!" He put the phone on speaker. "Start again, Daniel.

Taliauli said, "We just arrived at Starways. There's been another murder. It's in the same room. Well, it's in the bathroom of the same suite."

Jacobsen asked, "Another woman?"

"This one's a man. He's an ex-marine. Everyone around here knows him. He struggled with psychological problems and often wandered off alone. It looks like someone snuck up on him from behind and slit his throat."

TWENTY-TWO:

New cordon tape had been strung between poles just outside the door to replace the torn ones. Daniel Taliauli and Thelma Ramsey were off to the side with two homeless people. Thelma almost stood at attention. Daniel's hands flipped and waved as he talked to the two witnesses. His head never stopped nodding.

Rosalind was standing in the doorway with her back to them when Harris parked the car. At the sound of the two car doors closing, she turned around, gave him a quick smile and then lifted the cordon tape to permit them to duck under it.

"He's in the bathroom," she said.

Two members of her blue-crew were just coming out of it as he and Harris slipped past Copp.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Daniel told you how this one died."

"He did."

"How is that going to jibe with the Deering murder?"

"It might not."

Harris asked, "What do we know, Ros?"

"His name is Darius McLemore. He was thirty-eight years old and a former marine who served both in Afghanistan and then again in Syria. Both times he was stationed with British units as part of the coalition forces. He was a big man, over six feet tall and still over two hundred pounds despite being homeless and likely having an unhealthy diet."

"What about the two outside with Daniel and Thelma?"

"Arnold Rippin and Rickie Woods," she said. "They're sort of a couple and they hung out with Darius. You'll have to confirm with them, but I think they used Darius as an advance scout to make sure this place was safe before they would all crash here."

The three of them approached the bathroom together.

"What about the knife?"

"It was big and sharp. They almost cut his head off."

Harris said, "If McLemore was a big, tough ex-marine, whoever did that had to also be big and strong as well as stealthy and quick."

They stopped at the door to the bathroom.

Copp said, "I'll take a closer look once we have him on a table, but Rickie told us Darius had problems staying in the here and now. As tough as he was, he could go into what she called trances. Fugue states is probably a better term based on how she described what he would do. When he got like that, he wouldn't respond to anything, including being touched."

The tallest man in Copp's unit said from the bathroom, "We can move him now. The van's here."

They stepped aside to let two of her crew bring McLemore out of the bathroom and then to the van.

Rosalind touched his arm. "I'll get to this right now." She followed her two men out and left in the van.

Two other members of her forensic crew remained to process the scene.

"If we find any evidence now," Harris said, "are we going to be able to tell which murder it belongs to?"

"McLemore was killed here. Deering wasn't. Any evidence will likely belong to him."

"Unless we missed it the first time," Harris said. "Ros's people are good, but it has been known to happen."

He and Harris went to Taliauli and Ramsey and their two witnesses. Ramsey had adjusted her position as if now on alert for one of them to bolt.

Daniel made the introductions. He had a natural way of being respectful to everyone. Talialu would be a great detective because he could draw people close and put them at ease.

Arnold Rippin was forty-six. Rickie Woods was forty. Rippin had the unfortunate dishevelled appearance of someone who had struggled with homelessness for a large portion of his life. He was thin. His face had a dark, dry, scaly texture. His eyes were always squinting from deep in their sockets. Shorter than everyone else in the group, he squinted up at whoever he was looking at with his head twitching this way and that as though he could only see with this right eye.

If she was presented with a chance to clean herself up and put on some new clothes, Rickie Woods could go to work anywhere and no one would believe she was homeless.

Rippin, his voice every bit as dry as his skin, said, "A good man, he was, a right guy. Tried to look out for everyone, he did. Gave him a purpose in the Breach, it did."

Jacobsen asked, "How long had he been here?"

"Close to three years," Woods said through a smile. She also had better teeth than Rippin.

"How did he end up here?"

Rippin squinted up at him and tapped his temple. "Couldn't cope." He swept his hand in an arc. "It all got to be too much for him sometimes. He'd go somewhere else."

"Where?"

Tapping his temple again, Rippin growled, "Up here, of course. It was the only place he could go. Sometimes he wouldn't come back to us for days."

Woods said, "He'd look out for everyone when he was with us. Arnie and I would look out for him when he wasn't here."

"What was he like last night?"

"In and out," Rippin said and then started coughing before he could say anything else.

Woods put her arm around him. "Darius was doing his recon work last night, but we knew he wasn't completely tuned in when he left us behind." She patted and rubbed Rippin's back, which actually seemed to help him. "We couldn't keep up with him last night."

Rippin said, "We knew he was coming here, but I couldn't catch my breath. We fell behind."

Taliauli said, "They often crash at Starways, but they usually take one of the suites on the second floor."

Woods continued to pat Rippin's back. "We make the rounds. Don't want to stay here more than one night at a time because of the Toxic Lands." She pointed up. "We usually stay in the one above. It's cleaner and more stylish."

"Why do you suppose Darius entered this room last night?"

"It was the woman." Rippin pointed toward the old Port Gates site. "Nak'd as the day she was born and prancing about like some wood nymph."

"There was no woman." Woods stopped rubbing his back and stepped away.

"There was a woman and she was nak'd. I saw her as sure as I'm looking at you now. Looked like one of those underwear models except she was nak'd."

Harris peeked in through the front window of the suite. "You can see the Port Gates site. The front and rear windows are aligned. They provide a clear view."

"Is that how you saw her?"

"Hell, no, she was over there by the time we caught up." He pointed east toward a wooded area. "That used to be a small park. Darius must have seen her. She lured him in there; otherwise, he would have gone straight up to our usual room like he always did. She lured him in like a temptress and then she pranced off into the woods."

He asked Woods, "Did you see this woman?"

"I didn't see anyone, let alone a nak'd temptress."

"But you didn't find Darius until this morning."

"He often wandered away when he got like that if we couldn't stop him," Woods said.

"But he'd always come back to us before. It was my fault," Rippin said through another bout of coughing. "We went straight up to our room. He wasn't there, but I was so tired. We didn't look for him. I said he'd either come back on his own or we'd look for him in the morning." He shook his head. "We should have looked for him."

"Did Darius have any enemies?"

"He was a sweetheart," Woods said as she started patting Rippin's back again. "He was sad most of the time, but he would give you a smile. He'd ask how you were doing. He tried real hard to stay with you."

"Wouldn't go near children, though. Didn't want to scare 'em, I reckon. On his badder days, when it all came back to him, he could be quite the sight, his eyes all wild, his face all twisted, and him jabbering on and on about people going off in front of you. You wouldn't want young'uns seeing that, would'cha?"

"Did Darius know the woman we found here two days ago?"

"No one around here knew her. She wasn't one of us, that's for sure."

"Officers Taliauli and Ramsey will finish taking your statements. Thank you."

They took a quick look into the bathroom.

He looked out through the open window. "You can see the Port Gates site."

"What do you think happened? Was he mesmerized by a naked wood nymph dancing about the Toxic Lands?"

He waited until they were back in the Lincoln before he said, "Two different murders linked to the same motel suite."

"But only one of them happened in it. There is nothing similar about the two killings. Deering was tortured to death somewhere else and then cleaned up and brought here to be put on display for us, according to you. McLemore had his throat cut and was just left to drop where he stood. And his two best friends didn't give us anything useful other than that Kimberley wasn't one of them, and that was obvious."

"You don't think there is a link between them?"

"Two different methods of killing and the genders are different. I don't see any link other than this motel."

"Did Deering and McLemore know each other?"

"How do we find the right answer to that? Rippin and Woods say no, and they were close to Darius."

Jacobsen started the squad car. "Kayla Bartlett might know."

*****

Bartlett and Britton were going over their food bank inventory at the back of the community center. Britton spotted them approaching first and nudged Bartlett.

"Good morning," Jacobsen said. "Do either of you know Darius McLemore?"

"We do," Bartlett said. "Why do you ask?"

"He can't be a suspect," Britton said.

"He was found murdered this morning in the bathroom of the same motel room we found Kimberley Deering in."

"My God," Marjorie said.

"Was he killed the same way?"

"It doesn't appear he was. Did McLemore and Deering know each other?"

Britton stomped her foot. "Don't be ridiculous."

Harris said, "With your network, I'm surprised you two didn't already know about him."

"You two have probably scared everyone off."

Kayla said to Marjorie, "Can you call about the cereal that's supposed to be delivered today?" Once Britton was gone, she said, "Kimberley did not know Darius. As far as I know, she did not have anything to do with the homeless."

"What can you tell us about Darius McLemore?"

"Marjorie knew him better than I. He served in Afghanistan and then again in Syria. He suffered from shrapnel wounds to his head and PTSD as a result of having a child explode in front of him."

Marjorie Britton had returned to their storage area. "She was only twelve years old. Seven people were killed, including four from his unit. He had become friends with her, which, in his mind, was exactly why she was chosen to be the suicide bomber because she could get close to them. He blamed himself."

"There was also a story circulating that the British unit he was assigned to was involved in a friendly fire incident in Syria."

"That is hogwash."

"Do either of you know if he was having trouble with anyone?"

Both women shook their heads.

Britton said, "Darius was damaged but he was a kindly soul. I know others looked to him to be their guardian angel because he had been a marine, but I don't believe he had any real fight left in him."

Bartlett said, "He'd more than likely freeze up than fight."

Britton said, "Haitiah knew him better than any of the rest of us."

Noticing the change in his expression, Kayla asked, "Is there something else, Detective Jacobsen?"

"You did not tell me you know Haitiah Gibbs."

"You didn't ask."

"Do you know Heather Deering?"

"We both know Haitiah and Heather," Britton said. "Can we get on with it now?"

"If you know Heather Deering, how is it she didn't know Marco was Kimberley's boyfriend until I told her?"

Bartlett said, "I won't sabotage Marco's privacy. I just assumed you would learn about the dynamics of their relationship on your own."

"Assumptions like those only hinder our investigation."

Britton said, "We'll try harder to anticipate your needs from now on."

"Does everyone in the Hollows feel that way about the police?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Haitiah Gibbs has been pressing to know what progress we've made in our investigation. She has talked to Drew Campbell at the Courier about our lack of success so far."

Britton hooted a laugh and then left the storage room.

Bartlett smiled, nodded and arched her eyebrows. "Haitiah can get emotional."

"That's understandable in this case. But she has passed on information about Kimberley to Campbell that could sabotage our investigation."

"She is a bit of a busybody, but that trait also makes her indispensible to us. She gets to know everybody. She gets into their heads, mostly through persistent prying, but she gets to the heart of their stories. In turn, we rely on her knowledge to shape our approach to each person who comes here." She chuckled. "I will talk to Haitiah and Heather. I can put in a good word for you."

"Thank you. That would be appreciated." He looked around at their supplies. "The shelves are pretty full right now."

"We'll go through this quick enough," Britton said as she re-entered the room and returned to checking their inventory. "The cereal is on its way."

On the way back to the car, he said to Harris, "Why so silent back there?"

"You were doing so well I didn't want to sabotage anything."

"Gibbs and Campbell are headache enough, thank you."

His phone rang just as the squad car's engine started. It was Rosalind. "What have you got?"

"The link between the two murders," she said. "I found another dog hair on McLemore. I'm sure it will match the one from Deering."

TWENTY-THREE:

Amman Cook was sitting at his favorite table in the back corner of All Nations near the entrance to the kitchen, the table he and Dante Parker had used that night.

"How are you feeling, Marco?" Cook rose from his chair, took hold of Kamren's elbow and sat him down across the table from him.

It was the chair Parker had sat in.

Cook then checked him for any obvious wounds. "They were good. Nothing shows but for some swelling along the lower right side of your neck." Cook sat back down. "What would you like me to do about that?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'll take care of it."

Cook chuckled. "I've known you since you were twelve years old, and I have always appreciated how fiercely independent you are, Marco."

"Fifteen."

"Let's not quibble, my friend. But I never imagined you'd go all movie action hero to get revenge. Dante is not stupid and he has a good sense of what is important to you. He will anticipate you trying to get even with him. Don't you be foolish enough to think you can do that on your own?" Cook leaned back and scrutinized his guest. "I can't imagine you with two bullet belts looped over your shoulders and Uzis in each hand firing away. Dante would be ready for something that violent and reckless."

"I have an idea or two."

"Care to let me in on what they are?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

"Just remember, Marco, it would give me great pleasure to be in on anything you're planning to do."

"I'll get back to you on that, too."

"Good. Enough said about it for now." Cook slapped his two palms onto the table. "What would you like for lunch while we discuss our business?"

"Scrambled eggs and coffee would be great."

Cook shook his head. "No, no, no, that won't do at all." He opened the restaurant's breakfast and luncheon menu and pointed. "You must try our house special omelet. I guarantee you will love it and then you will remember it as a savory delight far superior to your usual pathetic luncheon fare."

Cook was really beginning to warm up to his role as a restaurateur. "Whatever you say."

Without Cook having to leave his chair or give any orders, their lunch was delivered within five minutes.

Marco took in three helpings of the spicy and delicious omelet to go along with three sips of coffee before he said, "They are going to be my last two."

Cook was eating exactly the same omelet as he was. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that." Through a mouthful of omelet, he said, "You've been a reliable revenue stream for me, Marco."

"Nothing lasts forever." He looked around the restaurant. "You've been diversifying. You don't need me anymore or the little bit I bring in for you."

"It has always meant more than what little bit you bring to me, Marco. You should know that. But because you are being candid with me, I will be candid with you. I am also thinking of retiring from all that. As you say, I have diversified, and you know as well as I that these new business ventures of mine are operating mostly within the law. They would remain profitable if they were completely within the law."

"Is that what you and Dante were discussing last week?"

"Heaven forbid, Marco. If Dante got hold of something like that, he would only become more aggressive. No, no, I am not yet in a position to relinquish my leadership role in Devil's Breach just yet. And I trust you will be discreet about what I have just old you."

"It doesn't matter how much you sanitize yourself, Amman. Kayla will never have anything to do with you. I taught her too well."

"There is always hope, Marco." Cook looked around his restaurant. "In truth, my friend, I am almost fifty years old."

"You don't look it."

"I would attribute that to clean living if you would believe me."

"You were about to say."

"The reality is I have survived well past the normal shelf-life of someone in my position. I have been lucky that members of my own community haven't tried to usurp me."

"That's not what I heard . . . three times at last count. Those rumors always seemed to coincide with a decrease in your community's population of some of your more prominent citizens."

"That is the very dilemma confronting me now, Marco. Z9 cannot afford internal turmoil. We cannot be seen as developing cracks, losing our cohesiveness."

"Coming apart at the seams," he said.

"I was thinking more along the lines of being torn asunder by needless dissension and self-destructive power struggles."

"Who do you suspect?"

"The very one who delivered our delicious omelettes?"

"Asa? He's your cousin."

"Third cousin," he said. "And I'm afraid the bloodlines from that distant side of the family run considerably thinner than I would prefer."

Asa arrived to take away the plates.

Once his cousin had returned to the kitchen, Cook said, "And he has the keen hearing of a bat. I swear he instinctively detects when I am speaking and tunes in to everything I say to everyone."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"He tells me he just wants to learn everything. And he tells me I should just tell him to go away if he shouldn't listen."

"Ballsy. Is he a snitch?"

"I do not think so, Marco. He has aspirations. I have to concede that he may actually be the new leadership our close-knit community needs in these times of immense change."

"Wow. What was in your house special?"

Cook sat back. "What would you do if you didn't, you know, anymore?"

He stood up. "I have to get back to work. The omelette was everything you said it would be. You might just make a legitimate go of it yet."

"Give my sympathy to Johnny. And give my love to your beautiful sister."

"She'd hurt me if I did that."

TWENTY-FOUR:

The first thing Marjorie said to her when she entered the auditorium was, "Wyatt is bringing Joseph and Frieda. He will be a bit late."

Christopher Brown and Emily Tucker were their reliably punctual selves. Emily followed Christopher as he circled the scale model of the project, vigilant for any inappropriate touching by the man who designed, made and assembled the display.

The door she had entered through opened. Frieda Haussmann entered first. She wore a blue Adidas sweat suit and New Balance running shoes. Joseph Haussmann came in next wearing a suit. Wyatt O'Neal entered carrying his suit jacket over his arm. He had loosened but not removed his tie.

"Thank you for coming." She shook Frieda's hand first and then Joseph's. "Where do we stand?"

Frieda frowned. "We spent most of the meeting discussing concerns about underutilization of sites and undervaluing the proposed housing for them."

Marjorie said, "How many times do we have to go over this? The Hollows project isn't about capitalizing on speculative property developments. This is not a game of Monopoly. It's about providing stable, affordable housing for the poor and temporary shelters for the homeless."

"We stayed on message, Marjorie," Frieda said. "Wyatt, Joseph and I, along with our big friend there, Christopher, countered every counter argument Mel and Garret or Coralee and Brent made."

Marjorie asked, "Did they bring anything new to the table?"

Wyatt took his turn frowning when he said, "More of a new twist on the issues of rising crime and public health in the Hollows. Brent in particular stressed the urgency of what he kept calling the public health crisis in Satan Town and East Crag. Coralee harped on the increased rates of crime from transients in places like the Port Gates site and Legacy Court. Both of them took turns implying Z9 or the Hellcats were exploiting the situation, though there is no proof of such allegations. The police department's task force on gang crime haven't found any."

Marjorie scoffed. "They can't find lint in their pockets."

Joseph Haussmann waved his hand over some of the low-rise apartment models on the northern edge of the display. He didn't touch any of them. "Brent's pushing to get the evacuation underway as quickly as possible. He has already prepared a second press release. He wants to issue it by Friday at the latest."

Frieda said, "The copy he read to us certainly makes him look like a decisive and compassionate man of action."

"Coralee did reiterate local business concerns that the sites earmarked for commercial development were insufficient to attract a vital source of employment or goods and services for the residents of the Hollows."

Kayla pointed to a section of the model near its center. "They would expand the Apex site for business by removing the low-rise apartments planned for the homeless. They don't even try to hide their true intentions anymore."

"Coralee is pushing to reduce the duration of the proposed rent controls from ten years to six and then let market forces determine the true value of the area's real estate."

"Force everyone out and then convert the units to condominiums for sale. That's just a form of time-delayed speculation."

"We still have public support, Marjorie," Frieda said. "We need to bring that pressure to city council. We need to make all this public."

"We have to be careful about that," Wyatt said. "City council has the right to discuss in private these concerns. Eventually they will go before public scrutiny. We can't be seen as forcing the issues to go public prematurely, or worse, play the part of a leak at city hall."

"By then, Mayor Turpin will have issued his self-aggrandizing press release proclaiming a public health emergency and the need for prompt action."

"That amounts to getting rid of everyone and then stalling until the whole project dies . . . again. He'll be turning over the first shovelful of sod at the ceremony while getting the herd moved out when no one is looking."

Frieda hugged Marjorie. "Not this time, I promise you that. We are too close now."

She asked Christopher, "What's your read on Vincent's lean?"

"You know Vincent. He prides himself as the critical thinker on council. He believes he can always make a sensible economic argument for what he supports and rejects. The risk we face is that Brent and Coralee are doing everything they can to turn the project toward a justifiable rejection or to counter any economic arguments in favor of the development with claims of increasing crime and a public health crisis."

"They haven't done anything about those concerns for the past fifteen years."

"No we haven't, Marjorie. But we have to be careful here. We can't yield the moral high ground to Brent. If he's pushing the public health crisis, we have to counter with an equally concerned but measured response that can justify not evacuating everyone and then putting fences around Satan Town and East Crag to keep them corralled there."

"The hospital site had a fence erected around it in one night. None of us saw that coming."

"It is supposed to be the coordination center for the whole project, Marjorie. And it has the size to also be the materials and supplies depository as well as storage for Christopher's modular units before they are deployed. A fence was always due to go up around it to provide security."

"Nonetheless, city hall never bothered to give us notice before it went up."

Kayla said. "Our committee has the right to know what city council is discussing about the Hollows Redevelopment Project. We have input on any changes or actions they are considering. We'll use Thursday night's Community Advisory Council meeting to inform all the leaders and activists. We'll mobilize the troops. We'll go door to door."

Frieda took hold of Joseph's hand. "We will support you all the way, Kayla."

Joseph said, "I can have the public health issues in Brent's report reviewed by an independent expert. We can also commission our own evaluation. Brent and Coralee cannot object to either of those options. And if we conduct our own evaluation that would give us more time to plan countermeasures."

"There has been another murder at the Starways Motel."

Wyatt said, "Who?"

"His name was Darius McLemore. He was one of the homeless from the Orion Park group."

"When we do our door-to-door," Marjorie said, "We better also let everyone know there is a maniac loose in the Breach."

Frieda and Joseph had to leave because they did more in a day than most people did in three. Emily and Wyatt had to return to their jobs at city hall. Christopher went to the storage room to help Tanya set up the tables for this afternoon's food bank handouts. Marjorie came back to her office with her, muttering curses the whole way.

"I know," she said. "Only a few more days to go and our opponents are only increasing their efforts against us."

"This goes beyond discouraging, Kayla. They just keep doing this to us. We are a convenient way to make political points on the campaign trail, but when it comes close to having to take any real action, spend any real money to improve our lives here, they always come up with some manufactured hokum to bring everything to a halt. The cycle never ends."

"This time is different, Marjorie. This project has real momentum. The funding has been approved and is in place. The tenders have been finalized. The building permits and licences have been issued. Brent can perhaps stall the start of it for a week, but that is it."

Marjorie went to the window. It would be in the distance, but she could see the site for the new hospital from that window.

Kayla stood beside her. "This won't be stopped."

"Do you understand what is really going on? I sure as hell don't."

"I understand all these machinations better than I understand my brother."

Marjorie snorted. "That's not saying much."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

"I still cannot understand what Kimberley saw in him." She gasped and put her hand on Kayla's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Kayla. I didn't mean it like that."

She patted Marjorie's hand. "I keep running headfirst into a brick wall on that topic myself."

"We better get ready. They'll be lining up outside by now." Marjorie left the office. She was back in within ten seconds. "Haitiah would like a word with you."

Haitiah entered the office looking around in that cautious bird-like way of hers as if this was her first time. She never seemed to look straight ahead.

She hugged her. "I did not expect to see you today."

Haitiah stepped back from the hug, but took hold of Kayla's hands. "I need to be doing something."

"How is Heather?"

Haitiah gave her hands a squeeze before releasing them. "She's concerned about the funeral."

"You know everyone here will pitch in to help. Tell Heather she is not alone. I will come by tonight to see her."

"She will like that." Haitiah returned to jerking her head this way and that. It was hard to imagine she was seeing anything but colorful blurs at the speed her head twitched. "Those stupid police aren't getting anywhere."

"Haitiah," she said, took her to one of the guest chairs and sat her down, "I have to tell you something."

Haitiah took a couple more twitching glances around before looking up at her.

"Darius McLemore was murdered last night in the bathroom of the same suite where they found Kimberley."

"I knew it." She got up and paced the room, her turning head and striding legs often seeming to be going in opposite directions. "Those two are as incompetent as their anti-gang partners. They won't catch anyone until we've all been murdered. And then they'll just close the case files and move on to lunch."

"I've talked to Detective Jacobsen a number of times. He impresses me as a decent man and a good detective. He won't give up on the investigation, Haitiah, but he is going to need time."

"Marjorie should be letting them in." With her gaze turning this way and that on the way out of the office, Haitiah stepped right into Christopher the moment she stepped through the doorway. She could also chirp like a startled bird. "Watch where you're going, you big oaf," Haitiah cawed and slapped his chest before ricocheting toward the auditorium.

Christopher entered her office. "The tables are all set up."

"She's a bit distracted."

"As are we all these days." He held out his arms. "And I'm hard to miss." His jovial self-mocking out of the way, he sat in the chair she had placed Haitiah in earlier.

She sat down in the chair beside his. "What is it, Chris?"

"Estelle and I are calling it quits." He threw up his huge hands. "Have called it quits, I should say."

She waited for his hands to settle before she touched the one closest to her. "I am sorry to hear that."

"It's been a while coming. We've grown apart quickly this past year or so." He held his hands out. "Quite a wide separation if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do."

"I think she's seeing someone else."

"Do you know who he is?"

"I do, but I'd rather not mention names. I can't actually prove anything, though Estelle isn't really trying to hide what she's doing from me." He started rubbing his hands together. "Let's just say we've agreed to be reasonable and civilized while we finalize everything and she moves out, and leave it at that." He stood up. "I thought I'd stick around to help out today if that's okay."

"More hands make lighter work." She accompanied him to the auditorium.

Marjorie, Tanya and Haitiah were setting out boxes and bags with specific foodstuff supplies in them. There were also two sets of two tables pushed together and covered with tablecloths. Each set could accommodate up to sixteen people who might decide to stay for the luncheon that had been prepared. Having to focus on getting the bags and boxes in the right places on the tables kept Haitiah from glancing about.

Another murder at the Starways Motel while everyone was still reeling over Kimberley's death, a never ending gauntlet of machinations coming from the mayor's office that were all calculated to stop the project, and now one of her staunchest allies was about to go through a divorce. Despite Christopher's reassurance that it would be a reasonable and civilized process, she knew Estelle Pearson-Brown. It was going to be anything but reasonable and civilized.

In the face of all that, there was only one thing to do for now. Be in the moment with her dedicated colleagues and volunteers and the people relying on them.

TWENTY-FIVE:

As soon as Johnny got into the Camaro, he asked, "Are we just going to drive around for a bit tonight, too, or are we going to get right to it?"

Marco started the Camaro and headed along Twelfth Avenue. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing. I'd just like to know, that's all." Johnny looked behind them. "Do you think Dante will be on our tail tonight?" He held up a length of wooden handle. "I made this last night." He smacked the end that he'd wrapped with black electrician's tape into his palm. "Just let them try something again."

"He made his point. He'll leave us alone tonight."

"Did you hear about the murder?"

"I heard."

"That's spooky, Marco. He gets killed in the same room they found Kimberley in."

"What's your point?"

"The news people are all over that. They're speculating about a killer being loose in the Breach. One of those stupid commentators on the television had the balls to ask if Satan has finally arrived."

Marco turned the Camaro left at Eighteenth Street and headed for old Silverdale Park. "They don't know shit about the Hollows."

"Don't I know it. They're jerking off all over the place now about a serial killer out to slaughter everybody, but otherwise we're lepers to them."

"You know what a leper is?"

Johnny chuckled. "I told you, man, I'm not stupid. I just process all the shit coming at me slower than most people." He held his index fingers near his temples and twirled them. "It takes a bit longer for everything to get through the noise. But I'm not stupid."

"Did I say you were?"

"What about those two?"

Marco parked the car at the curb on Montana Drive. This exclusive enclave within an enclave included Montana Drive from Eighteenth Street to Twenty-First Street as well as Evergreen Drive and Cedar Creek Drive for the same three block stretch. The executive houses along these three streets were all over ten thousand square feet in size. None of the lots were less than two acres.

The real Cedar Creek had been buried and paved over four years ago to prepare the way for the first phase of development in the newer part of Silverdale Park despite protests from the residents of old Silverdale Park.

"The fuckers just ignore us everyday otherwise. All you have to do to get noticed in the Breach for two minutes is get murdered."

He punched Johnny's shoulder as hard as he could. "Stupid fucker."

"Ah shit, sorry, Marco." Johnny rubbed his arm. "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"Shut-up and keep your eyes open."

Johnny looked around at the neighborhood, even lowering the window to stick his head out to check. When he ducked back in, he said, "Is it them?" He held up his home-made club.

"Be quiet and keep watch."

He exited the Camaro, crossed the street and walked back the way they'd come along Eighteenth. Every home he passed had expanses of perfect lawns and driveways providing a lengthy approach from the stone or wrought iron fences and gates to the two- and three-storey mansions. Other drives wended their way along tree-line routes and just vanished from sight before reaching their destinations.

Every home had yard lighting. Every home had illuminated driveways save one. It also had an open gate. The house had lights one inside and out. Set against the dark approach, the house appeared to hover as though it were an alien spaceship.

He didn't look around as he walked along the curving driveway. There was no point trying to see into the darkness this far from the streetlights. Coming around to the apex of the curve into the glow of the external lights at the front of the house forced him to squint until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

A woman with long, straight chestnut hair held in a ponytail opened the door within seconds of him ringing the bell. Taller than him by at least three inches, she was dressed in dark-blue tights that highlighted her muscular legs and buttocks. A sweat-stained white cotton shirt covered her shoulders and breasts, but left her midriff bare. She had little fat on her to obscure his view of her prominent stomach muscles. Every patch of skin he could see was tanned to golden-brown.

Marco held out his business card to her. "Good evening. I'm from Citadel Home Security Systems. I was working in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by to offer a home security appraisal. No charge, no obligation."

She squinted at his card. "Marco Kamren. How did you . . . ?"

"Your front gate is wide open. And if you have lights along your driveway like your neighbors do, they are either turned off or not working."

She looked over his head at the curving driveway, grunted and then smiled down at him. "That was careless of me." She stood back and opened the door wide. "Still, perhaps you could take a look at the control panel and make sure everything is working as it should."

He stopped a few steps into the entrance hall.

"It's in the gym," she said. "This way." As she took him to the back of the house to get to the stairs to the basement, she twisted and offered her hand to him. "Estelle Pearson-Brown."

He shook her hand. She had a strong grip and manicured purple nails. When she let go, he noticed the small diamond stud that pierced her left nostril. Her large blue eyes revealed confidence and maybe a hint of mischief. Estelle Pearson-Brown could be in the mood to play with him.

The question was: What game did she have in mind?

"That's a Crown Sentry door," he said. "You'd need a battering ram to get through it."

"It only locks on the other side to create a safe zone downstairs in the event of a home invasion. That's how Christopher explained it to me. Shall we go down?"

Once they entered the gym, which was brightly lit and far larger than the main floor of his house, Pearson-Brown pointed to where the control panel for the security system was set into the wall as she returned to an all-in-one workout machine. She reclined on a bench that had the head end section raised at a fifteen degree angle and began another set of bench presses.

According to the vertical stack of weights that was going up and down, she was pressing about 180 pounds. She completed her set of ten repetitions by the time he reached the control panel. She did not have to strain to complete her set.

"Is everything working as it should?" She had produced a plush pink towel and was patting first her face and then her bare midriff.

He opened the door to reveal one vertical row of sixteen paired red and green lights running down the left side of the panel. Each one included a two-inch wide LED readout beside it that displayed what the indicator lights were connected to.

"Everything's green," he said. He checked the other lights and switches and readouts. "Here it is. The switch for the driveway lights has been flipped off. And the gate has been set to manual control rather than automatic." He flipped both switches. "That should do it."

She got up from the bench and came to him. It was impossible to tell if she had implants, but her breasts were perfectly round, high and firm. There was a bit of jiggle to them as she approached. Her nipples were now erect. "I have no idea how I managed to do that. Usually I don't touch the damn thing. I leave all that stuff to Christopher." She patted her face again with the towel before letting it drop to the floor. "He designed and built this house. It's his castle, not mine."

"You have a well-stocked workout room."

"Everything in the house is well-stocked." She undid the ponytail and let her hair fall about her shoulders after a quick shake of her head and an equally quick run through it with her fingers. She then straightened her shoulders to stand as tall as she could. Her erect nipples were also pierced. "What do you think? Is this a good security system? I just demonstrated that it isn't foolproof. Christopher selected it and supervised its installation."

He closed the panel door. "I have to tell you, Mrs. Pearson-Brown. You don't need anything we can offer you. This is an excellent system."

"Call me Estelle. And that is not much of a sales pitch, Marco." She went to the refrigerator and took out two bottles of water. She offered one to him.

"We could certainly match this one. We might even be able to improve on it a bit here and there. How long have you had this system?"

"It will be three years this August. We moved in as soon as construction was complete. Frankly, Marco, it's becoming quite tedious. Christopher keeps finding things he wants done over, which means he'll do it himself, or else he just keeps fiddling with something or putting up shelves here or a wall there. I think he's changed our home theater room six times now. I've lost count of how many blasted speakers we have in there. He has these great big monstrous things towering over us along the floor like columns in a Roman temple. And he has even more in the walls and even more in the ceiling."

"There's no point to putting in an updated system at this time. This one is still pretty current and your husband probably makes sure all the software updates go through."

"Is that when it makes all those noises?"

"They are alerts, yes. I can shut them off if you want me to."

She shook her head, straightened up to display herself again and finished her water. "It's only annoying if I'm down here working out."

"Your husband probably already knows this, but in about another three years or so, you could get the whole system evaluated again. Technology is always improving on both sides of home security." He opened his bottle of water and took a sip.

"I appreciate your honesty, Marco." She took the bottle from him, took a sip and then handed it back. "How many other homes were you going to stop at?"

"I don't think any of the other ones left their front gates open."

She laughed. "You will be able to find your way out easily enough now. I'll make sure the gate is open for you, and then I'll make sure it closes this time."

He left the bottle of water on a table beside the refrigerator and followed Pearson-Brown back to the entrance hall.

Rather than escort him to the door, Pearson-Brown veered right and took two steps up the curving staircase. "Unfortunately, Marco, though you may have some free time at the moment, I do not. I have an appointment tonight that I absolutely must keep." She continued up the stairs, removing her top and turning back to show him her breasts as she did. They did not contain implants and they were as tanned as the rest of her.

Johnny was standing on the sidewalk beside the Camaro smacking the club into his hand. "I think Dante has a tail on us tonight, too. I kept seeing this grey Camry driving around the neighborhood. It must have come past three or four times, but I don't think the guy was delivering pizza."

"It wasn't Dante."

Johnny shrugged and then nodded in the direction Marco had just come from. "Find anything worthwhile?

"Yeah, but not tonight," he said and opened the door of the Camaro. "Let's go home."

TWENTY-SIX:

He reached his desk a few steps ahead of Ben Harris reaching his.

"So, what do we do today?" Harris sat down, pulled himself to his desk and turned on his computer.

Jacobsen did the same.

"I can still try to find a link between Darius McLemore and Kimberley Deering. Hell, yesterday got us nowhere, but it is a new day. Maybe Kimberley had picked up Darius on the rebound."

"Just stop right there." His desk phone rang. It was Rosalind on her own phone. "I hope it's good news."

"There is nothing new on McLemore. His throat was cut and he was left where he dropped. You are looking for a Lowchen. Both hairs are from a Lowchen, possibly from the same animal."

"And Lowchens are?"

"A very rare breed of companion dog, and also very expensive," She said. "Give them a quick Goggle before you two head out."

"Where are we heading out to?"

"To Cassidy Ratzlaff's place," she said. "He lives in the older part of Silverdale Park on Cedar Creek Drive near what's left of Cedar Creek Park. He's the president of the local chapter of the Lowchen Club of America."

"Do you have a phone number for him?"

"I can't do everything for you."

"Is he going to be home?"

"He lives in Silverdale Park. You could get lucky and catch him counting his money."

He lowered his voice. "And what about tonight?"

"What about it?" She hung up.

"When Lauren got mad at you for no apparent reason, were you ever able to figure out what you'd done or failed to do?"

"Not once," Harris said, rose from his chair and put on his overcoat. "Where to?"

Cassidy Ratzlaff was at home. He was not busy counting his money.

Harris was perusing his iPhone when Jacobsen parked the car at the curb of Cedar Creek Drive just past the gates to Ratzlaff's driveway. "He doesn't just love Lowchens. He's also very active in the LGBT community."

"That isn't relevant in this case."

"I'm just saying." Harris was out of the car first. He was the first one to turn his collar up against the hard, cold gusts of wind that had picked up. He was also first to reach the intercom at the gate, but he didn't press the call button.

Jacobsen took off his glove to push the button. A low-volume bell sounded at the gate when he did.

A man in his late-fifties appeared on the ten-inch screen in the control panel. "Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

Jacobsen held up his badge to the camera. "I'm Detective Myles Jacobsen. I called you earlier. We'd like to ask you some questions about Lowchens if you can spare us a few minutes."

"Why didn't you say so first thing?" Ratzlaff smiled before the screen turned off.

A loud buzzer sounded. The locks to the gates released and the gates swung open.

"I thought we did," Harris said and led the way along a sinuous driveway lined with palm trees and laurel hedges.

Ratzlaff's very large house only came into view once they came around the last curve in the driveway that left them looking straight at it.

"I could never afford anything like that no matter how many of this city's elite I socialize with," Harris said and adjusted his collar against another hard, cold gust of wind, "even if I were the most crooked cop on the force."

"That's not funny."

Cassidy Ratzlaff stood at the open doors wearing pastel-pink cotton pants, sandals on bare feet and a white, woolen pullover sweater. His curly ginger hair was kept short and neat. His right hand was home to two rings, an emerald one on his pinky and a gold band on his index finger. His left hand held a wedding band and an engagement ring on his ring finger to go with a large ruby ring on his middle finger. Two gold pirate earrings went through each earlobe.

"Can I see your badges again, please?"

"They haven't changed," Harris said.

"How would I know that? You didn't show me yours."

Jacobsen held up his badge for inspection. Harris took his time unfastening his overcoat and then extracting his badge from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Well, Detectives Jacobsen and Harris, if you want to know about Lowchens, you've come to exactly the right man.

Ratzlaff led them into a sitting room at the front of the house. For some reason, he felt the need to explain to them what he was wearing.

"I have a difficult time regulating my body heat. My feet are always hot even on mornings as cold as this, so I find myself eschewing socks and using sandals." He ran his hands down the front of his woolen sweater. "Yet up here I can barely stop from shivering on the warmest days of summer."

Not having any questions about his body heat issues that would be relevant to the case, he and Harris sat down at the same time, he on the chocolate-brown leather loveseat, Harris on a simple rocking chair.

"Careful, Detective Harris; that is a very valuable antique." Ratzlaff chuckled when Harris started to get up. "Stay, stay, I'm sure you will be careful enough." He clapped once. "Now, let's get down to business straight away. You have some questions for me about Lowchens, yes?

Harris, sitting perfectly still on the antique, said, "What are they?"

Ratzlaff puckered his lips and whistled one shrill note.

Two small dogs came prancing into the sitting room, one with golden fur and one with a mix of white and brown along its front and head but closer to black fur along its back and sides. They both had shaved haunches.

Harris rocked forward in the chair and leaned over to pet the smaller, golden-haired dog.

It barked at him a number of times but otherwise let him pet it.

"Are they a kind of poodle?"

"Dear me, no, Detective Harris," Ratzlaff said. "That is what is called a lion cut. You can see how shaving the hair off the haunches leaves the front with a lion's mane of wavy hair. Lowchen is German for little lion. Carmine and Rudolf are preparing for a show this weekend."

Carmine sat down next to Harris to permit him to continue petting her.

"She likes you," Ratzlaff said. "But then she is the more sociable of the two. Rudolph has been with me longer. I don't think he has quite come to terms with having to share me with a bitch. He's become a bit more standoffish. Carmine, on the other hand, will go to anybody."

Rudolph had settled on a cushion near the gas fireplace. The flame in it was set to low.

"How can I assist you, Detective Jacobsen?"

"I understand Lowchens are a rare breed."

"Indeed they are. Did you know they almost went extinct?"

"It took some effort to track down the few remaining dogs to start a breeding program."

"Yes it did. I thank heaven everyday for the efforts of Madame Bennerts and Dr. Rickerts." Ratzlaff lowered his right hand and snapped his fingers.

Rudolph came to him and sat down beside his right foot. Carmine remained beside the rocking chair.

Ratzlaff patted Rudolph's head. "She knows I was calling only Rudolf. If I clap twice, it is for her. If I whistle, I am calling both of them." He clapped twice.

Carmine scooted over to him and sat down at his left foot.

"If Lowchens are so rare, there can't be too many of them in the city."

"You are exactly right, Detective Jacobsen. There are very few Lowchen owners here."

"Is every Lowchen registered with your club?"

"All of the purebreds are, but over the past few years puppy mills have begun to spring up all over the state. Barking Mad Kennels is just such a one up in the hills northeast of here. They produce Lowchen-Terrier mixes that they try to pass off as the real thing. A very watered down aberration if you get my meaning. They will in time threaten the breed if we don't put an end to them."

"I take it these mixed breeds are not accepted by the club."

"Would you expect a Labrador-Shepherd cross to be accepted by either of those clubs?" He waved his hand. "I think not."

Rudolph returned to his cushion by the fireplace. Carmine returned to her previous spot beside the rocking chair and looked up at Harris.

"They are easily spotted for the most part, but even I have to admit that sometimes it becomes very difficult to tell the difference, especially if they have a lion cut, without a very detailed confirmation examination or even a test of their genes."

"Do you have a list of Lowchen owners?"

"What is this about?"

"Just part of an ongoing investigation," Jacobsen said. "Can we get a copy of that list?"

"It is not a long list. I can tell you who everyone is."

Jacobsen took out his pen and notepad because Carmine had jumped up onto Harris's lap and settled.

"First, there's Ward and Sammie Healy. They live just three blocks over on Tulane Crescent. It's the only cul-de-sac in Silverdale Park. Sammie is our secretary-treasurer. Ward doesn't take much interest in her two pups. They are divine little creatures, so exuberant."

"On Tulane Crescent," Jacobsen said as he wrote it down, "with two Lowchen puppies."

"Sammie lost Randolph just recently. He was Rudolph's older brother. I can tell you it devastated her. They had been so close for over ten years. Randolph never won a cup, but he took plenty of seconds and thirds in his day." Ratzlaff slapped his right buttock. "It was the dimple, you see. He'd run into a fence post when he was a rambunctious puppy. It left him with an ever so slight limp and a mark that always cost him confirmation points."

"She has two new puppies now."

"I helped her pick them out. They are beautiful. Both are bitches of the first rank. I think Sammie may be more interested in breeding Calipha and Ernestine than showing them. And let me tell you, they will be excellent dams. Just one look at them will tell anyone who knows anything about the breed that they are perfect specimens. They don't need shelves and shelves of trophies to prove that."

Harris said, "Who else owns Lowchens?"

Carmine jumped down when Harris spoke and walked over to take the cushion beside Rudolph.

"Don't take it personally, Detective Harris, but Carmine is particularly sensitive to people's voices, particularly men's voices. I am quite sure she would have remained on your lap had you remained silent."

"Who else owns Lowchens?"

"Julie owns three. She feels it's best if her babies aren't left alone. Generally speaking, Lowchens do not like being on their own for long stretches. When it was just Rudolph and I, he used to go mad if I was away at work all day. He's much calmer with Carmine to keep him company. But just to be sure, I do all my work from home now unless I absolutely have to go out."

"What's Julie's last name?"

"It was Bechtold. I haven't seen her for a while now. I'd say a year or more. She doesn't come to the shows anymore. She keeps Jingles, Tinkerbell and Aladdin as companions only these days. I believe she may have married, but she may have kept her own name." His voice trailed off. "I just don't know."

"Where does she live?"

"Sorry. She used to live in one of those towers, but I have no idea where she could be now. I don't think the council would let her have three dogs. The limit is usually only one. I'm afraid I don't have a current phone number for her either."

"Do you send Rudolph and Carmine out for grooming?"

"Goodness no, she comes here."

"Who?"

"Willa Kamren, a delightful young woman, barely over twenty. She always has a smile for me and my two babies. Lovely complexion, a creamy smooth light-chocolate shade that always gets my sweet tooth craving," he said with a sigh. "She is simply wonderful with Rudy and Carmine."

He and Harris glanced at each other.

"Willa Kamren? Where does she live?"

"She lives near that community center in the Breach." He put his hand over his mouth for a second or two. "Let me think. Where is it? It's a street with a name not a number." He sighed. "Good heavens, I can barely remember anything anymore."

Harris displayed to Ratzlaff a map of the Hollows on his phone that was focused on the community center where Kayla Bartlett worked.

Ratzlaff tapped the screen. "That's the one there. Daisy Street." He slapped his forehead. "Of course it is, you old fool. I must be losing my mind." He held his hands out as if presenting them with a display of something. "She always tells me she lives in a flower garden." He tapped Harris's phone screen again. "See? All the streets in that neighborhood are named after flowers."

"Can you think of anyone else?"

"There are a few that don't warrant your consideration because they have one of those derivative mixed breeds. Just between you and me, I prefer not to have anything to do with them." Again he covered his mouth, this time also bowing his head as though in deep thought before looking at Harris. "The last one is Mikhail Baranowski."

"Where does he live?"

Ratzlaff waved the question away. "I haven't the faintest idea. He was such a horrible brute, quit a violent man. To my way of thinking, he had become far too friendly with those darker elements I mentioned earlier. We had a falling out over that." He displayed his wedding band and engagement ring. "I held out hope for reconciliation for God knows the longest time, but. . . ." He took a deep breath and then shrugged. "I couldn't tell you where he is now."

Jacobsen and Harris glanced at each other. Only Harris shrugged.

"As I said, it isn't a long list."

"Would you mind if we took samples of hairs from Rudolph and Carmine?"

"Why? Don't you need a warrant first?"

"All we need at this point in the investigation is your cooperation. Think of it as a process of elimination."

Harris said, "This is one show you don't want your dogs to win."

"I am sure that would be funny if I knew what you were investigating." Ratzlaff shook his head. "You should have come by yesterday while Willa was shaving them." He shook his head again before whistling that shrill, painful note.

Rudolph and Carmine came to him. He patted Rudolph on the top of his head, scratched him under his jaw and then caressed him along his right side back to where the mane ended. He plucked a few hairs out and handed them to Jacobsen. He then repeated the procedure with Carmine. Neither dog seemed to mind.

"They are use to it," he said.

Jacobsen placed the hair samples into separate evidence bags and labelled them with the dog's names.

"Is this about those fraudulent puppy farms? I wouldn't be surprised if it is."

"We have to keep everything quiet for now. Thank you for your help, Mr. Ratzlaff."

Once they were settled back in the car, Harris said, "I don't know which ones to feel sorrier for, poodles or those shivering little mutts."

"I'll take Willa Kamren. See if you can find that horrible brute, Mikhail Baranowski."

TWENTY-SEVEN:

Willa Kamren was finishing with two small, very hairy dogs and their woman owner in the living room when Jacobsen entered through the front door because the sign on the door told him Kamren Pet Grooming was open and because Willa Kamren had told him over the phone to come right in once he arrived.

The woman with the two well-behaved dogs handed over cash to Willa Kamren after smiling at Jacobsen.

He nodded back and stayed out of the way to let customer and vendor complete their transaction. He then let the woman and her two obedient dogs leave through the front door.

She did inspect him for any sign of a pet before exiting. Her smile diminished a bit when she saw he was alone.

"How can I help you, Detective Jacobsen?" Kamren did have smooth skin the color of light chocolate. She also had a slender frame and the firm muscle tone of someone not only in their prime, but who was also physically active.

"How did you know?"

"Your phone call and the fact that you do not have a cat or dog with you," she said, came to him and brushed off his shoulder. "You don't have dandruff or hairs all over you either. No matter how meticulous a pet owner is, they always miss some hairs or dander. I took a ride the other day, stopped for a break after about ten miles and there were two hairs clinging to my handlebars. They get everywhere."

"I don't see any hair or dander in your living room."

She laughed. "That is so very polite of you, but it's there. It's all through my house."

"You groom Cassidy Ratzlaff's Lowchens."

"This way," she said and led them toward the back of her tiny house. "I converted the one bedroom on this floor into my salon. And, yes, I do Rudolph and Carmine."

"Have you been grooming pets for long?"

She took them to the right at the end of the hall, past the stairs to the basement and then into her salon. "I sleep downstairs. And from the way you framed your question, I will assume you have some concern about my age. In other words, would someone like Cassidy Ratzlaff have confidence in a groomer who is only twenty-one years old?"

"He seemed to be very proud and very particular about his two dogs."

"I wouldn't have put it like that."

Her salon had hair all over the place, most of it was on the floor scattered around the padded table where Kamren would place the animal to groom it.

"Looks messy, doesn't it?" Kamren was six inches shorter than he was. "That probably makes you wonder if Ratzlaff would bring his precious pair here. The answer is, no, he wouldn't. He would never bring them here because of what he called 'contamination risk'. He wouldn't tell me specifically what type of contamination he was worried about, though. I had to do Rudolph and Carmine at his house. Did he show you his salon?"

"We stayed in his sitting room."

"Then I can tell you he wasn't impressed with you, Detective Jacobsen, if he kept you in the sitting room. That is his dogs' room." She spun around with her arms out. "It's three times bigger than this and much better stocked for only two dogs. One day, I hope to open a shop in the new community center complex once it's completed. Then maybe I'll be able to compete with him."

"You gave Rudolph and Carmine a lion cut yesterday in preparation for a dog show this weekend. How did that go?"

"Cass was a pain in the ass the whole time. That's how it went. He hovered while I worked and he couldn't stop yapping in my ear. It's still ringing." She covered her left ear for a moment. "At one point, he actually took over the lion cut of Carmine when he wanted to clearly demonstrate to me exactly how it should be shaped as if it was my first time doing it."

"It isn't why I'm here, but how did that go?"

"He botched it. I would not be surprised if only Rudolph shows this weekend. Carmine will be relegated to display only. Cass will come up with some excuse for not showing her that will not include details of how he botched the works on her right haunches so badly I couldn't fix it."

"He won't take any chances?"

"God, no, she'd never pass confirmation. And that's too bad because she's a better example of the breed than Rudolph is. I know he won't show her, as a matter of fact."

"Why?"

"I would have been her runner. Carmine and I work well together. But he told me on my way out yesterday that he wouldn't need me. He can be such an asshole at times, otherwise and overall, though, I must concede that he is generous and kind, a very pleasant person to have as a customer most of the time. I'm sure he'll bring them to my shop in the center when it opens."

"Did you give any other lion cuts to Lowchens in preparation for this weekend's show?"

"Sammie was here about a month ago for a general trim for Randolph, but I believe he passed away shortly after that. He was pretty sickly when he was here, but he was a brave little soldier right to the end. Still, I felt so sorry for him."

"Ratzlaff told me she has two female Lowchen puppies now, Calipha and Ernestine."

"I haven't seen either of them yet, but I'm sure I will soon enough."

"He thinks Mrs. Healy might only breed them."

"She can make good money doing that if she can mate them to sires with a good pedigree. The club has been concerned for the past few years about mixed-breeds being passed off as pure."

"Mrs. Healy would be the only other Lowchen owner who would seek a lion cut."

"I haven't seen Julie and her three for over a year. I heard she got married." She brushed some hair off the padded table. "Did Cass mention Mikhail?"

"He did. He also displayed the rings for me."

"That was not a good match right from the beginning. They were not suited for each other. Cass thinks he likes rugged, but he's a bit too dainty for that."

"He claimed Baranowski was a brute."

She laughed very loudly. "I was a brute yesterday when I botched Carmine's lion cut. That's Cass to the bone."

"He also described Baranowski as prone to violence."

"He was in fine petulant form this morning, wasn't he? If you call a heated argument over what the proper set of cufflinks are for an evening out, then Mikhail was prone to violence. Anyone who can best Cass in an argument, which Mikhail did relentlessly, is prone to violence. That is why it didn't work out for them."

"Have you seen Mikhail lately?"

She brushed more hair from the table. "Not since they broke up. Did he tell you what that was all about?"

"Mikhail was too interested in the darker elements of Lowchen breeding."

"They wouldn't be true Lowchens if they were mixed-breeds. Mikhail didn't care, however. He just loved dogs and he wanted to rescue any that he thought were being abused. That was his true interest in the darker elements of puppy mills. What is this all about?"

"We found dog hairs at a crime scene. They have been identified as Lowchen."

"Oh, God, was it Kimmy?" Kamren propped herself up by putting both hands on the table. "God, no."

"You knew Kimberley Deering?"

"She was my best friend. We sang in the choir together. I've had a difficult time keeping going since I heard about her. . . . I've visited Heather every chance I get."

"You have the same last name as her boyfriend."

"Of course I do. Marco is my half-brother like Kayla is his half-sister. Marco and I share a father. Kayla and Marco share a mother."

"Sounds complicated."

"It isn't really. My father was in a relationship with Marco's mother before he married my mother. Marco's mother went on to marry Kayla's father."

"So Marco is. . . ."

"The bastard child, yes," she said. "Or so he claimed when he looked me up a couple of years ago to see if we were related. We shared our stories. That is to say I shared my story with Marco. I didn't get very much from him in return other than confirmation that we shared a father."

"You knew Kimberley and Marco were together."

"I introduced them. Kimmy had come back with me after a Sunday choir practice. Marco was waiting at my front door." She giggled a bit. "The rain was coming down in buckets. He looked like a miserable homeless mutt all hunkered down against the downpour. I dried him as best I could in this very room. He stayed for dinner. I was shocked. They talked. She loved his Camaro. He gave Kimmy a ride home. That was the start of it."

"You know Heather Deering and you knew Kimberley and Marco were together, but you never told Heather who Kimmy's boyfriend was."

"You do not talk about Marco behind his back unless you are required to talk to a police detective. And Kimberley had asked me to keep quiet about their relationship to everyone. It was what both of them wanted."

"Were you shocked by their break up?"

"I thought they were good together. They certainly seemed to be when they were here. Kimmy was really happy. Marco was only slightly more talkative, but he seemed happy, too. I thought it was going somewhere. Then, poof, it was all over."

"Did Kimberley talk to you about that?"

Kamren began preparing her products and tools for her next appointment. "Is Marco a suspect?"

"Right now we're chasing down every lead, getting all the background we can on Kimberley's life."

"That won't help you in the end because Kimberley didn't know who killed her."

"What makes you say that?"

"Everyone who knew Kimberley loved her. That's just the way it was. And Marco did too, regardless of what he will or will not tell you." She set two hair clippers side by side, a black one and a cream one. The cream one was bigger. "Even after they split up, he still helped her out with money. It was mostly for Heather."

"He gave her envelopes of money."

"I don't know how he gave her money. I don't know how much he gave her."

"You didn't answer my question. Did Kimberley talk to you about the breakup?"

"I thought she might, but she never did. She did come visit me often after the break-up. We loved being miserable together. But she would just smile, grimace really, and shake her head if I asked her a direct question. Eventually, I just stopped."

"Did Marco talk to you about the breakup?"

"He came around twice after they split, but I'm sure even you can answer that question."

"Marco reached out to find you, his other half-sister. Do you know Kayla?"

"He introduced us."

"That is a rather short answer."

"Yes it is."

"How close is your relationship with Marco?"

"Not as close as I'd like it to be, but I'm not sure Marco can get all that close to anyone. That's why I was so shocked when he and Kimmy hit it off so easily." Kamren set bottles of shampoo next to the clippers. "Marco tracked me down, yes. He comes by every now and then. He even helped me get my business going. He's been kind to me, but my impression of him is he's done such a good job of sealing himself off that I just have to accept whatever I get from him and nothing more. If I want, I can imagine there is something more inside him for me, but that is on me if I do."

"When did you last see Kimberley?"

"That night," she said and her voice caught. "We were at choir practice." Tears dropped from her eyes. "We kissed each other good-bye and I left her behind at the center. I was so tired, I just had to. . . ." She started bawling. "Oh, God, Kimmy, I miss you so much."

"I am sorry, Willa. Please forgive me, but I must ask. Would Kimberley have ever come here to this room?"

"All the time," she mumbled, then took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "She'd often help me out on weekends. She was just that kind of friend." She fetched some facial tissue from a box on the top of a metal filing cabinet. "You found those hairs on her?"

He nodded.

"I can't be one hundred percent certain about this, but I do not believe she would have picked them up here. The only Lowchens I've groomed are Rudolph and Carmine, and I've gone to their house to do them. It's certainly possible I brought some hairs back with me, but I don't believe there would have been very many. The chances of Kimmy picking up one or two from here would have been remote. Did you find hair from any other species?"

"We did not."

"That tells me she is even less likely to have picked them up here." She pointed around the room. "She would have been more likely to pick up hairs from other species in this room than from Lowchens."

"Thank you for your help, Willa. I do apologize for having to ask you these questions."

She blew her nose. "Don't apologize for doing your job. You just need to catch that bastard and make him pay for what he did."

He called Harris on the way back to the car. "Any luck?"

"I've just finished with Sammie Healy. She hasn't seen Ratzlaff for at least six months. She says this branch of the club is essentially dead. There is no money in the coffers. They don't have any meetings anymore. She thinks Julie Bechtold did get married and moved away. She had nothing to do with Baranowski, not before or after."

"What did she mean by that?"

"That's all she would tell me. I did get samples from her mutts. At least those two aren't freezing their butts off like his two."

"Kamren doesn't know where Bechtold is either. She also doesn't know where Baranowski might be."

"I might have a possible location for him. I'm on my way to Barking Mad Kennels."

"It is possible Kimberley picked up the hairs here, but Kamren thinks it is unlikely without picking up hairs from other breeds as well."

"And what are the chances only the Lowchen hairs stuck to her?"

He called Rosalind from inside the car. "I just talked to Willa Kamren. She's a pet groomer. She has groomed Lowchens. She also knew Kimberley Deering. They were best friends and in the choir together. She introduced Deering to her brother."

"Another sister? But neither Marco nor Kayla told you about her."

"Both Kayla and Willa have told me that is life with Marco. They don't tell anyone anything about him."

"Is there an 'or else' threat implied in that understanding?"

"I don't think so, just two sisters understanding how intensely sealed off and private their brother is. Willa is the only person Kimberley and Marco regularly visited socially as a couple."

"Is it possible Deering picked up the hairs from Kamren's shop?"

"Kamren hasn't had any Lowchens at her business for a while now, but she could have brought the hairs back with her from Ratzlaff's place, which would have made them available to attach themselves to Deering when she visited."

"I still believe the hairs come from the killer or killers. Darius McLemore had the same hairs on him."

"But he could have picked them up from the room at Starways after they fell off Deering?"

"We vacuumed the whole suite thoroughly."

"I'm sure of that, but you know yourself that you still might not have gathered up everything. Your crew could have brushed the hairs loose as they passed and then McLemore picked them up."

"They came from the killers, I'm sure of that."

"I hope you're right, but I'm beginning to wonder if we aren't heading for a dead end." He spotted Kamren standing in the open doorway watching him. He waved at her. "Why did you say what you said about tonight?"

"Do you know what you did?"

"Honestly, I don't."

"Why am I not surprised? You lowered your voice when you asked me about tonight."

"Ben was in the office with me."

"I don't care. I'm tired of all this secrecy nonsense. It's going to get out eventually if it hasn't already."

"No one knows. We've been careful."

"You work in a police station full of detectives, you dope. It doesn't matter how careful we are."

"Sorry." Willa Kamren had gone back inside her home. "About tonight, then?"

"Yes, yes, but you better be prepared to talk about us."

"I am absolutely."

"And no more dithering," she growled.

"Ditto on that, too," he said and winced.

"And you'd better be prepared to listen to what I have to say." She hung up.

TWENTY-EIGHT:

Mayor Brent Turpin banged the gavel on the table. "I call the meeting of the Hollows Redevelopment Project Committee to order. Representing city council are councillors Wyatt O'Neal, Coralee Ashton and myself, Brent Turpin, Mayor. Representing city administration are Emily Tucker, Director of Social Services Programs, and Austin Knight, Director of City Planning.

Kayla said, "Representing the Hollows Community Advisory Council are Christopher Brown, Joseph Haussmann and Frieda Haussmann and Kayla Bartlett, Director of the Hollows Community Center."

"Thank you, Kayla," Turpin said and took a sheet of paper proffered to him by Austin Knight. "The first item on the agenda is the budget for the project." He perused the paper. "As the result of cost overruns, increases in interest charges on project loans, and limited public funding allocations, the project has already gone twenty-two percent over its original budget estimates."

Coralee Ashton took her turn reviewing the one-page report that Knight had prepared for the meeting. "The project can still proceed, but we must seriously consider reducing its scale to cut costs where we can."

O'Neal handed his copy of the project's revised cost projections to Kayla. "These projections are singularly pessimistic. The project can still come in on budget and on time if there are no more delays."

Ashton waved her copy about as she said, "These are realistic revisions, Wyatt. The cost of borrowing has gone up a quarter of a point since the original budget was approved. There is a high risk of another rate increase approximately a month after construction begins. We could be looking at more than thirteen million dollars of additional cost over the duration of the construction."

"It hasn't happened yet. And those estimates are worst-case scenarios. The total project is just as likely to come in within the plus or minus range of the original estimates even if the interest rates go up."

"I don't think so, Wyatt," Coralee dropped her copy of the revised estimates onto the table and then slammed her hand down onto it. "There is real risk here."

"I do not think you need worry about those estimates getting away from you," Joseph said. A friendly smile accompanied his neutral tone of voice. "I'm sure we all have them memorized by now."

Turpin tapped the gavel. "The point here is we must consider all options available to us going forward to keep the project on track."

"What options are there?" Frieda didn't smile even a little bit.

Ashton held her sheet of paper in place with only her right index finger. "Mayor Turpin and I, and indeed our Director of City Planning have grave concerns about the viability of the Hollows Redevelopment Project as it is now configured. The money just doesn't add up." She shrugged and smiled back at Frieda. "Something has to give."

"I will repeat my question. What options are there?"

Turpin said, "If we can scale back the size of some of the housing units, we would still be capable of providing temporary shelter for the homeless and affordable housing for the poorer residents of the Hollows."

"Silverdale Park isn't having the same financial problems."

"No, Kayla, it isn't, but it also isn't anything like the Hollows project."

Austin Knight stood six feet tall and weighed about 220-235 pounds. He had a strong jaw line that included a jutting chin covered in a thick sandy-brown goatee to go with his short, neat head of thick sandy-brown hair. Combined with crooked eyebrows that naturally pinched together at the top of his nose, any smile he made inside that goatee appeared contemptuous of whoever was receiving it. Known as a gym rat, he was dedicated to strength training. His biceps and forearms filled out the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Massive, hard thighs did the same to his pant legs, as did his calves. The tie around his thick neck couldn't help but leave the impression it was trying to strangle him. His hands were wide. His fingers were thick to the point of creating the illusion they were stubby though they were the appropriate length.

Kayla thought she felt the floor vibrate when he stood up and produced another report that contained many more pages than the one he'd provided for the Hollows project. "Silverdale Park is a completely private venture. It isn't shackled by limited public funding or stifling rent controls or arbitrary building codes and requirements."

"Those codes and requirements are there for the very people the project is designed to house and protect. I wouldn't call them arbitrary."

"We all understand that, Kayla," Knight said. "But you brought up the comparison. I am only pointing out that Silverdale Park has the economic flexibility to adapt to cost fluctuations. The Hollows has no such flexibility. Its public funding is limited and yet its costs are continuing to rise, as are the restrictions being placed on the developments slated for the area."

Coralee said, "The city, state and federal funding is in place, but there is no more to be found there. The governor has assured me the state's contribution will be there if we can get the project underway as scheduled. This constant bickering over modest proposals for change could jeopardize those assurances."

"We are not proposing any changes. No changes, no delays."

Christopher raised his copy of the report. "I can't agree with these updated cost projections. I haven't experienced the increases projected here even though, I dare say, we developers encounter more fluctuating interest rates with our short-term loans than the fully funded project in the Hollows will. And for what it's worth, I am not having any problems with the building codes and requirements in place for this project either. They serve a purpose for the unique goals the project is trying to achieve."

"Nonetheless," Ashton said, "one option available to us is to bring in more private investment to buffer the Hollows project from the potential financial hardships these projections could lead to."

"Private investment," Frieda said, "will mean more people wanting to have a say in what gets built in the Hollows."

"We can hardly expect investors to just write us cheques without some assurances."

"I did," Joseph said. He then crumpled up his single sheet of paper. "These are vulnerable people. Few of them have any sort of income other than social assistance. The main goal of the project is to provide them with safe and stable housing, access to proper health care and a chance to turn their lives around. We are trying to bring dignity back to a community that has been forgotten and neglected for decades."

"Everyone here is well aware of the project's mission statement, Joseph."

"Yes, Coralee, and not one of us should ever forget it." Joseph looked first to Frieda for support, got it in the form of a nod, and then he looked at each person sitting around the table."We should also never forget that when the project was announced and the details of its goals were released, this committee was not inundated with investors offering contributions in keeping with those goals. Rather, we were bombarded with offers that came with stipulations and alternative plans attached. Your own analysis of those proposals concluded that the project would fail to live up to its mission statement if those contributions had been accepted with the conditions attached to them."

Turpin tapped the gavel again. "I believe there is sufficient flexibility here to reconsider increases in private investment as well as any suggestions that come with them."

"No, there isn't," Frieda said.

"Inflexibility at this point is just as much a threat to the project as rising costs. If this becomes an all or nothing gambit, we could lose everything we've worked so hard to achieve. Where would those people in need be then?"

Knight gathered up his two reports. "If you will excuse me, I have another meeting to attend." He then said to Bartlett, "These are not just projections. We are seeing the costs rise on a daily basis."

"That's because the project just keeps running up against one delay after another. We will soon be outside the start-date window to finish on time. The project must start no later than next Monday."

"The rising costs are real, Miss Bartlett." Knight nodded to everyone else and left.

Turpin shuffled through some papers to get to the one he wanted. "Let's turn our attention to the evacuation of the Legacy Court Mobile Home Park and the three apartment buildings with mold in them."

Joseph cleared his throat. "Before you get too deep into that discussion, Brent, I should tell you I took the liberty of sending a copy of your report to Dr. Blake Rea at the university. He should have his own report ready in three days. He has volunteered to work through the weekend to complete his review."

"We cannot afford to delay taking action."

Ashton said, "We can shelter them in the temporary modular units until the cleanup is complete."

Christopher asked, "How many people are we talking about moving?"

"Not that many," she said. "Eighty-five percent of Legacy Court is already empty."

"That still leaves forty-two residents," Kayla said. "And if we evacuate the three apartment buildings, too, we could be looking at close to four hundred people."

"We only have seventy-five TMC units ready."

"That should be plenty. Surely the evacuees wouldn't be expecting to have one unit all to themselves."

"Where would we put them?"

"Some could go to the site for the new hospital. Its construction is not due to start until next spring. We would have them all relocated before that. The rest could be set up at the Port Gates."

Frieda slapped the table. "No one is going to stay in the Toxic Lands."

Turpin tapped his gavel. "Those fears are unsubstantiated, Frieda. Two independent studies have confirmed the Port Gates site is free of any toxic contamination. Dr. Rea was the author of one of those studies and peer reviewed the other one."

Christopher said, "Brent, it would take seven to ten days just to get the seventy-five units to whatever site we use and then put them all together. And then there's the issue of getting power and water to them."

"I don't think we have to get that elaborated, Christopher," Coralee said. "An alternative would be to set up tents for everyone. We can then centralize a water source, food distribution, power and sanitation for the site."

"And turn everyone into a refugee from their own community," Kayla said. "When this project was conceived, we all congratulated ourselves and bragged that it would become a template for other cities to follow or at bare minimum use as a baseline for how to deal with similar conditions in their communities. If we keep whittling away at it our great plan will become a failure and a joke."

Ashton said, "We are hardly whittling the project to any degree that would prevent it from accomplishing what it is supposed to do."

After another ten minutes of futile circular debate, highlighted by Turpin's wild-card declaration, the meeting ended with only the agreement that she and her other community advisory council members would discuss the threats and options to the rest of the council at this evening's meeting in the center and canvas them for their opinions.

Frieda said to her, "I will not let them eliminate any of the playgrounds or the community recreation center."

Wyatt said, "Brent is going to use his declared protection of the new hospital construction for the Hollows to take the higher ground. We are not going to have much wiggle room to oppose his other recommendations to reduce the size of the project to control costs to guarantee the hospital gets built."

She asked, "What is Austin Knight getting out of this? He comes from old money. Why is he even working at city hall?"

Joseph hugged her. "He likes to play with people and things. Frieda and I have to go." He hugged her again, hugged Emily and shook hands with Christopher and Wyatt. "We will talk to some people, but the reality is there are not many other sources of unconditional private funding out there for the project to tap into as it is configured now. I have to concede that Brent is right on that point."

Her group of like-minded colleagues dispersed, leaving her alone in the front lobby of city hall. Outside, at the edge of the front plaza along Main Street, a homeless man huddled down against a concrete planter that contained a withered Rhododendron. He suddenly ducked his head and turned up the collar of his tattered and dirty coat against a gust of wind.

TWENTY-NINE:

The main floor of Chadwick-Amherst's new mansion required eleven of the twelve rooms on it to be wired for the intercom and the smaller, simpler security system control panels than the main ones placed in the upstairs hallway and Chadwick-Amherst's office.

Marco worked in the office.

"I've finished the pool room, the kitchen, the dining room and the entrance hall, "Johnny said when he entered the office. He then dropped his toolbox onto their makeshift plywood table.

"He calls it the billiards room."

"Whatever. How's it going in here?"

"Another thirty minutes for me. What about the living room?"

"He calls it the great room. The box is up behind the bar where he wants it. I just need to run the cable from the dining room junction into it."

"That should also take about a half-hour."

"Finished by four, then," Reynolds said. "I'll see you out front in thirty."

Chadwick-Amherst hadn't dropped by for the first time in three days of working at his dream home. There was no parade of prospective customers coming through to see the system being installed and listening to Chadwick-Amherst's perfected presentation, which hardly varied as much as one word each time he recited it except for his 'spontaneous' quips about their homes becoming impenetrable fortresses. He rotated between three practiced quips to keep his presentations fresh.

The result of being left alone for the day was a completed installation. They would never have to set foot inside Chadwick-Amherst's pride and joy again unless they wanted to steal something from it.

His phone began ringing as he dropped the last screwdriver into his toolbox. He didn't recognize the phone number being displayed.

"Hello?"

"Hello," the woman said. "Is this Marco Kamren?"

"Who am I talking to?"

"I'm Heather Deering . . . Kimberley's mother."

"I'm Marco."

A woman in the background said something to Deering that he couldn't make out.

"Marco, my sister and I are going over the plans for Kimberley's funeral service. We'd like to discuss them with you."

"I'm sure I can't do any more than you and your sister are already doing."

"Please, Marco" Again Heather Deering's sister said something he couldn't discern. She sounded agitated and cajoling. "Please, Marco, I'd . . . we would like to talk to you about Kimberley." Deering's voice began quavering. "I need to know. . . ."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Marco."

Reynolds stood in the office doorway. "Was it that cop again?"

"Can you lock up here? I have to go somewhere."

"Sure thing, Marco. Are we still on for later?"

"I'll see you at midnight."

*****

He had never met Heather Deering, but Kimberley had showed him a picture of her when they'd talked about visiting her together. The slender woman with the wide-open, shifting eyes and the puckered scowl who opened the front door at 123 Taylor Street wasn't Heather.

"You said you'd be only twenty minutes."

"Haitiah," he said as he entered the house.

"We're all in the living room." She led the way.

Heather Deering sat in her chair, her two canes leaning against the left armrest. It was a perfect match of the photograph Kimberley had showed him.

Dorothy Baker sat at the end of the sofa closest to Heather. Angela and Bobby Bynum played with their toys on the floor only a few feet away. Tea and cookies were set out on a metal tray resting on the coffee table.

Dorothy said to him, "Why didn't you tell me about Kimberley? Why did you only say that you two weren't . . . ?"

Heather reached over and took hold of Dorothy's hand. "Please sit down, Marco. Would you like some tea?"

"I'm good, thanks." He sat down beside Dorothy.

Angela and Bobby stopped playing and came to him. Angela came up on his lap to hug and kiss him. Bobby held onto his pant leg below the knee with one hand while he punched his thigh with his other.

Angela asked him, "Where is Auntie Kimmy?"

Dorothy blew her nose. "I haven't been able to tell them."

Haitiah said, "How can we? They just lost. . . ."

He adjusted Angela on his lap and then helped Bobby climb up and settle onto his other lap. "Aunt Kimmy is gone like your mother."

Angela's voice became very faint. "Did we do something bad?"

Dorothy stroked Angela's hair. "Sweetheart, why would you say something like that?"

"We loved mommy and she left us. We loved Auntie Kimmy and she left us."

"Something took your mother from you. Someone took Kimberley from you. They both loved you and Bobby very much. Neither one of them wanted to leave you."

"Who took Auntie Kimmy away?"

"We don't know yet."

Angela hugged him hard. "You won't let anything or anyone take you away from us, will you, Marco?"

Bobby sniffed and leaned against him. He was a kid who bawled or threw tantrums when things didn't go his way. He became very quiet when he was upset like he was now.

Marco's shirt was getting damp along his chest and his collar where the two children rested their heads.

"When is the service?"

"It will be Sunday at one o'clock," Heather said. "Will you come?"

"I will be there."

"Marco," Dorothy said, "Heather has a number of options for how to proceed with the service."

"You do what's right for Kimberley. I'll take care of the rest."

"Thank you, Marco."

Heather drank the last of her tea. She then struggled to get her cup back onto the tray. Haitiah had to take it from her to complete the task.

"She seemed so happy while you two were together. Was it a good relationship?"

"I thought it was."

Haitiah said, "Why did it come to an end then? Kimberley wouldn't say anything about it."

"All I can tell you is that the split was by mutual agreement."

Heather took hold of her canes in preparation to get up. "Did Kimberley mean anything to you, Marco? Did you have feelings for her? Did you care for her?"

He settled back on the sofa. Angela and Bobby had fallen asleep in his embrace. "I did."

THIRTY:

Jacobsen stopped at the curb in front of Rosalind's house and put his phone to his ear.

Harris said, "I visited Barking Mad Kennels. They claim to offer purebred Lowchens, Beagles and Jack Russell Terriers. The owner, Bridget Lavoie, claimed not to know Ratzlaff, Healy or Baranowski. She only has terriers and beagles at the moment. She also claims she is considering getting out of the Lowchen breeding part of it because it is far too exclusive and fussy."

"Get your samples to Rosalind tomorrow."

"They are already on their way. Ros told me where to send them. Is Willa related to Marco?"

"She's his half-sister, too. I'll fill you in tomorrow."

"See you then."

He backed the car onto the driveway, checked the mirrors to see if Ros was at the door—she wasn't—and then got out, bringing the bottle of red wine and the dozen roses with him. The front door was unlocked. He still knocked lightly before entering.

The table was set. The meal was ready.

He placed the bottle and roses on the table and went to Ros in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I was hoping I'd be able to help." He kissed the back of her neck.

She turned around in his embrace and kissed him. Her mouth opened to his tongue. Her hand went to his groin and caressed him. A guttural moan vibrated from her along his tongue. When she let up on the kiss, she lowered herself to her knees and kissed where her hand had been, lingering and teasing and getting exactly the reaction from him she wanted. She then stood up and turned around to permit him to undo the apron.

"We don't want dinner to get cold." She entered the dining room.

He opened the wine while Rosalind placed the roses in a vase and then put some roast potatoes on her plate. He took a scoop of corn and some peas while she took a slice of chicken breast from the serving plate.

"Comfortable?" She took a sip of wine.

"I was until you asked me that." He adjusted himself on the chair and took a sip of wine. "Ben sent off the hair samples."

"Good. I advised Dr. Folger they'd be getting more. Todd should have the results witin a day or two at most, probably sooner."

"We have hair from Ratzlaff's two, Rudolph and Carmine, and from the two pups belonging to Sammie Healy, Calipha and Ernestine. But we haven't tracked down Julie Bechtold and her three. She got married and may have changed her last name, but no one knows what it could be. We've also had no luck finding Mikhail Baranowski and however many he may have, some of which may not be purebreds."

"Just be thankful there aren't that many. The hair could have come from a stray. There is no telling how many of them live in the Breach. Or it could have come from one of the dogs living with the homeless. What chance would we have of finding someone then?" She finished her wine. "Could Ratzlaff be one of the killers?"

"Ratzlaff and Baranowski working together you mean? Willa Kamren confirmed that their engagement broke off and Baranowski left. Ben went out to Barking Mad Kennels based on a tip. The owner claims not to know any of the Lowchen owners in the city. She also didn't have any Lowchen puppies on site, only terriers and beagles. She is considering giving up on Lowchen breeding."

"She could be stalling if she is one of the killers. What if she and Baranowski are working together? A cop shows up asking about such a rare breed. If she's sharp, and if she is one of the killers, she might suspect a hair has been found. With Ben asking about Lowchen owners, he may have inadvertently tipped her off."

"I don't think so." He poured out what was left of the wine into Rosalind's glass.

"Didn't you want your share?"

"You get it all tonight. What makes you think at least one of the killers could be a woman?"

"I was only presenting a possible scenario. Three of the five people associated with Lowchens are women. What makes you think at least one of them couldn't be?"

"I haven't formed an opinion one way or the other yet."

"We are both convinced there are two and you're sure Marco Kamren isn't one of them."

"Everything I am hearing tells me he had as much affection for Kimberley as he is capable of having. Both of his sisters have told me that one way or another."

"But Kayla didn't tell you about Willa and Willa wasn't forthcoming about Kayla when you asked about her."

"He shares a mother with Kayla Bartlett and a father with Willa Kamren. Kamren runs a pet grooming shop out of her house in the Flower Garden. Not only that, both Kayla and Willa know Heather Deering, but neither of them told her Kimberley's boyfriend was their half-brother. I take that to mean neither one of them wants to risk alienating their brother by betraying his privacy."

"Even to his girlfriend's mother? How are you going to penetrate barriers like that?"

"I might not have to. Now, what about us?"

"Putting on a brave face, are we?" She drank half the wine. "We are two intelligent, mature, sensible adults. I would even concede that we are both realists."

"Right off, you're making us out to be boring."

"No deflections allowed tonight. You're here to listen to me. That was our agreement." She finished the wine. "But our relationship has made both of us overly cautious and secretive." She ran her finger through her glass and then licked it.

"I can open another bottle."

"Don't change the subject. Besides, then you will just claim I slurred my words or that you don't remember what we talked about."

"Realistically, I'm too intelligent, mature and sensible to do that."

"Not listening to me or bordering on becoming intolerably annoying is also not permitted tonight."

"Please, do continue."

"I can no longer understand or accept the need to keep up the pretense. I'm not sure I ever did understand your concern. Okay, that's not completely true."

"Do not go into shock, but I agree with you. I'm beginning to feel very foolish about continuing to do something that's bound to fail eventually. What do you suggest?"

"If you accept the position of Precinct Captain, then you are no longer directly involved with investigations; therefore, there is no longer any need to concern yourself about any possible conflict with us working together."

"Do we reveal our relationship before I accept the position or after? Besides, I haven't officially been offered it. I am one of three candidates under consideration."

"Besides, there is no official department policy against our relationship in the first place. The only real limitation is that couples can't be partnered on the job or have one directly superior to the other. We don't fit into either criterion."

"But every relationship is still subject to review. We would still have to get what amounts to a stamp of approval from the Police Commissioner's Office. And we have already spent time concealing our relationship."

"We've been seeing each other for only three months. We were in the early stages. We didn't know what to make of it. We didn't know how serious it might become. But we know now, right, Myles?"

"You should be a detective."

"Maybe I should be Precinct Captain."

"That would definitely put us in conflict."

"It's okay if I have to answer to you but not the other way round."

"You know as well as I do that you don't answer directly to any precinct captain. You and your crew are left alone for the most part to do your crime scene and forensic work for the whole department. Your supervision comes from the commissioner's office. Gail is effectively just a communications link. "

"That's because Gail is a smart precinct captain. We girls stick together."

"Now I get it. She goes upstairs and you two conspire to get me where you can both keep watch on me. I am very touched."

"I'm going to touch you in your right eye. Try keeping that a secret." She placed her hands flat on the table. "Gail did mention to me, however, that she would like to see you as precinct captain when she moves on. She can work with you."

"You're making that up."

"I am not."

"Yes you are."

Rosalind picked up the wine bottle. "I can leave a mark where it doesn't show. Then you can keep that secret, too."

"What if Bryce gets the position? Or Nick?"

"They won't."

"Gail told you that, too, I suppose."

"She did, as a matter of fact."

"So, tonight isn't as spontaneous as you led me to believe."

"Bryce and Nick are great cops. But Nick wants to go with Gail when she becomes Deputy Police Commissioner. He wants to work in public affairs. He thinks he has a terrific presence. Bryce's Integrated Anti-gang Unit has gone nowhere and is sinking fast. It is going to take him down with it. The Police Commissioner's Office doesn't want a captain jumping over from that wreckage."

"Gail told you that, too, I suppose."

"She also told me Bryce knows what's going on and is planning to move to another police force before it all falls out from under him. He may have already accepted a position in Chicago, but he's keeping that secret for now."

"At least you don't know everything."

"Myles, this is important to me . . . to us."

"I told you I agree." He took hold of her hand. "Ben's quite ambitious, and he knows a lot of important people in this city. What do you know about his chances?"

She slapped his hand. "You clown."

"Can I finish this investigation first?"

"We wouldn't have it any other way." She leaned over and kissed him. "Now, as you said, what about us? It's your turn."

His phone began ringing. It was Bryce Abernathy.

He displayed the caller identification to Rosalind. "Is your place bugged?" He answered the call. "Hey, Bryce, what have you got?"

"Do you know where Parker's Used Auto Parts is?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's just been hit. You might want to see this."

THIRTY-ONE:

The Chrystal Ball Jewelry store took up just over half of the ground floor of the Haussmann-Leitner Commercial Center situated in the center of downtown on the corner of Kingsway and Imperial. Owned by the Haussmann family, the store was known internationally as an exclusive jewelry store located in the most desirable building in the city. While never verified, the rumor persisted of businesses willing to be on a waiting list to get their headquarters stationed on any of the thirty-six floors in the HLCC.

"Man," Johnny said once they were out of the van, "you aren't fooling around tonight."

"It's a simple smash and grab. I can loop the surveillance system, but they have algorithms in their software at the monitoring center that will eventually detect that. The alarms can be shut off completely, but only for ten minutes unless you have the master control key manual command override. That determines how much time we have to get in, grab the stuff and get out."

"Are we looking for anything in particular?"

"Rings with the biggest stones, necklaces with the thickest chains and all the expensive watches you can scoop up."

"Marco, are you trying to apologize to Parker? He double-crossed us. We took the beating."

"It's just good business to regain his trust. He could have done worse than just give us a beating."

Reynolds shrugged and flicked away his cigarette. "I'm ready." He held up his two cloth shopping bags. One was from the jewelry store. Then he pulled the black woolen ski mask over his face and chuckled. "I wanted Spiderman, but I couldn't get one that would fit over my big-ass head."

They were done in three minutes and driving away in the van within five minutes.

When Johnny approached the Port Gates site, he said, "Are you sure you want to park here, Marco? It might be too close to . . . you know."

"I'm parked nearby."

They put all the watches and necklaces and the rings with the biggest gems in the royal-blue Chrystal Ball Jewelry bag. Marco then pulled the gold braided cord to close it.

"Put the other stuff away. Then get rid of the van. Take it to that spot and torch it."

"I'll do that, but why now?"

"Shut-up and listen. Once you've done that, take off."

"What?"

"We're done here. Take off like you were telling me you wanted to."

"What about you?"

"I have a few more things to do here first."

"What about us?"

"That's over, too. Tell your uncle where you are once you get there. He will send you your cut."

Reynolds shrugged and lit a cigarette. "Want me to drop you off at your car?"

"I'll walk."

*****

The lights were still on in Kayla's community center office. He parked the Camaro in the spot directly in front of the office and flashed his high beams a couple of times before turning off the car.

Kayla's scowling face peered out through the vertical blinds. When she saw who it was, her scowl became an open mouth and a shaking head. She was in the lobby when he entered through the front doors.

"You should have locked those," he said.

Her scowl had returned. Her head was still shaking. "What are you doing here?"

"It's almost one o'clock in the morning. I was on my way home. I saw the lights and thought maybe you'd left them on. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"What do you think I'd be doing?"

He held out his hands and said, "Suit yourself." He returned to the doors.

Kayla jogged over to him before he could open one of the doors and hugged him. "Sorry, Marco, I'm just a little frustrated . . . and angry . . . and seething . . . and discouraged . . . and whining to myself . . . and now to you."

He hugged her back. "The usual for you, then."

Somehow she found room within his embrace to punch him in the stomach. "Asshole."

"You had your community advisory something or other meeting tonight."

She stepped back out of his embrace. Both of her hands were clenched into fists. "And I had nothing but bad news to tell them. Joseph and Frieda made a brief appearance that I think gave everyone some hope, but they had to get to their annual scholarship banquet." She took him into her office.

The top of her desk was covered with printouts, five piles of them.

"It looks like you had a lot of bad news to tell them."

"They are doing everything they can to kill the project."

"Who is?"

"Mayor Brent Turpin, Councillor Coralee Ashton, Mel Tillson and Garrett Malloy, that's who."

"Tillson and Malloy are building over half the houses in new Silverdale Park. Their signs are everywhere."

"And there's Austin Knight, too," she said, ending his last name with a hard sound. "He's the Director of City Planning. I have no idea why he wants the project canceled. He doesn't stand to gain anything from it that I can see, but I can't shake the feeling that he may very well be the mastermind behind all their conniving." She went to her desk and picked up a single sheet of paper. "Do you know what this is?"

"Why should I know what that is?"

"You idiot, it's the financial statement for the project. Knight brought it to our meeting at city hall today. You should have seen how thick the statement was for Silverdale Park." She held her thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. "He was telling us how small we are, insignificant . . . meaningless. He was showing us what private investment in development can do beyond mere donations and our limited public funds."

"They are always doing that. I thought the project was due to start Monday."

"The sod-turning ceremony is Monday right here in the empty lot beside the center, but Turpin also intends to announce a public health emergency that could see the project terminated."

"What does this Austin Knight guy have on Turpin?"

"It's probably not what he has on him. It's more likely what he or Tillson and Malloy are offering. This is Brent's last term as mayor. He'll have to return to the private sector after the election next November."

"He came from the real estate development sector."

"You sounded very academic just then, or at least educated, but we both know that ain't true."

He headed for the office door.

Kayla blocked his exit. "Sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you, but I don't have anyone else to turn to at the moment. You've always been my—"

"Stupid, pigheaded, asshole of a big brother," he said.

She pouted. "I only say that from time to time."

"From the time you get up in the morning to the time you go to bed every day."

She finally smiled a little bit. "Don't go, please."

He sat in one of the two guest chairs in her office. "What did you tell your militia?"

Kayla remained standing near the closed door. "They are advocates and neighborhood volunteers."

"That's what I said."

"Just be quiet, will you? I'm trying to get my thoughts organized."

"Don't strain yourself."

Her scowl returned to go along with pursed lips.

"Turpin is making a big show of supporting the hospital, claiming it can stay if we can find ways to cut costs elsewhere. We've already taken floors off the apartment buildings. And Wyatt has already told me Turpin plans to fold the funding for our own hospital into the Lady of Mercy's community health clinic's outreach program. He promises to increase the number of medical staff specifically for the increased patient traffic from the Hollows."

"He makes a public show of supporting construction of the new hospital but is manipulating things to see that the money for it goes back into the city."

"His fallback plan won't work, and he knows it. It's already all but impossible to get the homeless and the transients to Lady of Mercy now. Increasing the funding for their community health care clinic is only going to provide more services to the people who already go there. We need a centralized hospital designed and built for the specific needs of the Hollows."

"I'll take a stab here and say that Turpin and his cronies also want to dispose of the rent controls."

"That and Knight is claiming in this puny financial statement that they also can't afford the temporary modular housing units we had planned to get our homeless through the winters." She came to her desk, shuffled through a few of the piles of paper but then stopped. "And they are creating nonmonetary issues to throw at us, too."

"A full barrage of bullshit; it's happened before."

"Turpin commissioned a public health study and then sent his handpicked team to the worst areas of Satan Town and East Crag. It wasn't a comprehensive study, and the results are questionable, but Brent is using that to declare a public health emergency tomorrow. Joseph has sent the report to Dr. Rea for review, but I don't think that is going to slow Brent down any. He will also announce an urgent need to evacuate all the condemned buildings and place the people at the Port Gates site and at the site for the new hospital. But he will maintain that the project will still begin, though the crisis will create delays and exclude areas that are slated to be part of the first phase of the project. Minimally, that will disrupt the sequence of the development, putting either those areas or others in jeopardy of being abandoned."

"And there won't be any temporary modular units to shelter them because Knight will have eliminated them with one stroke of his pen as a prudent cut to the limited public funding budget part of the expenditures for the project to divert the money to other parts of it that they will deem more important."

That quizzical expression on her face meant that for a moment she wasn't sure if her stupid, pigheaded, asshole of a big brother was still with her or was now mocking her.

"They are also trying to get out of the commitment to build the new community center. And Brent also plans to transfer Emily Tucker to a position that will force her to act against us." She sat down. "My opponents are legion."

"Appropriate for the Devil's Breach, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't call it that." She glanced over the project's puny financial statement before dropping it. "I don't know who all of them are."

"Who would know?"

"Brent and likely Coralee, and Austin as well," she said and then slapped one of the piles of paper. "Brent has to have a file somewhere. I don't see him as capable of keeping it all in his head. Coralee Ashton, yes, Austin Knight, absolutely, but not Brent Turpin. He's not a processor of data. He's at his best when he has a clear plan of action, and someone else usually provides that for him."

"Where would he keep such a file?"

"The obvious place is the mayor's office at city hall. The file wouldn't be obvious, though. He's not going to have a folder titled: All the people who have a vested interest in seeing the Hollows Redevelopment Project terminated."

"Would your man-of-action mayor even have such a file? From what you're telling me, I would think Ashton or Knight are more likely candidates to own it."

"You're probably right." She slapped that same pile of papers. "I'm not thinking straight."

"If Turpin did have one, would he be likely to have a copy of it on his home computer?"

"He's careless enough to do that, but the computer security in city hall is programmed to prevent that. For example, if the file is on his office computer and he tries to save it to an external device, the security system his computer is connected to would detect that. He would have to explain himself."

"But there is always a way in order to account for every contingency the mayor's office or other departments at city hall might encounter."

"He could do it one of two ways. He would have to have the file verified as having no confidential city council or city hall information on it, which would make the file harder for us to use as proof of some concerted effort to end the project. The other way is to have city hall's tech people install the approved security program on the computer or laptop he intends to use away from the office. The program has a mandatory keystroke counter function that would track everything he did on the device. I don't think he could bypass or defeat it."

"He could be using another computer, laptop or his phone. He may not be using the computer in his office at city hall if he is conspiring with the legion against you."

"I hadn't thought of that either."

"Are you done here?"

"I've been done for hours."

"I'll give you a ride home."

Kayla made sure everything that had to be was locked up while he returned to his Camaro.

Once they were underway, she said, "I talked to Heather Deering. She's having trouble with the funeral arrangements."

"That's been taken care of."

"Are you going?"

"I'll be there."

"Are you going to say anything?"

"What would be the point?"

Kayla scowled and sat quietly for the rest of the way home.

Reynolds's call came the moment he parked his Camaro in his driveway. "Cook's crew hit Parker's Used Auto Parts a couple hours ago. The police are still there."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"Two ambulances drove away with their sirens blaring as I came by."

"What else have you seen?"

"Abernathy is here, but he's getting nowhere as usual, so I've been told. And that detective investigating Kimberley's murder is here, too."

"Get out of there, and don't let anyone see you."

"The van's done. Good-bye, Marco."

THIRTY-TWO:

"The thing is, you see," Abernathy said. "These aren't the gangs of the old days."

Abernathy was about to tell him the same thing that came up every day in the precinct briefings, but the goal now was to get Abernathy's personal opinion. "How so?"

"For one thing, these gangs are more fluid and mobile than the old gangs. They move around, go where the opportunities present themselves, particularly the Hellcats. K9 is mostly a local outfit with only a few outlets beyond the city. They don't have much in the way of importable resources. But the Hellcats can move into Sacramento or Placerville if that's where their business takes them and also recruit reinforcement from those cities. There is no such thing as a set territory for a gang anymore. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they regularly went down the highway to San Francisco. There's a lot of opportunity down that way."

Abernathy finally took him into the front area of Parker's Used Auto Parts service center building, the first place a customer would have to go before being allowed to rummage around in the yard.

"And another thing," Abernathy said as he pointed out the damage. "These gangs compartmentalize their operations and they have a lot of turnover by design. Their contacts, their operatives, their buyers and sellers, even their membership constantly changes. Sometimes they get rid of the old and bring in the new. Sometimes they just make a clean break and move on. And they've started franchising, allowing for smaller semi-independent groups the same way terrorist cells work."

"If you snag someone, you don't get much out of them. Every company needs a good business model."

"Let's face it. Most of these guys are lifers inside and out. But, yeah, so many in this diverse and diffuse network may only know a single other cell or no one at all. They operate using their own secure phone apps these days. I've heard they are developing their own AI programs for penetrating financial networks and for siphoning off all the personal and business data they can from the net to better target their ransomware. It won't be long before the world is controlled on one side by ruthless and brutal totalitarian governments like China with all their facial recognition, personal data mining and social credit programs on one side and a worldwide crime syndicate hacking into those programs for its own purposes on the other."

Abernathy brought them to the front counter and ran his hand over three splintered dents along the front edge of it. "They even work with each other at times. It's called a fission-fusion dynamic. Someone brought over the term from primate research. They will trade product distribution and even territory at times for a short while. It's all calculated and well organized."

"The new organized crime," he said. "They cooperate amongst themselves just enough to make it more difficult for law enforcement."

Abernathy snorted. "They're making it impossible for us. We've only made three arrests in the past year and none of them led to anything more. Take this place for example. We can't search here because this incident doesn't give us probably cause. The crew that hit here knew enough to keep Parker's men at the front of the business, the public end of it, the legitimate end of it. You go out the backdoor and there isn't the slightest hint of an attack. We can't cross that invisible line without expressed permission or a warrant."

"You think they were that thoughtful?"

"They can be that calculating, yeah, Myles. They could be bashing in the skulls up front here while still doing business with the Hellcats' leadership back there somewhere. Parker was here when we responded. He specifically forbade us from going anywhere but the office building without first obtaining a warrant. He and his boys looked around, told us they found nothing missing and insisted we confine ourselves to the front office area—not even the other offices in the building—and then they buggered off. But not without leaving one of his men in the back with his phone at the ready and one of their lawyers on speed-dial." Abernathy pointed toward the back lot. "I know we'd find something if we could just get in there."

"Were they doing Parker a favor? Were these two men being terminated?"

Abernathy shook his head and pointed to the blood stains. One set was on the floor just in front of the swinging gate that permitted entrance to the offices at the back of the building. The other set of stains were to the right of the entrance door at the base of a rack holding four used truck tires in a vertical stack.

"The victim, the one that could talk, that is, is sticking with his story that six hooded men attacked them with pieces of pipe." Abernathy pointed to the stains at the swinging gate. "The one who calls himself Nigeria managed to fetch a handgun from behind the counter and scare them off without firing a shot. The gun hasn't been fired and it is licensed."

Jacobsen went to the stains by the entrance door. "This one got the worst of it."

"He called himself Ghana before he passed out. He took a blow to his forehead and another to the left side of his lower jaw." Abernathy pointed out the spots on his own face. "He's in critical condition."

They exited the shop to let the Crime Scene Unit complete its processing work. Across the street, Johnny Reynolds stooped behind a van furtively looking their way and talking on his phone.

"Ghana and Nigeria?"

"It's a new tactic for the core members of the Hellcats. Instead of giving you their proper names, they give you a litany of their heritage back to the country of origin for their ancestors. That's the name we end up with. We don't know if what they recite is legitimate."

"What do you know about Marco Kamren and Johnny Reynolds?"

Reynolds had left his lookout spot.

"As we discussed yesterday, they could be independent associates. That's something modern gangs do nowadays, too. It would allow them to work with both gangs but not have to be members. Kamren wired All Nations and this site as well as Parker's Auto Service Shop both for the security systems and their sound systems."

"They have Citadel systems installed?"

"We can't get a close look so I don't know."

"How are you doing, Bryce? From what you're telling me, it sounds like your task force is having trouble getting traction."

"Gail and Brent want to shut us down and turn it all over to the FBI because there are suspicions that both K9 and the Hellcats have crossed state lines. That would suit me just fine. I want out."

"Out of the unit or out of the force?"

Abernathy shot him a sly smile. "You've heard the rumors about me leaving for Chicago."

"I try not to pay close attention to precinct rumors."

Abernathy's sly smile became a wide grin. "Even the ones about you and Rosalind?"

"What rumors?"

"I wouldn't pay close attention to them if I were you." He barked a loud burst of laughter before returning to the building to check on the CSU's progress.

He called Marco Kamren's private phone.

"It's almost one-thirty in the morning," Kamren said.

"I had a talk about dogs today with your other sister."

"That would have been yesterday, but you must feel a lot smarter now."

"Why would Amman Cook send his crew to hit Parker's Used Auto Parts?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I saw your buddy Reynolds spying on us earlier."

"He wasn't spying on you. He was on his way home. He lives with his uncle. Their house is only a few blocks from where you are."

"What did he have to tell you?"

"That unlike the rest of us, cops never sleep." Kamren hung up.

He phoned Rosalind. "Sorry, it's late."

"I did ask you to call me. What happened?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I just want to get home to bed."

"Come back to me, Myles, unless of course you're still trying to keep up appearances."

He waved at Abernathy, who was looking at him from inside the shop. "I'll be there in ten."

Rosalind took him straight to her bedroom, undressed him, took off her pajamas, took them both into the shower, and then got them into bed. They just lay entwined.

She nuzzled against his neck. "Tell me what you're thinking?"

"I think Marco Kamren and Johnny Reynolds are the burglars we can't catch. I think Marco fancies himself a modern day Robin Hood for the Hollows. I think the killers are going to escalate their rampage of murders. And I think Devil's Breach is about to explode into gang warfare. And—"

She pressed her finger to his lips. "Oh, is that all?"

He kissed her forehead. "I also think Precinct Captain will pad out my pension very nicely." He tilted her head up to kiss her.

Rosalind kept her mouth against his as she rolled onto him. She fitted him into her and sat up. "No more secrecy then?"

He shot her a sly smile and cupped her breasts, caressing her nipples the way she liked.

She leaned forward over him to let him kissed each nipple.

His thumb pressed lightly between her legs.

She moaned. "I love the flexibility of your thumb."

He increased the pressure just a bit and began rubbing her slowly.

Rosalind threw her head back, moaned again and began riding him in rhythm with the rubbing of his thumb against her.

THIRTY-THREE:

At close to two o'clock in the morning, Parker's Auto Service Center was as busy with activity as it would be in the middle of a workday, except no one was working on automobiles.

Marco counted seven men in basic Hellcat black milling about Dante Parker in garage his office. It was impossible to get an accurate estimate of how many men were coming in and out of the building.

"I heard," he said and placed the Chrystal Ball Jewelry bag on Parker's desk. "I was going to bring this by tomorrow, but I thought I'd come see how you were doing."

"How the fuck do you think I'm doing?" Parker leaned back in his chair. "If this is because of our disagreement, then you are either very brave or very stupid to come here."

"I didn't think I needed to be either to pay you a visit. And why would Cook do something like this for me?"

"It's not looking to me like you are being brave." Parker nodded to his two men near the office door. "Just a precaution."

As both men checked him, Marco said, "Neither brave nor stupid. I always come here clean."

One of the men nodded and then both of them went back to guarding the office door.

"You don't really expect them to try anything here, do you, Dante? Talk about being stupid."

Dante fetched the bag from his desk, opened it and looked in. His expression did change but it was still impossible to read with any confidence.

"A peace offering," he said, his head bobbing as he did a quick count of what was in the bag.

"A reaffirmation of our partnership," Marco said. "You should unload them quickly, and somewhere far from here, or else keep them hidden for a very long while."

Parker tossed the bag onto the desk. It was an obvious gesture to demonstrate that he wasn't placated by the offering. "Why would he do this? And why do it tonight? We haven't been at each other's throat for a while now. We couldn't agree on much last week but we ended the meeting with respect. What's changed since then?"

"I can try to find out for you. I'd like to now for myself, too. I don't want to get caught in the middle."

"It might be time for you to pick a side, Marco, and go with a winner." Parker rose from his chair and sat on the corner of the desk. He took another peek inside the bag and then pulled out a Rolex watch. "You couldn't get the boxes for them?"

"We rang the bell on the counter for service, but no one responded."

Parker smiled only a bit. "You can talk to him, but I can't let him get away with this. There was no provocation on our part. There was no betrayal. We don't attack each other for no reason. That just isn't done." He slipped the Rolex onto his left wrist. "There has to be some painful consequence for what they did to my boys."

"Let me talk to him before you do anything. We might be able to reach an agreement on compensation."

"He needs to hurt, Marco." Parker walked over to a shelving unit. "Let me show you something." He swung the unit out of the way to reveal a set of stairs going down.

The two men from the office door flanked Marco and they followed Parker down to an underground garage full of Hellcats' vehicles and enough weapons to fill a barrack's armory.

"See there?" Parker pointed to two military Hummers. "I know for a fact Cook hasn't got anything like that. We could drive right through All Nations if we wanted to and he couldn't stop us. We could drive right over him and he couldn't stop us."

A man in a black paramilitary outfit came to Parker and stood at attention. He didn't salute or stomp his heels. He just stood at attention.

"A new look for your men, Dante?"

"We bring those in from Mexico."

The man whispered into Parker's ear once he was acknowledged.

Parker came to him. "We just lost Ghana." He slapped a hand down onto Marco's shoulder. "He took something from us tonight. We're going to take something from him. You tell Amman that, Marco. You be sure and tell him that when you try to find out why he started what he didn't need to start."

*****

Just like Parker, Amman Cook was where he was supposed to be, at All Nations sitting at his favorite corner table going over the day's receipts for the restaurant. Unlike Parker, Cook wasn't surrounded by his men. That didn't mean there weren't any nearby, though. Cook wasn't one for obvious displays the way Parker was.

"You're up late, Marco. Have you brought me something?"

He sat down across from Cook. "Why?"

"Why what, Marco?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why did you send them?"

"I sent no one anywhere tonight, Marco. I was here the whole time watching over my restaurant." Cook shuffled through his receipts. "We had a busy night, perhaps the best ever." He leaned over the table. "We had people waiting in line tonight to get in here. Can you imagine? That has never happened before." He leaned back, a broad, golden smile stretched across his face. Cook always looked friendly even when he wasn't smiling. Parker would never look friendly no matter how broad his smile might get. "It just goes to show you that the American entrepreneurial spirit is still strong. You build a good, honest business that offers a quality product or service and it will succeed." He held up some of the receipts. "I will be candid with you, Marco. There were many nights when I did not believe All Nations would survive long enough to build up a clientele willing to stand in line to get in."

"You are fucking nuts. Dante is preparing for war while you sit here gloating over one good night. You are blindly wallowing in self-important conceit." He swatted away the receipts, sending most of them off the table to scatter along the floor. "You are an idiot."

Cook pointed a Glock at him. "Be careful, Marco. I put up with a lot of insolence from you, but I do have lines you shouldn't cross."

"What about one's you shouldn't cross. You told me you would never do a first strike. What was that shit at Parker's shop about then?"

"I had nothing to do with that." Cook put the Glock back on the chair beside him. "Tonight might be a case of Asa acting rather impulsively. I could have been a bit overly dramatic expressing my displeasure with what Dante did to two of my best friends."

"I told you I would deal with that."

"And I believed you, Marco. But Asa must have misinterpreted that part of our conversation, which, personally, I find surprising given his tendency to always be hiding around a corner nearby listening to every word I say."

"Is he listening to us now?"

"He thought it would be better if he did not return to All Nations after tonight's activities. I can honestly tell you I have no idea where he and his crew are at this moment."

"What are you up to?"

"What would you suggest I get up to?"

"You know exactly what you should do. Make what amends you can to Dante as soon as you can."

"Would reaching out to let him know where Asa and his crew were hiding be sufficient atonement?"

"You just told me you didn't know where they are."

"That is true, Marco. I know where they retreated to, but at this very moment I couldn't tell you if they are still there or if Dante and his crew have already reached them and taken them somewhere else. You said yourself that Dante was preparing for war. For all I know, he and his men, and Asa and his men could be fully engaged as we speak." Cook scooped up a few of the receipts that lay on the floor close to the table. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be surprised if the police knew where they all are by now."

"You are insane."

"No, Marco, I am getting out. Abernathy's anti-gang unit has been inept long enough. I am snapping it out of its apathy and complacency. Tonight is the beginning of the end for both Z9 and the Hellcats. Well, at least in this town it is."

Cook slid off the chair, put his Glock back into its holster inside his sport jacket and then put the remaining receipts in the box on the table. He locked the box and pushed it to the center of the table. He then tossed the key to the box onto the table next to it.

"This place really was profitable. The paperwork in that fireproof box would reveal that to anyone who opened it. That will be the goddamn shame of it all, but one must do what one must." He fixed his tie and adjusted his jacket. "Do you smell anything unusual in here, Marco? Do you smell something you wouldn't normally expect to smell in a restaurant, something you wouldn't care to smell in a restaurant?"

He stood up and sniffed as he walked around the table. "Gas?"

"I discovered a leak downstairs earlier tonight. I was able to patch it, but the valves in the kitchen are faulty. I supposed I should have used some of the profits to get them replaced, but it's too late now." He took out a lighter. "Good-bye, Marco. Give my love to Kayla." He headed for the stairs to the restaurant's basement.

Marco stopped at the Vistaview Court apartments just as the fireball exploded into the air. After depositing an envelope in Dorothy's mailbox slot in the lobby, he had to wait for two fire trucks to race past before he could cross the street back to his Camaro. Once their sirens had faded in the distance, he could just make out other sirens from other fire trucks, from ambulances and from police vehicles coming and going in all directions.

THIRTY-FOUR:

The order to report to Captain Gail Henry before proceeding to the site of the most recent murders had clear implications for how their investigation was going to change.

Harris was waiting outside Captain Henry's office. "I see you survived the end of the world as we know it." He knocked on the door before opening it to allow Jacobsen to enter first.

Gail Henry had two months left as precinct captain before leapfrogging through the upper management ranks to Deputy Police Commissioner. An excellent cop right from the beginning, she had taken eighteen years to make it to precinct captain, which she rightly never let anyone forget, and only two more to be promoted to Deputy Police Commissioner. She would slide into the Commissioner's Office when Shane Bittner retired in two years.

"You almost made it, Captain."

"That isn't the least bit funny, Ben."

Jacobsen started to sit down, but stopped when Henry held up her hand.

"This will only take a minute."

"What's the score from last night?"

"The gun battle between the Hellcats and Z9 continued even as SWAT arrived at Imperial Auto Body. It may have been a result of confusion; Cook's men might have thought our people were reinforcements for the Hellcats. They were similarly dressed in black. Apparently, the Hellcats attacked with two armored Hummers similar to what we have. Either way, Z9 started firing at our units as soon as they arrived. We had no choice but to return fire." Henry rose from her chair and walked to the window facing south. "The shootout didn't last much longer after that. Both the Hellcats and Z9 surrendered; however, not before two of ours were wounded. One Z9 member was killed, most likely by SWAT fire. Two Hellcats were already down when our people arrived. They both suffered multiple gunshot wounds and both of them are in critical condition. I've been told one will survive, but the other one is doubtful. Abernathy and his unit are rounding up the rest of the gang members from both sides . . . the ones they can find, that is."

He stood beside his captain at the window. "And All Nations?"

"Once the fire was out, they found a body in the basement. It could be Amman Cook or not."

Harris said, "I was told there wasn't much left of it."

"That would be the 'or not' part," Henry said. She then said to Jacobsen. "I wish this had fallen in your lap not mine."

"You weren't going to miss out. As deputy commissioner, you will be the one in charge of the internal review. I don't envy you if you end up having to point fingers at some of our own."

"Is he like that on the job?"

"He's far worse. Rosalind and her unit are there now?"

Henry returned to her desk. "Joseph and Frieda Haussmann were at their annual banquet last night to award scholarships to graduating high school students. They stopped by to take a look at their new mansion under construction in Silverdale Park at around 1:30 am and told their chauffeur to come back in one hour."

"That's when he found them."

"No. His usual behavior, so he tells us, is to return and just remain in the car. He went in at closer to three o'clock in the morning when they didn't come out. He spotted the blood in the front entrance and followed a trail of it up to their master bedroom. They were on the floor where their bed would be. Both had been shot from behind execution style. They had then been laid out on their backs holding hands. Ros found the note stuffed into Joseph's shirt pocket."

"And their jewelry store was robbed. Is there any connection?"

"You will have to tell me the answer to that question eventually. Whoever did it first disabled their security system and then was fast enough to get in and out before it reset itself. They took expensive watches, gold chains and rings."

He said, "Which were found in a Chrystal Ball Jewelry bag in the home of Dante Parker."

"But Parker is also missing."

"Is there anything else special about how Joseph and Frieda were displayed?"

"You will have to see for yourself. Ros didn't give me any other details than that they were holding hands. And I didn't ask for any." She sat back down. "You are going to try connecting Joseph and Frieda to the other two, aren't you?"

Harris took his turn almost sitting down. "The Haussmanns were executed. Kimberley Deering was tortured to death. Darius McLemore had his throat slit."

"Joseph, Frieda and Kimberley were put on display," Henry said. "McLemore was just left where he fell."

"You know something else. Did they find dog hairs?"

"Not that I know of, but there is that note." She looked at Harris and then him. The expression on her face could be construed as being a mix of consternation and resignation. "Mayor Turpin and Commissioner Bittner have already called me. And somehow Drew Campbell from the Courier found out and gave me a call. He wanted to know if Deering and McLemore were now going to get shuffled out of the way so we could concentrate on the city's more prominent victims. Then Shane called me again after Brent called him a second time."

"Did any of them have specific instructions for us?"

"I don't need a smartass coming at me from the other end of this, thank you very much. Just get this bastard behind bars."

"I love it when you use police movie clichés."

"I shouldn't have saved your life all those times."

"That's not how I remember our partnership."

"You're a man. You take credit for everything." Her desk phone started ringing. "It's Shane again. Shit, now what?" With her hand stalled on the way to the phone, she said, "You two get out of here."

They exited the precinct station and turned left.

"Hold on a moment." He called Kamren's first cell phone number but the phone was off. "Dammit." The second phone was off too.

"Is that another one missing after last night? Did he have anything to do with the two attacks?" Harris took out his phone. "I'll call Marion."

He called Bartlett's work number. "Good morning, Kayla."

"Detective Jacobsen," she said.

"When did you see Marco last?"

"He came by my office about one o'clock. I was working late. He gave me a ride home."

"Was he aware of the attack on Parker's shop?"

"Neither of us was aware. I heard sirens before he arrived. I heard more sirens before I fell asleep."

"His phones are both off."

"That's not unusual for him."

"I have some bad news for you, Kayla."

"I've already heard."

"We are on our way there now. I will come by later and tell you what I can." He hung up. "Shit."

Harris ended his call a few ticks later. "Neither Kamren or Reynolds showed up for work. Neither of them called in sick. Marion says that has never happened before. He hasn't been able to contact them. Both of Marco's phones are turned off."

"That isn't unusual for him."

On the way down to the car, Harris said, "How long were you and Gail partners?"

"Twelve years."

"That's not a partnership, Myles, that's a marriage."

"It was strictly professional."

"You're trying to tell me it was better than a marriage."

"I will try not to be so verbally abusive to my staff when I'm captain."

"As far as I can tell, you're the only one Captain Henry is abusive to." They exited the elevator. "But I do appreciate your commitment to your crew. I'm sure Rosalind will, too."

"Why should that matter to Rosalind?"

"If you're precinct captain, then there is no possible conflict for you and Ros, though I don't think there is any conflict now even if it isn't strictly a professional relationship between you two."

"You know about us?"

Harris opened the driver's door. "Everybody does, Myles. It's no big deal. We all know you and Ros are private people. It's not like we expected some big announcement." He got into the car.

THIRTY-FIVE:

They gathered in her community center office. Marjorie brought in the tea and coffee and supplied homemade cookies.

"Joseph loved them," she said.

Marjorie was not sentimental and she was not someone who would ever fall to pieces, but she said nothing else because she couldn't.

Kayla hugged her before pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Frieda loved them, too. We all do. Thank you."

Emily took one chair by the desk. Marjorie took the other. Christopher and Wyatt remained standing. This time Emily also drank tea.

At a time like this, you're noticing something as inconsequential as that.

Wyatt took a bite of a cookie and then a sip of coffee. He appeared to have a bit of trouble swallowing. "What has happened is horrible, but Joseph and Frieda wouldn't want us to get bogged down in an impromptu wake for them."

"I can't help myself," Emily said. "We were just with them last night at their Abeona Scholarship banquet."

Christopher hadn't drunk any of his coffee yet. "What is an Abeona again? I can never remember and I was there."

"The Roman goddess who protects children when they leave home," Emily said. "She is said to help them to become strong and independent."

"They picked a good name then."

"This is good," Wyatt said. "Joseph and Frieda would want us to continue. I know they took steps to ensure their financial support for the project would continue should anything happen. . . ."

Christopher asked her, "Have you heard from Marco after last night?"

She shook her head. "I can't get in touch with him or Johnny. He's turned both of his phones off. I don't know what Johnny's done with his."

"Did he get caught up in either of those two gang attacks?"

"Marco isn't involved with the gangs. He knew both leaders, but he kept his distance from their work."

"Are you sure?" Emily put her cup on the desk. "This is undoubtedly just shock on my part, but it occurred to me that there is a possibility your brother's connection to the Hellcats and Z9 could somehow be used against us."

"I don't see how."

Christopher's grimace to her was his apology for mentioning her brother.

"Nonetheless, we shouldn't overlook that possibility or underestimate our opponents." She got up and poured more tea into her cup. "We've lost two major allies."

"Their support remains," Wyatt said.

"But we are still two down for any future meetings." She snapped her fingers and said, "Unless we can use their legacy of support to our advantage." She put her hand to her mouth. "Sorry, I'm just thinking out loud. I know it's insensitive and calculating, but. . . ."

"We all have the same feelings, Emily. And I've had those very same thoughts. What's more, I believe Joseph and Frieda would support our collective train of thought despite how unseemly it . . . seems."

Wyatt was the only one who had eaten a cookie. "Let's get back to Marco's connection to the two gangs for a moment. Kayla, can you tell us for certain that nothing between Marco and those two gangs could be used against us?"

Emily said, "Their Chrystal Ball Jewelry store was robbed last night. It was supposed to have a state-of-the-art security system in place, but the thieves still got in and out without setting off any alarms."

"What are you implying?"

"Marco and his friend work with security systems."

"So?"

"What if one of the gangs, you know, hypothetically, was able to get the information they needed to get into the store from Marco or Johnny? They might not have known they were helping the gang plan a robbery, but if anything like that turns out to be the case . . . well, you know how something like that would work in the political arena we now find ourselves in. And the Chrystal Ball Jewelry store is only the latest in a series of unsolved burglaries."

"And what about those rumors of a Robin Hood in the Hollows?" What Wyatt said next was a direct response to her expression, "It is impossible to keep something like that quiet even with everyone in the Hollows claiming to be unaware of any such person. The rumor still found its way to city hall. Brent and Coralee have had a number of meetings with Commissioner Bittner about initiating a special investigation team. Brent wants to poach some officers from Abernathy's anti-gang unit for it."

Marjorie said, "Are those two behind everything that takes place at city hall?"

"They are very energetic," Christopher said, "and very imaginative when it comes to ways to push their own agenda and focus a favorable light on themselves. But aren't we letting Marco hijack our meeting? That wasn't what we came here for."

"We can hardly ignore the fact of his connection to the gangs and the fact that he's Kayla's brother."

"Half-brother."

"That hardly matters, Christopher."

"Sniping amongst ourselves isn't going to get us anywhere." She added more coffee to her cup and bit down on her first cookie. "The two attacks last night had nothing to do with Marco, and neither does anything else the Hellcats and K9 are doing in the Hollows."

Christopher came to her side. "Marco isn't the issue here, Emily."

"He could be turned into one easily enough. Those shootouts are exactly the kind of incidents that terrify people. It's all well and good, as well as bigoted and wrong, to say the people living in the Hollows are used to gang violence, and we all know who might frame the narrative of the attacks that way. But anything that brings it closer to us, such as Marco's connection to them, however tenuous that might be, increases the risk that we will be sucked into the source of the terror by association. That could affect the public's support for the project by playing into Coralee's alarmism over a rising crime rate."

"This is the first time something so overtly violent has happened between them," Wyatt said. "There had been reports of Amman Cook and Dante Parker having high level meetings to negotiate for a more peaceful coexistence."

"It didn't work, did it?" Emily sat back down, drank the rest of her tea and then placed the cup back on the desk. "If someone exposes Marco's connection to both gangs, all kinds of unsubstantiated rumors could start that could harm, if not destroy completely, our efforts. Brent and Coralee could just stand back and watch our destruction."

"I still don't see how."

Marjorie said, "What if someone implies that Marco is representing the interests of either one of the gangs or both? Or what if the rumor starts that he is their emissary to our committee to make sure the Hellcats and K9 get a piece of the new pie?"

"What if the rumor starts that he has the ear of the community center's director, who is up to her neck in all aspects of the project?"

"That's absurd."

"I know that, Kayla. Everyone here knows better. But we aren't the ones we need to worry about."

"Are you telling me I need to throw my brother under the bus to save the project?"

"What we need," Emily said, "is a specific, concrete and plausible story that explains Marco's connection in case it comes up. If Marco would agree to talk to us, I'm sure we could work out something."

Christopher got a strong nonverbal response from everyone, including her, when he put his arm around her. "We are not going to throw anyone under a bus. We don't sacrifice people or our ideals just to achieve our goals." He hugged her closer. "But Emily does have a point. If Marco could give us some details that we could present in a positive light that could be all we need to deal with the issue should it confront us at some point."

Marjorie began gathering up the cups. "I thought the members of both gangs were being rounded up by the police. It was on the news this morning. If there are no gangs anymore, then Marco's past connection to them doesn't matter."

"Unless he's rounded up, too," Emily said.

Wyatt helped Marjorie with the cups. "As much as I would like to think that, too, Marjorie, gangs have plagued the Hollows for the past thirty years or more. And we can't ignore the fact that both Amman Cook and Dante Parker are missing."

"I thought they found a body in the basement of All Nations. The news reported that the police suspect it is Cook."

"That's based on unsubstantiated speculation coming from anonymous sources."

"Marco will contact me eventually. I will tell him what our concerns are. That is all I can promise any of you." She had put her arm around Christopher's waist. "For now, we carry on."

The tacit agreement took only a few seconds to spread through the group once everyone fell silent. They were not going to be able to focus under these circumstances. They would have to reconvene later.

"I've seen Brent's revised press release," Wyatt said. "He'll be announcing today only that the Hollows Redevelopment Project Committee is taking a closer look at a potential public health issue in the Hollows. He will also be announcing that the sod-turning ceremony Monday will include a tribute and dedication to Joseph and Frieda. He's been scrambling all morning to get a plaque commissioned and completed in time."

"That's it then," Marjorie said. "They've become a posthumous impetus for the project."

"In the short-term," Emily said.

Emily and Wyatt left together. Marjorie returned to her duties in the center. Christopher remained in the office with her.

"I am sorry for bringing up Marco. I didn't mean for him to hijack our meeting."

"He didn't hijack the meeting. We're all a little lost and feeling threatened at the moment."

"You did appear worried when Marco came up, if you don't mind me saying that."

"I am worried. Marco has rarely come around to see me, but he's probably been close by more this past week than the previous two years. And Johnny dropped by one night to tell me he was worried about him after Kimberley's murder."

"Is he likely to do something . . . violent?"

"The more he's come by or called, the less he's said to me. Marco isn't a talker, but he definitely gets quieter and more evasive when he's angry and planning to do something foolish and dangerous."

"So, we're talking synonyms here."

"I don't know, and that is what is so troubling."

"Is there any chance he could be involved with either one of those attacks last night? Could he have picked a side? In his own silent way, did he set the two gangs against each other?"

"Why would you suggest that?"

"I've been part of this council from the beginning. I haven't missed a single meeting. And every time your brother became a topic, the pattern of the conversation never varied. No one, including you, really knows what he's thinking. One moment he's aggravating you so much you could happily beat his head in. The next time he's doing something heroically generous for you or someone in the community. Getting rid of both gangs would be pretty heroically generous if you ask me."

"Good God, Christopher. I've never been able to take a step back like that about Marco. You've just hit the nail."

"And within that unrelenting pattern, it has always been absolutely clear to me that you love your brother deeply. And he loves you equally deeply, Kayla. You are his rock and he is yours. I cannot see him doing anything that would harm you."

She threw her arms around him and kissed him, feeling him pull back at first before participating in the act.

When they ended the kiss, he said, "We probably shouldn't do that. It might be inappropriate."

"Nonsense," she said and kissed him again. There was no reluctance on his part this time. "Everything is clear to me thanks to you." She kissed him again before stepping back. "But you are right. This is all we should do for now."

"I don't want rumors about us to interfere with what we have to do. Word is getting around about Estelle and me because she doesn't care who knows. I think she prefers it that way. I don't want you to feel like you're. . . ."

She kissed him again. "I agree. But we know I'm not something on the side. And I am not the other woman." She hugged him.

"So, what do you think Marco is doing?"

"He's absolutely planning to do something foolish and dangerous or any other synonym you can think of."

THIRTY-SIX:

Harris took the time needed to get to the Haussmann's new home to brief him on his dog hair quest yesterday.

"I talked mostly to Sammie Healy. Sammie is thirty-six. Ward is fifty-four. She is the only one in the family who has anything to do with Calipha and Ernestine."

"Are they the fine little bitches Ratzlaff claims them to be?"

"How the hell should I know?" He glanced back as they left Devil's Breach and entered Silverdale Park. "I can see why she doesn't show them. I haven't any idea how you train a dog for something like that, but those two aren't trained in any way. They're more the excited, barking and jumping types, though they are friendly."

"Did she have any information about Julie Bechtold or Mikhail Baranowski?"

"Same as Ratzlaff had to tell us; Bechtold may have gotten married and changed her name. Both of our missing dog people may have left the city, according to Sammie. Ward didn't know who I was talking about."

Ros was waiting for them in the entrance hall of the Haussmann's new mansion. "I thought you would want to see this first thing." She handed over the plastic evidence bag containing the note. "There won't be any fingerprints."

"Thanks," he said as he turned the bag over to check the back. "Everyone at the precinct knows about us."

Harris stood behind him and to his right, placing the senior detective between his junior partner and his 'secret' girlfriend. He smiled and nodded to Ros. "Everyone's thrilled about you two."

"They are all respecting our privacy."

There was writing on only one side of a lined sheet of paper that had been torn in half. The words were printed with scratchy vertical letters that all had a slightly backward slant.

Have you figured it out yet?

Her face blushing only a little, Ros laughed loud enough for it to reverberate through the front hall. "It serves us right for being so foolish."

Harris took a peek at the note. "Not eloquent, but it is nicely arrogant. What do you make of it? Are they channeling Jack the Ripper?"

"It tells us one thing right off. We're dealing with an educated person. They used proper punctuation."

"Why the shaky printing? To disguise their handwriting?"

Ros said, "They could have written it in a hurry or on something soft or unstable." Her breath caught. "They might have used Joseph or Frieda as a . . . after they were. . . ."

"Sorry, Ros," he said. "You knew them."

"It's more accurate to say I knew of them. They were very active in the community and very generous with their time and money. I had met them at a number of events."

"They were at their annual scholarship awards banquet last night."

"They always struck me as a very happy couple. Except for Frieda's running, they did almost everything together. They always talked about taking the journey together and having found a soul mate. It didn't sound naive or conceited coming from them. It sounded natural. They were two very warm people in every sense of the word."

Harris said, "Any children?"

"Aaron Haussmann should be in his early forties now. He runs his own law firm in Los Angeles. Norma Varnan would be about forty. She moved to Vancouver, British Columbia after she married. They have family there and in Calgary. She has two children, I think, both daughters. Aaron has never married."

"It's most likely they were trying to disguise their handwriting," he said.

"If there are two killers working together, which one do you think wrote the note, the master or the apprentice?"

"That's a good point, Ben. I hadn't considered whether the two were equal partners or if one was dominant over the other."

"That's usually how it works. Are they thrill killers?"

Ros pointed to the note. "They're certainly hedonistic killers. If it is a man and a woman, the man is usually the dominant one with the woman the team killer."

"A case of he said, she did," Harris said. He took the evidence bag from Jacobsen and inspected it. "The dominant one would write the note, wouldn't he? He is the one with some kind of purpose or mission. He is the one demonstrating his control over not only the woman but the world."

"He'd likely be significantly older than her. He would control everything they do together."

"And she'd willingly submit to him."

"Unless he wanted to prove something to himself or push her to be more active," he said.

"Sorry, Myles, I missed that."

"He might have made her write the note for some purpose peculiar to his mastery over her."

"What would his motivation be for making her do that? The note is a big gesture." Harris handed back the bag. "I would say they are driven by a combination of lust and thrill, power and control. Would he leave such a big gesture to his subordinate?"

He gave the evidence bag back to Ros. "Kimberley Deering's death had both components, but what about Darius McLemore?"

"Was he lured into the motel?"

"How?" Ros took them a few steps closer to the stairs and then carefully positioned them to avoid stepping in the trail of smeared blood. "We know McLemore and other homeless people frequently crash at Starways. A murder there wasn't going to deter any of them. They often see death."

"The naked woman," he said.

"What naked woman?"

Harris answered, "Arnold Rippin insists he saw a naked woman at the scene. He believes McLemore saw her as well, and that she lured him into a room he otherwise would have been too spooked to enter. Rickie Woods insists there was no naked woman."

"We need to find out if anyone else near Starways or Port Gates, or anywhere else in the Breach, caught a glimpse of her."

"Could it be more experimentation with their hunting method?" She pointed down. "This is where they were shot."

"We have a victim of sexual torture."

"Though she was naked, Myles, there is no evidence of her being sexually assaulted."

"Torturing her was sexual for them. We have a homeless man who had his throat cut. And now we have two high-profile citizens executed in their new dream home. Power and control is the aphrodisiac for them. That is why they are experimenting with how to hunt and kill and with what they do with their victims before and after."

"I wish they'd make up their minds."

Ros said, "I wish you'd catch them before they get to anyone else."

Harris turned around once. "I know I have a tail back there. If I just keep chasing around in circles I will eventually catch hold of it."

Ros asked him, "We are sticking to the belief that there are two killers with the man the dominant one and the woman the subservient team killer, right?"

"That is why they asked that one question?"

"They are up here." Ros led the way to the master bedroom.

"So much for their home security system," Harris said as they ascended the stairs. "Kamren and Reynolds were just finishing up in here the day I talked to them."

At the top of the stairs, Ros pointed back to the entrance hall. "We haven't found any sign of forced entry."

"And the security system might not have been turned on yet."

"It was, Myles," Ros said. "That is why the chauffeur didn't find them until after five o'clock, not the three o'clock we were originally told."

"He waited for them to come out but they didn't."

"He couldn't get in because the house was locked up as tight as a bank. He didn't know the code to gain entrance or disable the system because Joseph hadn't told him what it was yet. He tried all the combinations he could think of based on what they used at their current home, but nothing worked."

"How did he get in?"

"He called Citadel. According to his revised statement, he wanted to then call us, but Citadel insisted they come over first. They took over an hour to get here and then their override code didn't work. They had to contact their control command center. Then their CCC had trouble finding an override code that would finally work because the Silverdale Park center isn't completed yet either. It was all a bit of a cock-up at their end."

"He doesn't get in until just after five in the morning."

"He had tried calling them while Citadel was trying to override the system, but neither of them answered their phones. While he can't be sure, he thinks he heard both phones ringing from inside the house, but from different areas of it."

"Where were they?"

"We found Frieda's phone in the kitchen."

"The woman's place," Harris said, "according to the master, I will assume."

"We found Joseph's phone set between them in the master bedroom."

"Is that part of their staging or a practical joke on us?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know, but I suspect they are toying with us. They want us reading all kinds of psychology into everything we find. That's why they left a note this time. That's why the phones were in two different areas of the house. I feel like a cat chasing one of those laser light toys. Even when I pounce on it I end up with nothing."

Ros entered the master bedroom first.

Three of her crew were still processing the scene.

Joseph and Frieda were laid out side-by-side on their backs. Joseph had Frieda's left hand in his right.

Harris said as he walked carefully around them, "Do you think the killers knew them?"

"What?"

"Ros told us they took great pride in telling everyone they were on the journey together, and that's how we find them. Is it just coincidence they are staged this way? Am I reading too much psychology into this? Or does at least one of the killers know them? Myles, you think whoever wrote the note is educated because he thought to use correct punctuation." He pointed to the Haussmanns. "They have been positioned exactly where they would be on the bed if this room was finished. Did the killers know which side of the bed each of them slept on?"

THIRTY-SEVEN:

Had the killers known Joseph and Frieda Haussmann? There was no sign of forced entry. The security system worked as it should.

"You fool." He turned the car right onto Tenth Avenue. "You damn, simple fool."

The fact confronting him was that he had considered the killers as definitely prowling Devil's Breach, being both opportunistic as well as planning their killings. But he had expected them to stay in the Breach where there would be plenty of mostly anonymous prey for them to hunt.

Joseph Haussmann and Frieda Hopkins had deep family roots in the city both socially and on the business side. The list was the longest of any of the city's family conglomerates: the Chrystal Ball Jewelry store, Hopkins Transport for truck and cargo containers, three vehicle dealerships, three separate commercial buildings downtown, including the highly coveted HLCC, two apartment blocks that they were in the process of selling, the Foster and Haussmann (F&H) Financial Investment Bank, plus pieces of seven other businesses that operated at a global level. The list of the people who knew them was all but uncountable.

Joseph and Frieda Haussmann were definitely also linked to the Hollows. Their philanthropic work in the neighborhood to create safe playgrounds, and their financial and vocal support for the Hollows Redevelopment Project made them prominent benefactors for all three boroughs. It would be reasonable to assume most people in the Hollows, particularly those who were aware of the programs and activities developed to help them, would know who Joseph and Frieda were.

Did Kimberley Deering know them? Did Darius McLemore know them? Did the killers know Deering or McLemore?

Mayor Turpin, Commissioner Bittner and even Captain Henry didn't believe the murders were connected. Two victims in the Breach, both found in the same suite of the Starways Motel, but each one killed a different way. Joseph and Frieda were killed execution style in the front entrance hall of their new home, which would indicate they were killed soon after they entered the house. Did someone follow them home and slip in behind them? Was someone hiding inside in wait for them?

A brief call from Henry shortly after he started for the Village had highlighted the greatest difficulty he was going to have with his investigation.

"Shane wants you to focus on Joseph and Frieda Haussmann. Ben can continue with the other two. Or we can assign Irene Maitland and Lenny Coors to them if you want Ben to stay with you. The investigation of the Deering and McLemore murders is still in its early stage. They can take over from you easily enough."

"They are all connected, Gail."

"I don't see it, Myles. The two in the Breach could just be random."

"Kimberley Deering's death was opportunistic but it wasn't random. Darius McLemore's murder wasn't random either. It has the earmarks of a trap being set and then sprung."

"How do the murders track from the Hollows to a new development in Silverdale Park? You do realize how many socioeconomic strata have to be traversed to make that connection."

Ben Harris's voice replayed his last words, "Did the killers know which side of the bed each of them slept on?"

"Dammit."

Henry said, "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Where are you going next?"

"To talk to Kayla Bartlett," he replied. "She worked closely with Joseph and Frieda on the redevelopment project." He turned left onto Maplewood Street.

"Myles, aren't you just trying to force the connection? I do not need my senior getting pigheaded about this."

He had then told her of his 'gut reaction' to the four murders.

Gail had surprised him with her comment as much as Ben had with his, "Not out of the range of possibilities, Myles, but that theory could be hard to prove. Perhaps if you focused on Joseph and Frieda, you will eventually be able to come back to Deering and McLemore. Joseph and Frieda have an extensive network to explore. Deering has a much smaller one I imagine. And Darius McLemore's life in the Hollows could be as hard to track as trying to snatch a housefly out of the air."

She had not, however, insisted he focus exclusively on Joseph and Frieda Haussmann over the other two . . . not yet.

The vast majority of serial killers worked alone. Theories of what created a serial killer abounded in criminology. Some historians have proposed that supernatural beings such as vampires, werewolves and demons were imagined in response to serial killings. The still persistent influence of the McDonald Triad of pyromania, cruelty to animals and enuresis past the age it would normally be expected to end being linked to homicidal or deviant sexual behavior represented a lazy and convenient shorthand way of thinking in police work. Numerous studies had found little statistical support for the supposed influence of the triad.

"Old habits do die hard."

Studies of violent offenders, including serial killers, in some cases find a history of cruelty to animals and sadism toward weaker individuals. All forms of abuse suffered as a child, particularly if it caused intense humiliation and provided no chance to retaliate against the abuser, was prevalent in the history of serial killers.

"Historical patterns by their very nature can always be spotted after the fact. Where is the infallible anticipation or the predictions with certainty?"

Serial killers were more likely to be loners, exhibit impulsive and antisocial behavior or sadism that demonstrated a lack of empathy. And yet psychopaths 'can look and act like anyone else'. Did it really matter how much each factor contributed to the final product?

Then there were pairs of serial killers. Co-opting the Master and Apprentice term from the Star Wars mythology wasn't particularly accurate as a generalization, but there was invariably a dominant member of the duo and a comparatively submissive member, often called the team killer.

Did at least one of them know Joseph and Frieda Haussmann, Kimberley Deering and Darius McLemore?

Kayla Bartlett and Marjorie Britton were talking in the community center's auditorium near the model of the redevelopment project.

"I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Detective Jacobsen. How can we help you?"

"I'd like to talk to you about the role Joseph and Frieda played in the redevelopment project. I am aware they were big supporters of it."

Marjorie said, "I'll leave you two to talk."

"We'll go to my office. Tanya will help you finish in here. Then go home, Marjorie. I think we'll call it a day for now."

Bartlett walked briskly on the way to her office. Once they entered it, however, she flopped down onto her chair like a puppet that had just had all of its strings cut away. One arm landed on the armrest of the chair. The other arm had missed and just dangled over the side of it. Her two legs spread apart with one foot touching the floor only at the heel.

He sat in one of the guest chairs and rolled closer to the desk. "You knew every one of the victims."

"Am I a suspect?" She straightened up and pulled herself to her desk. The expression on her face led to an immediate expectation of an outburst, but that never came. "Do you really think the deaths of Joseph and Frieda have anything to do with Kimberley or Darius?"

"The mayor, the police commissioner and my captain are not convinced they do."

"What about you?"

"I'm sure you've heard some of the details already."

"Word gets out, but I do not know if the information is factually correct."

"What words have reached you?"

"They were shot execution style shortly after entering their new home in Silverdale Park. They had gone there on a whim after leaving their annual scholarship banquet."

"Is that all you've heard?"

"That's about it."

"Your brother installed their home security system. I understand it was Citadel's Vanguard Home Security System with the Executive Security Program installed. It was turned on and working as it should."

"Marco doesn't talk to me about his work." She fussed with the papers on her desk for a few seconds. "He doesn't talk to me about much, actually."

"Your visits with each other must be quiet and peaceful."

She didn't erupt in response to that prod either. "They are seldom quiet or peaceful, Detective Jacobsen. It's just that Marco doesn't share much of himself even with me."

"What about with Willa?"

"You will have to ask her, but I can't imagine Marco being any different with Willa."

"Has he always been like that?"

"If you want a detailed family history, you aren't going to get it from me." She came closer to the desk. "I will tell you this, though. Marco has always been there for me. He didn't have to be. Mother kicked him to the curb when my father entered her life. She didn't want someone else's spawn interfering with her relationship with her new pimp. When my father got himself killed in a drug deal gone wrong, Marco returned from his seventh failed foster home placement and helped mom purchase the house I now live in. I do not know how he did that at such a young age, and I'm sure he wouldn't tell me if I asked him. When our mother died of a fentanyl overdose, he stayed to look after me. He had only just turned nineteen."

"It must have been tough for both of you."

"He protected me. He got me through high school and into university." She wiped her eyes. "He became as tough as he had to be, and that meant allowing calluses to form over his emotions. I am grateful for everything he has done for me, but I feel like I lost my big brother in the process."

"But you haven't lost him, not after going through all that together."

"It's the stupidest thing, but what I remember most vividly are our ice cream wars."

"And they were?"

"Marco liked vanilla. I liked pistachio. So I'd tell him, 'How can you like vanilla, man? It's all white and has no real flavor'. I didn't realize how metaphorically vile I was sounding, but he would just say, 'I like vanilla'.

"But I'd keep at him with my whole vanilla-is-just-too-bland gig. I always knew what was coming, but I'd keep at him until . . . POW! He'd reach over and scoop out a spoonful of my pistachio." She squealed a brief girlish giggle. "The ice cream wars were on then, man. We'd end up eating more of the other's ice cream than our own. What a stupid thing to remember, huh?"

"Maybe pistachio was really his favorite flavor, too?"

"Yeah, maybe it was. But that would mean my favorite flavor was really vanilla. And that would mean he understood me better than I understood myself."

"You were kids. It was just a game."

"Just a game, yeah." Her voice faded as she sat back.

"Amman Cook, Dante Parker, Marco and Johnny are all missing. Marco and Johnny failed to show up for work today. Both of Marco's phones are off."

"I haven't heard from him. And I've had no more luck than you trying to get in touch with him."

"Is he the Robin Hood of the Breach?"

"If he is, that gives me hope."

"Where is he?"

"That's the question, isn't it? But I thought you came here to talk about Joseph and Frieda." She took some facial tissue from a box on her desk and blew her nose.

"How did your last meeting at city hall go?"

"Two steps forward, three steps back. If I had to characterize our situation right now, I would say the same old tacticians are using the same old tactics to grind the project to a halt."

"Who was on your side?"

"The usual suspects: Christopher Brown, Emily Tucker and Wyatt O'Neal, Joseph and Frieda."

"And lining up with the opposition?"

"The usual fatheads: Mayor Brent Turpin, Councillor Coralee Ashton and Austin Knight, the Director of City Planning, though he was supposedly only there to present a report on the current budget problems the project is facing. Of course, it is only my humble opinion, but somehow Mel Tillson and Garrett Malloy were exerting their influence without having to be physically present. There may have also been a few other invisible voices present as well or it could have just been my imagination."

"And Joseph and Frieda have been stalwart supporters from the beginning."

"They had been stalwart supporters through the three previous and fruitless attempts to redevelop the Hollows. We would never have got to this fourth iteration of futility without them keeping us all from just giving up."

"Losing them is a blow that devastating?"

"How deep are your pockets, Detective Jacobsen?"

"Average, some would say. Some would say below average."

"As a senior detective at the top of your pay scale, you would be earning just over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars per year in a city where the average price of a 'nothing special' house costs just below one and a half million dollars. I will assume no home in the Hollows would attract your interest."

"You know your wage scales."

"Know your enemy," she said. "I've been knocking heads with city hall since I returned from university."

"You think the police are your enemy, too?"

"I won't argue with you, but I am also aware of the police work statistics for the city. I know how many more calls come into the police from the Hollows compared to the more affluent neighborhoods. I know the success rate for solving crimes in the Hollows compared to the more affluent neighborhoods."

"Our situation reflects that of most cities our size."

"That is a convenient and complacent response to the growing economic inequality that exists in most cities our size. I've heard that one a lot as a justification for gentrification of the Hollows. Somehow, all the victims of those unsolved crimes that live here aren't ever part of those plans."

He leaned back. "I am sorry, Kayla. I appreciate the difficulties you are dealing with, even if that does sound patronizing. I did not come here to add to them or become your enemy."

"You are convinced the murders of Joseph and Frieda are connected to Kimberley and Darius?"

He smiled and said, "Which means I am also knocking heads with city hall, the police commissioner and my commander."

She smiled back and said, "How can I help you, Myles."

"Would Joseph and Frieda have known Kimberley or Darius?"

"It is possible they could have both met Kimberley. She sang in the choir and they were frequent visitors here for most public events. As far as Darius goes, Frieda would be the more likely one to have met him while she volunteered in our food bank or with our meals outreach program."

He stood up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Kayla rose from her chair. "Do you have any idea who is doing this?"

"Not even close. Please don't tell Haitiah Gibbs that."

"What do you believe you know about the murders?"

"There are two killers working together. I believe at least one of them is familiar with the Hollows as well as the more affluent parts of the city, but that could just be my imagination. And I know I am not the only one trying to find them."

"Marco. Great, let's add another thing about my big brother to worry about."

"I am worried about him, Kayla. I am worried about what he might do if he finds the killers before we do."

"You should be worried, Myles. We both know what he will do."

THIRTY-EIGHT:

He stood at the driver's door of the Lincoln squad car and looked back at Bartlett's office window. He couldn't see any movement in there.

"Dammit."

He began meandering through the end parking lot, at first heading for the sidewalk at Maplewood Street before veering away to head to the back parking lot.

Kayla Bartlett was worried her brother would do something violent if he found the killers before the police did.

"He told you as much right after you let him know there are two of them." He gestured as if to slap his forehead but stopped short of making contact. "This is going to be your last investigation, but it won't be because you become the precinct captain. The department isn't going to promote someone being this foolish."

Whatever concern he had about what Marco Kamren might do if he did find them first, he had to move on from Kamren despite all the little surprises about him that kept slapping him in the face. If he didn't, the investigation was going to stall until Gail had no choice but to remove him from it.

"And that is no path to precinct captain either."

Kamren was not a viable suspect in the Deering murder. He wasn't a viable suspect in any of the murders. He and Johnny Reynolds were not the killers. They might have a superficially similar dynamic to their relationship, but they were not psychopaths. They could be the burglars. They probably were. Marco was most likely the Robin Hood of Devil's Breach, too. But they were not leaving any evidence that could prove it.

"And no one in the Hollows would ever betray him. Convey your suspicions about them to Gail and let her decide how to proceed. You need to get back on track."

His circuitous wandering around the community center grounds had brought him back to the squad car. He tapped the roof of the car. "If you'd kept that up much longer someone might have begun wondering if you were one of the more needy homeless inhabitants of the Breach." His phone began ringing and vibrating before he could get into the Lincoln. "Detective Jacobsen."

"Good afternoon, Detective Jacobsen," Drew Campbell said. "Still on the job or are you about to check out for the day?"

He looked at the office window, saw nothing moving about on the other side of it and then looked up at the darkening overcast sky. "It's about time for dinner. What can I do for you?"

"It will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure, but Haitiah Gibbs isn't only pestering you."

"I thought you two were old war buddies."

Campbell's laughter sounded hollow and distant through the phone. It stopped when Jacobsen heard what sounded like a loud crack overwhelm it.

"So I could tell her something when she calls me again, I came down to Starways and took a look around. Don't worry I didn't ruin your crime scene. I also talked to a few of its intermittent residents. The few that would say anything to me mostly just wanted to talk about the naked woman they saw prancing about in Port Gates the night McLemore was killed. Did you know it has twenty-one gates in and out of it?"

"Hence the name," he said. "Everything that came in through the port went through one gate or other and then out again once it was processed."

"No doubt that is an enthralling history for someone, but what about that naked woman in there?"

"What about her?"

"She's a blond, a redhead, a brunette or raven-haired and her locks are either straight down to her taut, magnificent ass or kept short as a bob job. She could also be up to seven feet tall according to one wild-eyed peeper. But the one thing I got from everyone who swore to have seen her is that she was being sly and coy, almost playing hide-and-seek with someone, and she was enjoying herself in lascivious ways, and she had a perfect body."

"Those were all men telling you that."

"Only men would keep watching even if they thought it was only a hallucination. Was it a mass hallucination, Detective Jacobsen?"

"One of our key witnesses was certain there was a naked woman on the site. The other one insisted there wasn't."

"Anyway, I thought I'd take a peek for myself. Let me tell you, this place is fucking big and mostly fucking empty."

"Mostly?"

"Ah, I thought that word might tweak your interest."

"Did you find anything?"

"I sure as hell did not find a perfectly naked woman."

"You have my sympathy."

"I was about to leave when—"

"You thought you saw something."

"No, when I thought I'd take a look in one last building. I went into that big one that looks like an aircraft hangar. Shit, it looks like it could hold a whole aircraft carrier."

"Every building in Port Gates has been partially demolished. They have been designated as unsafe. You shouldn't be in any of them. There are signs everywhere."

"I know. My foot went through the floor when I got up to the second storey. From the outside, I couldn't tell it had a second storey."

"I would recommend leaving there as quickly and carefully as you can."

"I am about to do that. What I want to know is do you want me to bring the mummy out with me or did you want to come get her yourself?"

"Mummy?"

"Not a real one, but she's wrapped up to look like one. I think they are just tensor bandages, but I need to get closer to be sure."

"It's a woman?"

A loud crack in the background masked the first part of Campbell's response. "Hang on a second, I'm about to let you have a look for yourself."

Another loud crack that sounded like splintering again drowned out Campbell's voice.

"Drew what—"

"Ah, shit. It's—" The loudest crack to come through his phone preceded Campbell's scream, the sound of crashing material and then the end of the call.

*****

Every vehicle for every unit he'd requested converged on Port Gates simultaneously. Every other vehicle held back to let him enter first through the main gates and then followed him single file to the building right in the center of the site. Upon arrival, the three Fire and Rescue units took the lead.

Ros came to him at the Lincoln. "Patrick will go in with Fire and Rescue to check out the scene. He worked with them before coming to my team. We need to give them time to get Campbell out and then assess the scene for any safety issues."

Harris joined them. "Campbell said she was a mummy."

"He told me she was wrapped like a mummy but she wasn't a real one."

"And he knew the victim was female?"

"He was about to show me when the floor collapsed under him."

Patrick Waller came to them. "Chief Rempel and his team are digging Campbell out of the debris now. His right arm is broken. He has a lot of cuts and bruises, too, but he is conscious and alert."

Ros asked, "What about the scene?"

"They are securing it now. I took a quick look. There is a body. It is wrapped like a mummy. The wrappings have been removed from her head, sliced open, and laid out under her."

"That's how he knew her gender. They wanted us to know the moment she was found."

"A lot of the scene went down with the collapse. They are setting down some plywood to bridge the gap to the body. And they are setting safety lines. We should be able to go up there in twenty minutes or so." He'd said the first and last sentences directly to Ros. He then returned to the building.

Harris said, "If she's one of theirs, then we've just been blow out of the water. Deering might not have been their first victim. She might not even be number two." He asked Ros, "How do you make a mummy?"

"Very hot and dry conditions will do it. So will the acid in bogs. It's called natural or accidental mummification."

"There are no bogs nearby and the nearest desert is at least three hundred miles away."

"She was likely freeze dried then. Extreme cold and dry air can do it. Anyone with a good commercial or industrial refrigeration unit could do it if they set it right."

"How long would that take?"

"It depends on how cold the unit can go, how dry it can get and what you want to accomplish. I'll have a better idea of that once we get her out of there. I should warn you, though. We will probably not be able to get an accurate estimate of time of death. Decomposition will have been delayed, but it could have begun again depending on how long she's been in there and how much she's thawed out." She touched his arm. "I'll see if I can speed them up."

He and Harris watched in silence as Ros entered the building.

"I thought you might try to stop her."

"Don't be absurd."

"Do you suppose the note could be referring to this? The curse of the Devil's Breach mummy does leave what is written on it open to other meanings."

His phone rang. "It's Ros."

A video of the scene appeared on his phone showing a patchwork of plywood laid out across a huge, jagged gap in the floor. Safety lines of thick, orange nylon rope were strung out along the makeshift bridge at waist height.

Ros said, "They've been very quick." She kept the video focused on the mummy as she made her way across the plywood. Creaking, groaning and cracking noises came through the phone with every step she took.

"Be careful, Ros," he said.

"Thank you, Detective Obvious." She knelt down at the body. The legs of three of her unit passed through the shot. "We'll do a fast check of the scene and get her out as soon as possible."

The video zoomed in on the victim's face. Her eyes were wide open. "She has brown hair and green eyes. I would say she's between eighteen and thirty years of age." Ros's hand came into view as she first pushed against the victim's chest before turning her head to the left and then to the right. "She is thawing out. It's been cool these past few nights and the daily highs have been six or seven degrees below normal. I am guessing, but I suspect she was deposited here just last night."

Harris said, "Then she couldn't be the naked woman."

"No. She was completely frozen and kept that way for some length of time. There are signs of freezer burn. Her eyes and neck tell me she was strangled, possibly garrotted." She cursed. "They are enjoying themselves. They took their time with this one, even longer than with Deering, possibly days." She cursed again. "They were in let's-try-this mode."

Harris said to him, "Ros doesn't curse."

"I do now. These two are monsters right down there with the worst of them."

"You do realize we are now going to be famous here for all the wrong reasons."

He said, "I believe that's called being infamous."

"Smartass," she said and cursed again. "I'll have her out in a few minutes." She ended the call.

"Those last ones were aimed at you, I think." Harris pointed to the building. "They're bringing Campbell out."

He and Harris met the two male paramedics at the ambulance.

The older paramedic said, "He's out. We gave him a shot for the pain."

"I'm not out yet." Campbell held out his phone. "It's not locked. You can copy the pictures and video to get the 'before' shots. I want copies, too." He laid back. His words slurred when he said, "I hope Gibbs appreciates this."

He took the phone. The ambulance drove away.

"We can wait for Ros near the door. I have a feeling she will appreciate seeing you first thing when she comes out."

THIRTY-NINE:

"This will cost you," Aidan Copp said.

"Will it do the job?"

"It can hack anything. And when it's done, there won't be a trace of it left. You want it for a home, right?"

"That's the plan."

"Any security on a private home computer will be no match for it. Have you got the cash with you?"

Marco handed over the envelope containing $10,000.00.

Copp handed over the USB flash drive and a folded piece of paper. "Follow these instructions once the window comes up. Let it do its stuff. Get what you want. Let it eat itself up. Then remove the drive and turn off the computer. When it comes back on there will be no trace. Easy-peasy."

"What do I do with the drive?"

"It's a one and done. The program won't be of any use to anyone after you're through if you do it right. Only the files you downloaded will remain."

"Thanks."

"Pleasure." Copp turned back to his laptop. He went back to work on it after placing the envelope in a desk drawer and then locking the drawer.

Back in his Camaro, he called Kayla. "I'm going to be out of town for a few days."

"Because of what happened last night?"

"I'll have a new phone when I get back. Don't try calling me on this one anymore."

"Jacobsen is looking for you. Marco, what are you doing?"

"I just told you."

"You just told me nothing. Are you still coming to Kimberley's service Sunday?"

"Talk to you later." He ended the call and turned the phone off.

Upon arriving at Liberty Second Hand, he took a moment to look at the old building. When Darren Mitchell died, Liberty Second Hand would die with him, but the building might not. It would never be designated a heritage site like some of the other buildings in the area. It was too shabby, unsightly, had an insignificant history and undergone too many modifications to be classified as such. But the building could be too ornery to be torn down. It was certainly likely to take someone with it once the demolition crew attacked.

Mitchell was perched on his stool, a bit more diminished than the last time, still as uninterested in anything on the other side of the shop's front door as ever and possibly a bit more craggy, too.

"Darren," he said as he closed the door slowly and carefully.

"Marco."

Three handguns were on the counter by the time he reached it.

Mitchell's eyelids were half-closed, as though unable or unwilling to expend the energy to complete a blink anymore.

"Is this all you've got?"

"How many do you need?"

"Just one."

"Then these are enough."

He picked up a derringer with four separate barrels on it. "This is?"

"That is a COP three-fifty-seven. You can load a bullet in each of the barrels. It's easy to conceal and has lots of firepower. It's particularly good for close work."

He picked up the Walther PPK. "I'm not a fucking secret agent."

"Did I say you were? You wanted to look at untraceable guns. These are untraceable."

"Don't you have any plastic ones?"

Mitchell raised an eyebrow, which coincided with his eyes closing completely. He sighed. For the shallow-breathing Mitchell it was a sigh. "You wanted to look at guns that are untraceable, not ones that could blow up in your face."

He picked up the COP .357, derringer. "I'll take this one. How much?"

Mitchell produced a box of bullets. "Four." He opened his eyes. "But for you, I'll settle for two."

Marco handed over the envelope of money.

Without looking down, Mitchell placed the envelope in its proper spot, closed and locked the drawer. The other two guns had been removed from the counter.

Mitchell slowly turned to look directly at him. "This is my last day. I stayed open this late for you."

It was accurate for anyone who had known him for any length of time to describe his self-control as steely. He said very little, giving away nothing of his emotions. Mitchell was going to be the only one other than Kayla who could now boast he had broken through that control. "No shit, Darren?"

"No shit, Marco."

Mitchell's eyes had returned to being half-opened or half-closed. His wide, dour mouth and craggy face seemed to be hardening before Marco's eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go live with my son in Palm Springs. I could use a bit more sun."

"You have a son?"

"I have two, but I don't like the other one."

"You had a wife?"

"I had two, but I didn't like either one of them."

"How long have I known you, Darren?"

"You've never known me, Marco. We've had a business relationship for seven years, seven months and ten days."

"I'll take your word for that."

"You should."

"Um . . . happy retirement, Darren."

"It won't be happy. I hate his children." Mitchell's eyes found the energy to look across the counter at him one last time. "I was sorry to hear about Kimberley."

He placed the derringer and the box of bullets in a lockbox in the trunk of his car. His third phone began ringing as he closed the trunk lid.

Parker said, "You set me up, fucker."

"I brought you a peace offering. I had nothing to do with what went down between you and Amman." He got into the Camaro and checked all his mirrors.

"If I find out different," Parker growled, "you're done."

"I'm not worried."

"Where is he?"

"I heard they found a body in the basement of the restaurant."

"Asa is missing, too. Which one do you think it is?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"What is he up to?"

"I can't tell you that either, Dante."

"If he is alive, Marco, I know how to bring him out of his hole." He hung up.

He tore the phone apart and tossed it out the window. After checking in all his mirrors again, he pulled away from the curb and headed for Vistaview Court in East Crag. He checked the mirrors again when he parked across from the apartment building but didn't see anything to worry about. He brought in three cloth bags of groceries.

Angela opened the apartment door for him. She took the lightest bag from him but struggled to get it up on the table. He helped her with the last eight inches of her lift.

"Hello, Marco," Dorothy called from the sofa.

Bobby waved at him from the floor at Dorothy's feet before he went back to ramming his fire truck into an empty animal crackers box.

Angela came back to the Camaro with him. He gave her the packages of paper towels and toilet paper to bring in.

"Bobby and I love your car."

"I like it, too."

"Can we go for a drive after dinner?"

"A short one if gramma says it's okay."

Angela and Bobby were on their best behavior during supper, not that they were ever any real trouble.

After cleaning up, he asked Dorothy, "Want to come with us?"

"I could use a bit of peace and quiet right now, but thanks for asking."

Once Bobby was in his seat in the back and Angela was strapped in beside her brother, but before he started the car, he said, "Which way this time?"

Angela squinted at him and then scrunched up her face. "Marco, could we—"

"Freeway," Bobby shouted. "I want to go fast."

"You okay with that?"

Angela sat back and raised her chin. "Freeway's good, yeah."

It took fifteen minutes to reach the nearest freeway entrance. Bobby chattered to himself the whole time without pause about what he was seeing. It was his game. Angela sat quietly, which was not her usual behavior on a drive.

"It takes a long time to get to the freeway from where we live," she said as he waited to turn left. "That van behind us had to take every road you took."

He spotted the black van following them onto the entrance ramp. Accelerating slowly at first, he then floored the accelerator pedal as soon as he confirmed nothing was coming up behind them and the lanes ahead of them had few cars in the way. He could wend his way around them easily enough if he had to.

The Camaro was doing sixty miles per hour in only a few seconds. The black van came onto the freeway behind them. It couldn't possibly match the acceleration of his car, but if it was one of Parker's vans, it could still do a good job of keeping up, and it was obviously getting up to speed as fast as it could.

Taking the Camaro up to seventy, he began to weave his way through the light traffic, changing into whatever lane of three he needed. The van had changed into the lane farthest to the left and was matching his speed.

"Everyone," Angela said, "always told gramma how wonderful it was for you to have found someone like Auntie Kimmy."

The van kept its distance. When he slowed back to the speed limit, it slowed and moved into the lane he was in one car behind his.

"Did you think it was wonderful for you, too, Marco?"

He moved into the left lane and accelerated to pass three vehicles in the center lane that were all doing the speed limit. Once he was past them, he pulled back into the center lane and slowed to sixty-one miles per hour.

The van moved into the left lane to pass the vehicle in front of it as well as the three he had just passed. It then changed lanes again to be directly behind him.

"Did you, Marco?"

"Sorry."

"Did you think Auntie Kimmy was wonderful for you?"

"I did." He accelerated the Camaro and veered right as soon as he was in front of the tractor-trailer rig. He continued accelerating across traffic and took the off ramp at eighty miles per hour.

If the van was following him, it couldn't get off. The rig he'd passed and the car exiting that he had cut in front of blocked any move to the right.

He took Main Street through the center of the city to get back to East Crag.

"If she was so wonderful for you," Angela said, "why did you break up with her."

He looked at her through the rear view mirror. "Can you keep a secret?"

She folded her arms across her chest and scowled back at him. "You know I can. I never told Bobby what you got him for his birthday and I knew that for three weeks." She crossed her legs.

"This is a big secret. I can't tell you until we're home."

The van never reappeared behind them, but it was parked nearby when they got back to Vistaview.

"Okay, Marco, spill it." Angela's arms were still folded across her chest, but her legs were kicking up from the seat hitting the back of his. "What's your big secret?"

Glancing at the van in the rear view mirror when he wasn't looking straight at Angela, he said, "We didn't really break up."

FORTY:

According to Kayla, Turpin's wife died three years ago from cancer. His son was currently away at Harvard. He came from an affluent family and had also attended Harvard before returning home. Remaining in the family residence after his parents had both died in an automobile accident he had run for mayor that same year and had been in office for the past eight years.

The Turpin family residence was located in the original Silverdale Park, the older exclusive neighborhood that had ended at the eastern edge of the Silverdale Raceway. Old Silverdale Park was not to be confused with the new Silverdale Park now being developed on the former racing grounds. For one thing, the original Silverdale Park neighborhood had no apartment buildings or townhouses in it and would never allow such a higher-density blight to ever spread to there. Allowing apartment condominiums in the new Silverdale Park development was probably because there weren't enough of the filthy rich left in this city to create another entirely exclusive neighborhood. The upper middle-class riffraff had to be put somewhere until they achieved any real status worth noticing.

Though Mayor Turpin was the face of the pushback being exerted against the Hollows Redevelopment Project, he was not building a new mansion in new Silverdale Park. He wouldn't have to contend with the possibility of looking out one of his windows at the sun setting on East Crag.

Turpin was being mayor at some city banquet tonight. It didn't matter what the banquet was for, but it cost big bucks to get into it. Of Kayla's allies, only Christopher Brown and Joseph and Frieda Haussmann could afford to buy their way in.

Despite his 'old family' money, Turpin did not have a staff of resident servants. His chauffeur lived somewhere else. His 'valet' lived somewhere else, and was with him tonight at the banquet to provide the personal protection that he was really hired for. His cook lived somewhere else. A cleaning service came in on Mondays and Tuesdays. Tonight, his chauffeur would be required to wait out in the parking lot while he played the mayor at the banquet.

Turpin's home was empty when Marco climbed over the stone fence. Turpin appeared to be one of the few rich people left in the world still arrogant enough to believe he was untouchable in old Silverdale Park and needed little more than his intimidating family heritage, a tall, thick stone wall and a wrought iron gate to keep out villains. The Turpin estate grounds had a surveillance camera system that was close to two decades old and had been installed with little consideration for blind spots.

The house had an equally ancient security system. Marco quickly found its main external control box and bypassed the alarm system in a matter of seconds.

Turpin's office was the only modern challenge he encountered. The door to it was a Wembley. The Crown Sentry door in the Pearson-Brown home resembled a bank vault door and had little decorative value. The Wembley was made of oak, contained a metal core and was heavy enough to need its own machinery to open and close it. Unlike the Crown Sentry, the Wembley had knobs on both sides. Its lock was controlled by a Wembley Model 1066 keypad. Wembley keypads didn't come with universal bypass codes. Those alphanumeric codes had to be set by the owner as the first step to programming the electromagnetic locks in the door and jamb. The customer was expected to then send the code to Wembley's security department for their records.

Getting past the keypad would require some human engineering rather than a high-tech workaround, and a bit of luck. He keyed in LRK2BRK, the alphanumeric from the licence plate on Turpin's BMW 750IL. Once Kayla got revved up, usually with his prodding, and aimed her vitriol at Turpin, she always spat out his mantra of conceit because it angered her more than anything else about him did.

"I always get my way. When I was a little rich kid, I got my way. Now I'm a big rich kid who still always gets my way."

The electromagnetic locks released. The door slowly swung open to the sound of a chime that made sure the owner of the door was alerted to its movement. Wembley didn't want one of its customers to end up crushed between their automated three-hundred-pound door and the wall.

A family portrait painting hung on the wall behind the desk. The wife appeared healthy in the painting. The son must have been in his mid-teens when they sat for it. He wasn't the roly-poly body type his dad was, and he had more of his mother's leaner and tender facial features than his father's coarser ones. Turpin senior could be considered ruggedly handsome if he wasn't so fleshy and soft.

Turpin's computer rested on its own lower shelf set at ninety degrees to the left end of the antique desk. The center drawer of the desk had a simple key lock. None of the other drawers in the desk were locked. Turpin had enough wit to hide his important documents securely out of sight or on his computer. But Turpin was likely as arrogant about those two options as he was about the wall around his property and all his other security. The Wembley was all that was needed to keep anyone out.

He took out the top right drawer, raised it up to check the bottom of it and found what he needed: Albert310772. Like most people who put a premium on convenience, Turpin wouldn't bother with special characters unless he absolutely had to. His father's name was Albert, as was his son's. The numbers were probably Turpin's birth date.

Once the computer had booted up, he plugged in the flash drive and waited. A window opened. Lines of code scrolled upward in the window too fast to follow even if he'd wanted to watch how the program worked. Numerous other windows opened and closed behind the main one almost as quickly as the scrolling lines of code. The screen went blank three times and dark twice. Despite Copp's claim about the speed of his hacking program, seven minutes elapsed before the scrolling ended on the main window and was replaced by a skull and crossbones image.

"I guess," he muttered, "the Stanford tree just isn't all that scary."

The flash drive quit blinking for about as long as it took him to bypass the computer's security before it started blinking again. It took an additional two minutes for all the files from the computer to download onto the drive.

He checked the files on the flash drive before removing it. Every folder or file he clicked on opened as it should and displayed its contents, including the folder Kayla would be most interested in. Copp's hacking program was gone.

After removing the flash drive, he turned off the computer and then made sure nothing looked out of place in the office. The moment the chiming stopped and the electromagnetic locks on the door reengaged with a loud click, the front door opened.

It was barely past nine o'clock. Turpin had returned early with a woman.

Estelle Pearson-Brown wore a tight black, sequined evening gown with a hem ending just below her knees. Cords acting as straps were tied at her shoulders. A plunging neckline exposed a v-shape of skin between her breasts, which jiggled when she laughed at whatever Turpin was saying to her as he hung up her coat in the entrance hall closet.

They both continued laughing as they started coming toward the office.

He stepped into the dining room across the hall. If they kept coming his way, he could get to the living room and then go out through the French doors at the front of the house.

"No," Pearson-Brown chirped. "Let's go in here instead." She pulled Turpin into the living room. "Now that poor Joseph and Frieda are dead, are you still going through with that stupid ceremony?"

Marco ducked behind a section of wall at the passage between the two rooms. When he peeked around the edge of the wall, Pearson-Brown had placed Turpin on the brown leather sofa and positioned herself in front of him a few feet away.

Turpin nodded. "It's been moved from ten o'clock to one, and it will now also be a tribute to both of them. I have a marvelous heartfelt speech prepared."

"You don't have any problems with all this hypocrisy, do you?"

"No point starting now." Turpin lunged for her.

She easily stepped back from his grasp. "Just watch this time, and keep your hands to yourself until I tell you."

Turpin laughed, nodded again and slid back on the sofa. He then placed his arms on the top of its cushions.

Pearson-Brown undid the cords of the dress, wiggled her hips and let it slide down her naked body to the floor.

"That wasn't much of a performance," Turpin scoffed.

Pearson-Brown caressed herself from her thighs to her breasts, cupping and then squeezing them before pinching her nipples. She had replaced the studs she'd flashed at him with silver rings for tonight.

It's important to properly accessorize for an evening out.

"The performance comes later, silly."

His first impression of Estelle Pearson-Brown was not of a woman who would be coquettish, particularly after just dropping the one and only article of clothing she was wearing other than her stiletto heels.

"I must say, Estelle, you always impress me."

"Is that all?"

"See for yourself."

Her gaze lowered to focus on Turpin's groin. She giggled—another surprise. "My, oh my, did I do that?"

"How did Christopher ever let you get away?"

She pouted, but that quickly became a frown and then an exaggerated wide-open-mouth sigh. "He isn't interested in me anymore. He's taken up with a nice little bit of vanilla and chocolate on the side to keep him happy." She giggled again. "Wait until she finds out the only thing more limited than his endurance is his imagination."

"Who is she?"

"I don't know her name. She's on that stupid advisory council with him. I think she runs the community center, that one in the Breach."

"Kayla Bartlett."

Marco reached for the derringer in his jacket pocket.

"That could be it." Pearson-Brown pouted again, cupper her breasts and took a step toward Turpin. "I don't really care. He's lost to us."

"What do you mean lost?"

"Brent, am I going to have to do this all by myself? Are you trying to ruin it for me?" She put a hand between her legs and gasped. "God, I'm wet."

"Lost, Estelle?"

A moan and a sigh and then she said, "It just seems that lately no matter how hard he works, how much he accomplishes, no matter how much money he earns, he just can't leave those bottom feeders behind. And now that little chocolate cupcake is digging her claws into his back right where I used to put mine."

"He isn't lost, Estelle, he's been contaminated."

"Ooh, I like that description much better."

He let go of the derringer when Pearson-Brown picked up the bottle of oil from the coffee table. She began rubbing the oil on herself as Turpin pushed the table aside with his foot.

"Let me do that."

"I'll do this." She began a slow version of a belly dance as she continued to rub oil onto herself. "I have something else in mind for you to do to me. Put on some music and get the ropes."

The moment Turpin rose from the sofa, he blocked Pearson-Brown's view into the dining room.

Marco slipped into the kitchen and then out the backdoor. Stopping at the external control box, he removed his bypass wiring and set the timer. All of the lights in the house came on and all of the alarms started beeping or blaring as he jumped down from the wall and headed for his Camaro.

Along the way he checked for a black van but didn't see one, which proved nothing because Parker was well aware of everywhere he went in Devil's Breach.

FORTY-ONE:

The Allie Wilkommen cemetery was created by German immigrants after World War I. The Lutheran church attached to the grounds had since become a center for multi-denominational services as other churches in the Hollows were abandoned and closed.

Clear skies created a bright morning for the funeral. He didn't attend the service held for Kimberley inside the church, but rather stood in the shade under a line of Redwoods left standing near the middle of the cemetery when it was created. He kept well back when the coffin and people proceeded from the church to the grave.

Detective Jacobsen and his partner were in attendance. Jacobsen held hands with a woman as the trio trailed the rest of the procession.

Kayla walked with Christopher Brown and Marjorie Britton behind Heather Deering and Haitiah Gibbs. Dorothy, Angela and Bobby walked with them. Willa, April Cutler and other members of the choir followed next. Kimberley's colleagues from Hoult Industries slotted in between the choir and the police.

Kayla looked his way before the procession rose along the gravel path that took them over the one hill in the cemetery and passed from his view. Jacobsen had noticed where Kayla looked and looked that way, too. Neither of them exhibited any indication they had seen him.

Keeping to the shade under the trees, he walked to the edge of the woods on the other side of the hill. From there he watched the priest give the last blessing before the coffin was lowered into the grave. Heather and Haitiah tossed handfuls of soil onto the coffin. Heather had to support Haitiah once the act was done. Dorothy, Kayla, Willa and April were the only others to toss soil onto the coffin.

As the crowd dispersed, he stepped clear of the trees. Both Kayla and the detective spotted him. Kayla brought her entourage over to him with her. Detective Jacobsen, the woman and his partner remained at Kimberley's grave.

Dorothy and Angela hugged him first. Bobby shook his hand and then wiped his nose on the cuff of his shirt before Angela could stop him.

"That is what your handkerchief is for," she said with a stern big-sister tone.

Bobby stared bawling when Angela started going through his pockets to fetch the handkerchief. Then Angela started bawling. Dorothy and Haitiah took charge of comforting them.

Heather Deering hugged him next. "Thank you for coming, Marco." She eased up a bit before squeezing him hard one more time. "I wish you'd have come to the service."

"How did it go?"

Haitiah Gibbs's face was a wreck of tear-streaked cheeks, weepy, bloodshot eyes and quivering lips. "It was beautiful. Our baby had a proper send off, Marco." She hugged him only briefly before stepping away and looking up at the sky. "Kimberley would love that it is such a sunny, wonderful. . . ." She gasped and started bawling.

Heather embraced her sister and led her away. She gave his arm a squeeze before she did. Dorothy, and Angela, holding Bobby's hand and wiping his nose as it needed it, went with her.

Brown shook his hand. "We'll give you two a moment." He took Marjorie with him and returned to the grave.

Kayla did not hug him. "Heather told me what you did."

"She's not using her canes."

"She was determined to stand up straight for her daughter."

"I'm going to bring something around tomorrow. We need to be alone when I do."

"What have you been up to?"

"I'm leaving the Breach."

"When did you make that decision?"

"Three weeks ago."

Kayla looked toward the grave. "There is nothing to keep you here anymore, if there ever was." She looked back at him with the exact expression she always had on her face when she was furious with him. She also growled at him through gritted teeth the way she always did, "You were running out on her. That's why you broke it off. Paying for this funeral was just your way of—"

"She was coming with me."

Kayla's breath caught. She put one hand on his chest, the other over her heart. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Marco, I. . . ." She hugged him tighter than Heather Deering had. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"You better get back to your people. I'll see you tomorrow bright and early."

"I do love you, you thick-headed, stubborn fool. Be careful." She patted his chest before leaving him for Brown and Britton.

Willa and Kayla stopped to hug each other before Kayla continued back to her people. Willa came to him. She hugged him gently before letting him go. "Kayla just told me. So you can love somebody else other than your two sisters."

"Did you sing for her?"

The tears started flowing. Willa sniffed and nodded. "I wasn't sure we'd get through Amazing Grace, but everyone sang their heart out. Then we all broke down."

"Give them my thanks."

"You are an idiot." She hugged him again, kissing his cheek this time, before returning to the choir.

Jacobsen, his partner and the woman were already more than halfway to him.

Jacobsen said, "Where have you been keeping yourself? I told you to leave your phones turned on."

"Who's your girlfriend?"

"I am Rosalind Copp, forensic pathologist and Commander of the Crime Scene Unit."

"I know your nephew."

"That does not surprise me."

"You found the dog hairs."

Jacobsen said, "You wouldn't happen to know where Dante Parker is, would you?"

"He's turned his phone off, so, no, I don't."

Jacobsen's partner asked, "How about Cook?"

"I'm sorry. I've forgotten your name."

"Ben Harris," Jacobsen said. "Do you think that body was Amman?"

"He didn't like barbeque. He thought it was too commonplace." He glimpsed Brown, Kayla and Britton looking into the grave. Maybe they were just bowing their heads. "He always told me people stayed home to have barbeque. They came to All Nations to dine on something special."

Harris said, "Where's your friend Reynolds? He still hasn't come in to give his statement."

"The last time I talked to him, he mentioned something about visiting cousins in the Ozarks. I think he has a crush on one of them."

"What cousins?"

He shrugged. "We're not that close."

Jacobsen stepped closer. "What do you think of the Robin Hood rumors?"

"I don't listen to rumors."

"The night of the gang fight, Joseph and Frieda Haussmann were murdered. Their jewelry store was also robbed. If this Robin Hood rumor was responsible for that, then he betrayed one of the city's strongest supporters of the Hollows."

"Were they mummified, too?"

"You read about that in the Courier."

"I heard about in to the radio before I put on some music."

Harris stepped closer. "You weren't at work Friday."

He pointed toward the grave. Kayla, Brown and Britton had left. Willa and the choir were saying good-bye one last time. "I took a personal day."

"Citadel was unaware of that."

"But they had probably heard the rumor." He pointed toward the grave again. "I need to pay my respects."

He passed Haley Winston from Hoult Industries on his way to the grave. As he dropped a handful of soil onto the coffin, he noticed Winston talking to Jacobsen.

FORTY-TWO:

Haley Winston held a pink handkerchief in her right hand. She did not appear to have been recently crying.

"Detective Jacobsen, I just remembered something about Kimberley. I don't see how it matters to your investigation, but I thought I should tell you."

"What have you remembered?"

"A few weeks ago, I can't remember when exactly, Kimberley told me she was planning on giving her notice."

"She was leaving Hoult Industries?"

Ros said, "Was it because of the breakup?"

"Oh no . . . at least I don't think so. I can't remember when, but it was long before the breakup. She didn't tell me why, but she was very excited about doing it."

"Did she have another job lined up?"

"If she did, she didn't tell me." Winston glanced back at the grave. Marco was gone. "I thought she was happy with us, but it just goes to show that you can't ever really know another person, can you?"

"But as far as you know, she never did give her notice."

"I never got a chance after the breakup to ask her if she still wanted to leave. She certainly did not give her notice. It would have come through me if she had." She wiped her nose. "And Jessie would have told you if Kimberley had talked to her about it." Winston blew her nose, glanced again toward the grave before smiling at each of them and leaving.

Harris said, "Did Kimberley have a suspicion their relationship wasn't going anywhere? Was their date at All Nations really the one and only time she had seen Cook and Parker lurking about near them? Was she concerned about what Marco might do if she broke it off with him? Did she have a backup plan to vamoose?"

Ros said, "Did you see how Kayla and Willa behaved around him before we got to him?"

"It's a funeral. Everybody hugs everybody at funerals."

"To me, Kayla appeared to get angry over what he told her, but when he said something more my sense was she was shocked."

He said, "She put one hand on his chest and one over her heart. Then she hugged him."

"Whatever he told her I think it convinced her he had deep feelings for Kimberley and he was in pain."

"Then she told Willa when their paths crossed and Willa responded in almost exactly the same way."

"And I'll bet we wouldn't get any details out of any of them about what he said." Harris looked around. "We're the only ones left. What should we do about Campbell's heroic news report straight from his hospital bed?"

"There's nothing we can do about it now," he said.

"He's promising pictures of the mummy and a video. We can get an injunction to prevent them from being posted."

Ros said, "There is already a ban on doing something like that. And social media networks won't permit something like that anymore."

"The video doesn't provide a good shot of our victim. Everything collapsed before he could get closer to her. Campbell is just teasing to get everyone to stay tuned in. But we will advise him and the Courier to abide by the publication ban."

Ros's phone started ringing. She walked a few feet away and talked quietly before returning to them. "That was Todd. They found a match for the dog hairs."

Harris asked, "Which one?"

"That's the catch. It didn't match any of the four samples you sent to them. They found a fifth hair clinging to the outside of one of the evidence bags. That's the one that matches."

"Where the hell did that come from?"

He said, "Barking Mad Kennels. You must have picked up one when you went there."

"Lavoie was lying about not having Lowchens."

"This one might not be a purebred," Ros said. "With the four purebred examples to compare it to, Todd believes the matching hair belongs to a mixed breed with possibly a terrier in there somewhere. He'll do more DNA tests tomorrow."

"I know where I'll be going tomorrow."

"Who is your nephew Marco knows?"

"That would be Aiden, my brother's son."

"How would they know each other?"

"Aiden is the family embarrassment, though Neville and Debby would never agree to that description of him."

"Why do you abide by that description?"

"Aiden is nineteen." She scrunched her face. "He might be twenty now. I've lost touch with them. I think I missed his birthday." She waved her hand. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that Aiden went from being a first class honors student at Stanford to a basement hacker after only one semester." She took hold of his hands and batted her eyes at him. "Tell me knowing this won't come between us."

"What is a basement hacker?"

Harris said, "Does he spend all his time trolling whatever he doesn't like?"

"That's only part of what he does. He's also a very good computer programmer. I don't think he's some savant genius, but he belongs to a network of others like him. He can tap into any of those resources to get what he needs if it's beyond his capabilities to program it."

"He would have created a program for Marco."

"What kind of program?"

Ros let go of one of his hands. "He was kicked out of Stanford for hacking the LGBT social network on campus. He and two others of his kind then posted all the names of the association's members online."

"Is that a group he and his kind hate?"

"It could be, but I think it is more a case of them trolling for victims, exploiting what they perceive as weaknesses or vulnerabilities in their security and then launching their attacks just because they can. They are at best an insensitive and thoughtless bunch." She gently pulled on his hand to get them walking toward the cemetery's parking lot. "The incident at the university is the only one we know about. I suspect he wanted to be caught. Otherwise he would have covered his tracks as well as he does with his other incursions. The ones we don't know about."

Harris left in his own car. Ros was on the phone to her brother as she got into the Lincoln.

"According to Neville, Aiden is currently downstairs staring at one of his many screens."

"He's become a cliché stereotype."

"He's only doing that for appearances sake. I would guess it's another of his ways of poking a finger in the eye of civilization." She fastened her seatbelt and then adjusted it. "Aiden is quite an attractive young man. And contrary to the cliché stereotype you are referring to, he doesn't spend all day and night at his computers." She waved for him to get going. "He owns a yellow Mustang GT convertible, which he bought with his own money. When he isn't downstairs barricaded against his parents and the world, he is often gone for days at a time, particularly if it is sunny and warm. He actually has a rather impressive tan. Well, he did the last time I saw him." She chuckled.

He turned the car onto Copper Street and headed northeast, the direction Ros pointed.

"No one knows how he makes his money. When he came back from university, Neville and Debbie insisted he pay them one thousand dollars per month for room-and-board if he was to continue living with them. Now every month two thousand dollars is transferred into their bank account and Aiden has told his parents he is paying them enough to be left alone."

"Drugs?"

"I told them what to watch for, but they haven't spotted any of the usual behavioral indicators from him. He does join them for the occasional supper, and, according to Debbie, is even civil and pleasant most of those times. He bought mom and dad wonderful presents last Christmas that could be construed as expressing his appreciation and love for them. They both found that very encouraging. It all sounded very heartbreaking and infuriating to me. What would he and Marco be doing together?"

"It has to be a security hacking program of some kind. As knowledgeable about home and business security systems as Marco is, just like your nephew, he would need a network of resources for what is beyond him."

At the home of Neville and Debbie Copp, they required several minutes of reassuring conversation from Ros to convince them Aiden wasn't in trouble and a detective only wanted to ask him some questions related to a current investigation because of his special skill set.

On the way down to the basement, Ros whispered to him, "I hope you don't have to arrest him or my credibility with them is going to be all shot to hell."

If Aiden Copp was only playing the role of an antisocial, mesmerized hacker troll, he was in fine form during their visit with him. He only rarely and begrudgingly looked away from the numerous computer screens in front of him while they were present. For most of the visit, his fingers were constantly flying over the keyboard to enter lines of code.

He also frequently chuckled to himself after completing some segment of his program and infrequently bothered to answer their questions.

"Hello, Aiden," Ros said. "How are you doing?"

Aiden ignored that first question and kept keying, though he did growl at her.

Jacobsen said, "You know Marco Kamren."

"I know lots of people."

"Have you provided him with any special programs?"

He turned slightly to work on another screen. On that one, his hands jumped and slid along its surface to move windows of programming code into place. Then he tapped the screen and every last one of the windows merged and disappeared.

"We really need to know, Aiden," Ros said. "Myles is investigating four murders."

Aiden glanced at them the same way most of the people they had talked to at the cemetery glanced at Kimberley's grave. Ros was correct. Aiden was an attractive young man. He had the dark-brown hair that ran in the Copp family to go with the blue eyes, the straight, slightly prominent nose, and the thin lips.

Those lips on Ros's face frequently transmitted to him a sense that she was displeased because they just naturally appeared to be drawn tight when her mouth was closed. Aiden's closed mouth transmitted a sense of his disdain for anyone trying to interrupt him.

"I do not talk with anyone outside the coven about what I do under any circumstances."

"You could be hindering a murder investigation."

"Wow, you are such a persuasive talker, and so intimidating, too. But you are wrong."

Ros stepped up to her nephew and put her hand on his shoulder. "Aiden, please, we need to know. This is very important."

He went back to keying before suddenly stopping and slapping the desk. "Ah ha, take that!" He pounded the desk with his fists and hooted in triumph. "That will give those fucking Russians something to worry about. Let's see how they like getting it up the ass."

"Aiden, please."

"I won't tell you, Ros, but I will tell you that I would never have anything to do with anything to do with the murders of innocent people. Marco wouldn't either. He's a just dude if you stay on his good side." He then called up a series of new windows and went back to work.

After another session of reassuring her brother and sister-in-law that Aiden wasn't mixed up in anything illegal they returned to the car and headed for her place.

"I should have added," she said to him, "'that we can yet prove'. I don't like giving them a false sense of hope."

"You showed great sensitivity and patience toward all three of them."

"What I wanted to do was smash his face into one of his screens." She sagged down in the car seat and sighed. "I need a long hot bath." She put her hand on his thigh. "We both do."

FORTY-THREE:

"All right," Harris said as he brought the Lincoln to a stop at the entrance to Barking Mad Kennels, "what's your first impression?"

The tubular, metal gate was open just wide enough to allow vehicles crossing the metal bridge to get past it.

"That is not a ditch, by the way. It's a stream used by salmon to return to their spawning grounds." Harris pointed the way they'd come. "There is a sign back there."

The bottom corner of the end to the gate that would be locked and secured if the gate was closed was imbedded in the ground. The metal post that it was hinged to and the metal one it would be secured to if it were ever closed again were both offset from vertical. The one with the gate attached to it was pitted and gouged with rust.

"Not a particularly successful puppy mill," he said.

The bridge rattled and clanged when Harris drove the Lincoln across it. The car then dropped hard about a foot to land on the two ruts serving as a road on the other side of the gate. Grass, shrubs and young trees lined both sides of the pitted and heaved ruts.

Both detectives were pitched up and down and from side to side as Harris drove to the kennel.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Harris's voice vibrated with every pitch and yaw of the car. "Yet, when I was here last week there were two shiny new Ford pickup trucks parked near the almost empty pens. And I thought I saw a Range Rover and a BMW Z4 in a detached garage near the house."

A woman with her blond hair held in a bun at the back was pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with three large bags of dog food. A blond, bearded man close to 6'6" tall and thin followed her. They wore the same yellow hooded rain slickers, the same brand of jeans and the same brand of rubber boots. The man's jeans were not tucked into his boots.

"That is Bridget Lavoie, thirty-four. The man with her is Emmett Sandler, her only employee, also thirty-four."

Lavoie and Sandler both stopped when they saw the car approaching the pens holding the dogs.

Harris turned off the car and then said, "They were all quiet when I was here last week, too. You'd think at least one of them would bark."

Harris led the way to Lavoie and Sandler. "This is Detective Myles Jacobsen. We have a few more questions for you."

A nod from Lavoie sent Sandler into the pens with the wheelbarrow. "It's their feeding time." She took off her sunglasses and her gloves. "What are your questions?"

He said, "How many dogs do you have right now?"

"Twenty-seven," she said, "thirteen beagles and fourteen Jack Russell terriers."

"But no Lowchens?"

Lavoie began walking back to the house, a single-floor rancher with horizontal wood siding below the bottom of the windows that was painted grey. White vertical wood siding above that led up to a newer red metal roof. "As I told Detective Harris last week, we don't have any Lowchens at the moment. And as I also told him, we aren't likely to get anymore because breeding them is far too exclusive and fussy."

Harris said, "Does that mean your Lowchens weren't purebreds?"

Lavoie stopped. "I resent your inference, Detective Harris."

"Here's the strange thing about that, Bridget. When I submitted my four samples from Cassidy Ratslaff and Sammie Healey, our people found a fifth sample. That fifth sample perfectly matches a hair we recovered from a crime scene. And guess what? It isn't a purebred." He looked around at the farm. "Unless Ratslaff or Healey, certified, card-carrying members of the local Lowchen Association, have a mixed-breed they keep hidden away, I must have picked up that fifth hair from here."

Lavoie sat down on a stump. "We still had four crosses until three weeks ago."

"Where are they now?"

She looked toward the dog kennels and then at her garage. The doors to it were closed. "Mikhail took them."

Harris stepped closer to her. "Mikhail Baranowski? You told me you didn't know any of those people. I believe you called all of them crazy."

"I didn't tell you I knew any of them because I didn't want word getting back to Ratzlaff that I had the dogs. That man is crazy. He would have been up here in a flash even though they're all gone now. He has made my life miserable in the past."

"He is trying to protect the breed," he said.

"His way of protecting his precious breed is to eliminate any contamination."

"How would he do that?"

"How do you think?"

Jacobsen and Harris fell silent.

"I have no proof of what exactly happened to them, but Ratzlaff has taken mixed-breeds into custody—as he calls it—before and they have never been seen again." When neither of them responded, she smiled like someone about to go for their throats. "Does that not jibe with your impression of the dog-loving Cassidy Ratzlaff?"

"He came across as. . . ."

"Of course he does. Everyone thinks he loves his Lowchens. Everyone sees the passion in him for them. But Ratzlaff's passion knows no bounds when it comes to protecting his chosen breed."

"He and Mikhail had a falling out."

"If anyone knows what happened to the dogs Ratzlaff snatched from me, Mikhail would."

"Is that why he took the last four you had?"

"Mikhail just loves dogs. He understands the obsession with purebred Lowchens. They almost went extinct. But he just loves dogs, and that means he is more tolerant on the issue of being purebred or not. Cassidy is the complete intolerant, rigid and aggressive opposite."

"Where is Mikhail Baranowski?"

"I couldn't tell you. I would not be surprised if he hightailed it to god knows where out of fear Ratzlaff would find out he was harboring four diluters."

"How many others did you have before Mikhail took the last four?"

"We had eight from the same litter."

"Were they the ones Ratzlaff took into custody?"

"We sold the other four."

Harris said, "As purebreds?"

"I didn't charge them a purebred price."

Harris took out his notebook. "We'll need their names."

"I sold one each to Estelle Pearson-Brown and Annette Knight. They came here together to purchase them after contacting me first over the internet and then by phone. I also sold one to April Cutler. She's a school teacher or principal, I'm not sure which. I sold the last one to Amman Cook."

"The Amman Cook who owns the All Nations restaurant?"

"You know him?"

On the way out of Barking Mad Kennels, Harris stopped the Lincoln near the gate. "Just curious," he said and got out of the car. He tried to lift the gate but couldn't. He returned to the car and turned left onto Dillon Road before he said, "There are vines wrapped around the bottom of it. It's supposed to be an electronically controlled gate. There's a metal badge attached to it that identifies it as coming from Citadel Security."

"The hair could have come from any one of those eight dogs."

"Yeah, but now we have some suspects. Baranowski snatched up the last four. Those two women each have one. You talked to April Cutler, didn't you?"

"And then there is Amman Cook, who is either dead or missing."

"And Cook and Cutler both recently got close enough to Kimberley Deering to transfer some hair to her."

"I don't see any connection between Cook and Cutler. If Baranowski is still nearby, where is he keeping himself?"

"Where to now?"

"We need to find out if Ratzlaff knows any of those four and if he really doesn't know where his former boyfriend is."

*****

"How did the dog show work out for you?"

Ratzlaff opened the door wide to let Jacobsen and Harris in. "Poor little Carmine suddenly developed a limp." He took them into the sitting room. Rudolph and Carmine didn't stir from their cushions by the fireplace. "I could hardly put her through such a physical ordeal as a dog show no matter how bravely she tried to carry on." He wore a lighter-knit beige pullover sweater this time and dark-grey dress slacks, but his feet were still bare and in sandals.

Harris said, "What about Rudolph?"

"Third place," Ratzlaff said, "In retrospect, this was a show I should have skipped."

"We've just come from Barking Mad Kennels. According to Bridget Lavoie, four other people in the city also own Lowchens."

"Those mutts are not Lowchens. They are abominations." Ratzlaff went to Carmine to pat her raised head and then to Rudolph, who didn't respond to him in any way.

"You know of them, then?"

"I know of them. Those two women had the audacity to show up at my door with their little monsters in their arms wanting to join our association."

"Just for clarification, you are talking about Annette Knight and Estelle Pearson-Brown."

"I don't remember their names. I don't bother remembering the names of frauds."

Harris said, "What do you remember about them?"

Ratzlaff sat down on the loveseat. Carmine pranced over, showing no signs of a limp, jumped onto the loveseat and curled up beside him. "What I remember is they tried to pass those facsimiles off as genuine purebreds. What I also remember is I sent them off with fleas in their ears." He fussed with Carmine's mane.

She growled at him just before he stopped.

"That muscle-bound one wouldn't accept my rejection of those poor imitations. She insisted they were legitimate, which, of course, they weren't and never will be."

"That would be Estelle Pearson-Brown."

He sat back on the loveseat and said, "If you say so, Detective Jacobsen." He ran his hands back through his hair as he looked to Rudolph. "She was always preening while they were here." He pointed to a mirror hanging on the wall across from the loveseat. "Couldn't take her eyes off herself, if you get my meaning, even all the while I thought she was going to put me into a headlock to force me to change my mind."

"Did she threaten you?"

"Oh, I don't imagine she would ever do anything like that, but one can never know. She was the one pushing the issue the most, and she was clearly angry that I would not accept her arguments or those phoney documents from Barking Mad Kennels. I don't think the Knight woman cared very much one way or the other. I don't think she even wanted her mongrel."

"But they did eventually leave," Harris said.

After smoothing back his hair one more time, he nodded. "Put a leash on that one, strip her naked and get her down on her hands and knees and, I tell you, she would win Bitch of the Show every time." He stood up. "After they were gone I didn't waste any time. I let everyone know about them in case they tried to peddle their bogus claims elsewhere." He nodded and smiled. "I put their names on the list of fraudulent Lowchen owners. They'll get no recognition from anyone else they might turn to. With my duty properly completely, I promptly put them out of my mind."

"Did you do the same with April Cutler and Amman Cook?"

"Who?"

"They also purchased puppies from the same litter."

"Well, they certainly didn't bring them here, I can tell you that. And if they ever do, they will get the same from me those other two got."

Carmine, fed up with Ratzlaff's agitation and restlessness, jumped down from the loveseat, returned to her cushion beside Rudolph and went back to sleep.

"It was a very stressful weekend for the both of them," Ratzlaff said. "But she was so valiant despite her injury."

"There were eight puppies from that litter. Do you know who took the other four?"

If he could, Ratzlaff would have generated his own dark cloud over his head when he scowled up at his guests. "You have already surmised that I do."

"Is that why you two parted ways?"

Ratzlaff folded his arms across his chest, slid down along the loveseat and crossed his legs. "What does that have to do with your investigation, Detective Harris?"

Jacobsen stepped closer to their glowering host. "What did you do with the puppies you took from Barking Mad Kennels?"

His glower gave way to a sneer. "I will not tolerate any threats to the purity of the breed, Detective Jacobsen, but you can just check your innuendo right there. I would never harm any animal, even a mutt."

"What happened to them?"

"I am sure Lavoie implied I had all four of them killed and then ground up and then put in cans, but they all went to their new forever homes in San Diego, at my expense, I might add. Two of them went to lonely senior citizens who had recently lost their long-time companions. The other two went to good homes in the same condominium complex that permits one small pet. I can produce the documentation from the animal rescue center in San Diego if you require proof I didn't eat them."

Carmine rose from her cushion beside Rudolph and came to Harris to get petted. Rudolph lifted his head but otherwise remained on his cushion and quickly went back to sleep.

Ratzlaff rose from the loveseat and clapped twice, bringing Carmen over to sit at his left side. Rudolph snorted and then began snoring.

"Do you have any more questions for me, Detective Jacobsen? It is almost time for their lunch."

"Not at this time, Mr. Ratzlaff."

Back in the Lincoln, Harris said, "Who do we see next?"

"You talk to Principal Cutler. I'll take Knight and Pearson-Brown."

"I didn't know you liked women with muscles. Has Ros been working out?"

"Just shut-up and drive."

FORTY-FOUR:

The main gate to the home of Christopher Brown and Estelle Pearson-Brown was closed when he parked the car on Montana Drive. As he approached it, a wrought iron gate for people to pass through that was set beside the main gate clicked and opened to permit entrance.

Estelle Pearson-Brown stood in the open doorway. Only an inch at most shorter than his height of six feet, she wore black tights that ended a few inches below her knees, white sneakers, pink athletic socks and a loose-fitting white sweatshirt.

He held out his badge to her.

"This is about my dog?" She took him into the living room. "But I don't have her anymore."

Two glasses of water with ice cubes in them sat on coasters on the coffee table.

He sat in the armchair she offered to him. "What happened to her?"

She sat on the sofa and lifted one of the glasses to her lips. After a sip of water, she said, "The short answer, Detective Jacobsen, is I don't know." She took another sip of water. "I lost her."

"You lost your dog?"

"I don't know if it was taken or just ran off, but we were out for a day at the park. We got separated. I looked for hours but I never found her."

"Where did you lose her?"

"Rosedale Park near the summit of the mountain," she said and sat back. "I supposed, to be accurate, it's a part of the western foothills." She took another sip of water. "Do you know where I mean?"

"I do. Did you park at the summit?"

"No, we parked at the base, in that first lot right after you pass through the gates. The idea was to hike up to the summit and then return. She loved those trails. She always slept for hours after our outings."

"What was her name?"

"Clarice." She drank half of the water remaining in the glass. "That was her name when I adopted her. I wasn't fond of it, but she responded to it so I stuck with it."

"You adopted her from Barking Mad Kennels, is that right?"

"I thought you already knew that."

"I'm just confirming the facts. How did you and Clarice get separated?"

"About halfway up, where the lower main trail forks into the steeper, harder route to the summit and the longer, more leisurely route, I let her off her leash." She shook her head and held up her hand. "I know I wasn't supposed to. I saw all the picture signs. It was the one and only time I ever let her loose and I have regretted doing it since that day. But you are a homicide detective. Why are you asking me about my dog?"

"We have matched hairs from a crime scene to a Lowchen-Terrier cross like your Clarice. Right now we are talking to the people who adopted just such crosses from Barking Mad Kennels."

"Do you know if the hairs came from a dog from there?"

"We haven't determined that yet. I had hoped to compare a sample from Clarice."

"This must be from one of those murders reported in the news." She drank the rest of her water. "It can't be my Clarice. I lost her over three weeks ago now."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"I just lost her, that's all. Someone could have snatched her. A bear or a coyote might have got her, possibly a mountain lion."

"Were there any other people nearby that day? Did you ask anyone for help to look for your dog?"

"There was no one that I saw. But then, I was too busy looking for Clarice. I called out her name frequently. Someone might have heard me. No one came forward to offer help if they did. Why does this matter to your investigation?"

"Someone might have taken her."

"Cassidy Ratzlaff."

"What makes you say that?"

"God, Detective Jacobsen, I can figure out that you have probably already talked to him. He is the president of the local Lowchen Association. I can also imagine what he told you about me and Annette."

"Why would you think he'd follow you to the park just to snatch Clarice?"

"You can figure that out for yourself. If you've talked to him already, and it's obvious that you have, then you know how obsessed he is with the breed and with keeping it pure." She drank from the glass intended for him. "I've heard he's stolen mixed-breeds from Barking Mad Kennels before. They would have been dogs like my Clarice."

"Would you have anything available that Clarice had contact with? I'd like to get a hair sample."

Pearson-Brown rose from the sofa, her arms propelling around as though to help her take flight. "It's all gone." She paced around the living room. "Once I realized Clarice was lost to me, I couldn't bear to look at anything that had been hers. I was heartbroken."

"Is there anything at all left, a memento, for example?"

"I got rid of everything. I was being too emotional, I know, but I had this irrational need to purge; otherwise, I'd just keep breaking down in tears."

"Perhaps she had a favorite spot or two around the house. I might find something there."

"I threw her two beds out. Our house has been cleaned from top to bottom at least three times since that day."

"What about your vehicle?"

"It isn't here at the moment. I'm having it cleaned and detailed. I'm considering trading it in or selling it."

"I believe Annette Knight has a puppy from the same litter as your Clarice."

"That's right, she does. Her dog is named Kara. They were twins." Pearson-Brown returned to the sofa and sat down. "They were identical twins. All the dogs from the same litter would be nearly identical to each other genetically, but Clarice and Kara were identical." She chuckled and took another drink of water, gulping down most of it. Some dribbled down her chin.

"Are you all right?"

"I am sorry, Detective Jacobsen. I thought I had come to terms with losing Clarice. You know? Clean every trace of her away, dispose of all the things connected to her and move on." She put her hand over her heart. "Good Lord, I just sounded so totally heartless, didn't I?"

"I apologize for distressing you."

"There were eight dogs from that litter."

"My partner is talking to others who adopted puppies from it."

"And then there is Annette. Have you talked to her yet?"

"You are my first interview about the dogs."

She nodded, picked up the glass of water that was supposed to be for him, but put it back on its coaster rather than take another drink. "It is a process of elimination at this stage of your investigation, is that right?"

"At this stage, yes," he said.

She took a deep breath. "I am sorry. I do wish I had a hair sample I could give you." She picked up the glass again and drank the water left in it. "It wouldn't do you any good other than to eliminate one dead end."

"I am sure Mrs. Knight's Kara can do that. Her hair would be a match for Clarice."

Pearson-Brown rose from the sofa. "If we're finished, Detective Jacobsen, I have a doctor's appointment downtown." She pulled on the bottom of her tights on each leg. "I must get changed."

"Can I give you a lift?"

"I have a taxi scheduled to pick me up in ten minutes."

"You were at the scholarship banquet the other night."

"I attended with my husband, Christopher, yes, but I developed a headache and left early. Their deaths were a big shock for us. I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm those two. And now you have that mummy case, too. Are those deaths related to the other murders?"

"It's still early in the investigation. Thank you for your time. I am sorry about Clarice."

At the door, she called after him, "Good luck with your investigation."

Annette Knight lived on Wavecrest Drive just two estate homes from the intersection at Twenty-First Street. He hadn't called her to alert her. He would take his chances with this one.

Mrs. Knight didn't share her friend's enthusiasm for being muscular. In her late-twenties, she was a few years younger than Pearson-Brown, five inches shorter, with long, straight black hair, matching dark eyes and high cheek bones that hinted at a possible oriental lineage in her family. She exhibited the tone and vigor of someone her age, but not Pearson-Brown's ultra-lean, ultra-muscular physique. She was closer to Willa Kamren, active but not overdoing any aspect of her fitness program.

Going into a police interview letting a first impression cloud one's thinking was counter-productive, but he couldn't imagine Annette Knight and Estelle Pearson-Brown having anything in common.

"This way, Detective Jacobsen," Knight said and took him to her kitchen nook. "Can I get you some coffee? It's still reasonably fresh."

"Yes, please. Black is fine, thank you."

She poured out a cup for him, sat down at the nook table and picked up her huge mug with both hands. After taking a sizeable drink, she said, "How can I help you?"

Before he could reply Kara came scampering into the nook, her short tail wagging vigorously enough to send her rear legs sideways when her paws made contact with the tile floor. Having experience with such moments of instability, Kara quickly righted herself and continued on to Knight. A quick leap put the dog onto Knight's lap. Without the lion cut, Kara could easily be mistaken for a completely different breed of dog.

Annette had to raise her chin and lean back to avoid getting completely slobbered on. Somehow, she had managed to get her large mug back onto the table before Kara could send it flying. She also managed to push it just out of reach of Kara's wagging tail.

"Kara," he said.

"Yes, this is the creature that completely rules my life."

Kara soon settled on Knight's lap facing him. She didn't bark. Her tail wagged a few more times before coming to a stop. She then rested her head on Knight's lap and kept her gaze focused on the stranger sitting at their table.

"Did you know Kimberley Deering?"

"I do not know who that is." She had recovered her mug and took another sizeable drink of coffee.

"Do you know April Cutler or Amman Cook?"

She placed her empty cup back onto the table and petted Kara's head. "I do not know April Cutler. That other name sounds familiar."

"Amman Cook is the leader of the gang known as Z9. It is believed he was caught in a fire at his All Nations restaurant, but the body was too badly burned to get a proper identification. April Cutler is an elementary school principal. Both Cook and Cutler adopted puppies from the same litter Kara and Clarice came from."

"Is that why you're here? Has Cassidy Ratzlaff sent you here to arrest me for trying to pass off a mixed-breed as a purebred? Are you here to apprehend Kara?" She continued to pet her dog. "I would have thought the local animal protection wardens would do that."

"I have talked to Cassidy Ratzlaff. I have noted his passion for Lowchens and his dedication to protecting the breed. But he did not send me here."

"That is a relief." Her tone was flat when she said those words. They had no inflection of relief or concern in her utterance of them. Her voice had been very even since she opened the front door to him. "We have never tried to present either Kara or Clarice as purebreds. We had merely gone to him to get his expert opinion on whether or not our two dogs would be considered close enough to still be called true Lowchens. He overreacted to everything."

She had to tend to Kara for a few seconds when the dog decided it was a good time to bounce up and lick Knight's chin.

Once Kara had settled again, Knight said, "At one point, I even thought he had sent a thug to intimidate me or snatch Kara away. But Mikhail only wanted to make contact because he had adopted the last four puppies from the same litter."

"Mikhail Baranowski came to see you. Did he threaten you?"

"Quite the opposite, Detective Jacobsen, he was charming and sensitive. I could tell he loved his dogs."

"Did he visit Estelle, too?"

"I gave him her name. I wish she would have given Clarice to him." She petted Kara. "Why are you here?"

"First, let me ask you if Estelle Pearson-Brown called to let you know I was on my way here?"

Still petting Kara, who was enjoying every stroke, her voice still even, Knight said, "Estelle and I do not see much of each other anymore."

"Did the dogs have anything to do with that?"

"I can see why you would ask that question, Detective Jacobsen, if you have been to Barking Mad Kennels and also talked to Cassidy Ratzlaff. In retrospect, I do not understand why Estelle got it into her head that she and I should get dogs in the first place. You have seen her physique."

"She must work out very diligently to get those results."

Kara sat up on Knight's lap, licked her chin and then jumped down and left the nook. He had not noticed whether or not Annette Knight had given a silent signal to her dog.

"Do you think someone that dedicated to sculpting her body would have any time for a pet?"

"I imaging there are some who do."

"Estelle is not one of those people. As soon as we brought them home she began complaining about what a bother it was to have Clarice. At one point, I offered to take Clarice to be company for Kara, but she turned me down. That didn't stop her complaining, though."

"They are twins, is that correct?"

"Yes. Bridget Lavoie had documentation from a veterinary school confirming that Kara and Clarice were identical twins."

"In every sense of the term, I assume."

"One hundred percent identical, they could be clones of each other." She shrugged. "In the way all identical twins are clones of each other."

"Estelle lost Clarice."

Knight's mouth opened a bit. Her eyes widened a bit as she pushed back from the table a bit. Her voice wavered more than just a bit and rose in pitch. "She lost Clarice?"

"She and Clarice had gone to Rosedale Park. She let her off her leash near the summit. They got separated. She never found her."

"She told you she took Clarice to Rosedale."

"Yes, for a day out, she told me."

Knight shook her head. "I find that hard to believe, Detective Jacobsen. Estelle didn't want anything to do with Clarice once she got her home. She wanted even less to do with her after Cassidy Ratzlaff railed at us for being frauds. I thought they might come to blows."

"Estelle has a temper?"

"She doesn't tolerate being humiliated, particularly by someone she considers to be inferior to her, which is pretty much everybody. She's used to being devious and always in control. She always has to get the better of people, but she failed to do that against Ratzlaff."

"She's not likely to take Clarice for a walk."

"Despite her even tan and those bulging muscles of hers, she is not one for nature. Except for motorcycles, Estelle's playground is strictly indoors. She rides a training cycle. She runs on a treadmill. Christopher took over caring for Clarice. The thought of Estelle coming to care for anything other than her own body or enjoying the outside world when she isn't riding through it is too wretched to contemplate." Knight chuckled a bit. "It's quite impossible."

"People can become emotionally attached to pets even if they don't start out that way."

"You must believe me, Estelle cannot do that. If she took Clarice to Rosedale Park, it is more likely she planned to abandon her there. That way she could make up any story that maintained her self-perception as perfectly magnificent and faultless."

"And yet she never accepted your offer to take Clarice."

"How long ago did she lose Clarice?"

"Over three weeks ago," he said.

"We stopped talking to each other shortly after adopting Kara and Clarice."

"But your falling out was not over the dogs, is that correct?"

"It wasn't over the dogs, Detective Jacobsen, it was over our husbands." She picked up both mugs and rinsed them out. "Estelle and Austin are into the same indoor games. I was willing to give it a try at first, against my better judgement, for the sake of my marriage. Christopher, as Estelle put it, was too timid and unimaginative to ever do anything like that."

"I could see how that—"

"Those two left us behind. Christopher tried to keep up with them for a while on their motorcycle sojourns, but he soon gave that up. The result is both marriages are about to end so they can keep playing their games, pushing their limits. That is why I know Estelle didn't lose Clarice. She got rid of her."

Once he had the hair samples and returned to the car he called Harris, "What did April Cutler have to say?"

"She gave it to her nephew for his eighth birthday. She had intended to keep Max as part of her family, but her nephew is on the autism spectrum—I think that is how you say it—and he and Max just clicked when he came to visit. The dog has been very good for him. I was able to get a hair sample, though. How did it go at your end?"

"Pearson-Brown claims to have lost her dog and has had both her house and her vehicle totally cleaned since she did. She has also thrown away everything connected to the dog."

"Convenient for her, not for us," Harris said.

"Annette Knight still has Kara. Those two dogs are identical twins. I got hair samples." He looked at the estate homes along Wavecrest Drive. "Annette's husband, Austin, and Estelle have been playing kinky sex games together. She and Christopher Brown wanted no part of that. Both marriages are near their end, according to her."

"I could only get Cutler to talk about Max and her nephew. What am I doing wrong?" Harris laughed. "What's your take on all that?"

"I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to prove it, but I think I just talked to one of the killers. Meet me at city hall."

His phone rang as soon as he ended the call.

"Myles," Ros said. "I just found more dog hairs caught in the tensor bandages used to wrap our mummy."

FORTY-FIVE:

Kayla was sitting at her desk working on her computer when he entered her office. Marjorie was standing behind her drinking tea and looking out the window.

"You said bright and early." Kayla kept working the keyboard.

"I had some things to take care of first."

Marjorie said, "I'll leave you two to get to it."

"Stay," he said. "You should see this too." He handed the flash drive to Kayla. "Just plug it in."

As files opened and lined up on the screen, Kayla said, "Where did you get this stuff?"

Marjorie said, "Who cares. It's pure gold." She leaned in close to the screen. "He is a sellout."

Kayla brought one file forward and expanded its window. "His response to the public health report is certainly exaggerated. These results are barely worse than what they normally are. They aren't good, but they have actually reached these levels before without needing an evacuation."

Marjorie said, "It could be a matter of interpretation and response. We would have a difficult time arguing against Turpin's decision to evacuate based on these findings."

"Except they are not the numbers in the report he presented to us. Those were much worse."

"Caught in a lie," he said. "Strike one."

The next file Kayla opened triggered a string of profanities from Marjorie.

"What is it?"

Kayla tapped the screen before digitally flipping back and forth between three pages in the file. "According to this, Brent Turpin has already accepted an offer of employment from Tillson and Malloy when his term as mayor ends next year. And it looks like Austin Knight is going with him."

"Who is he again?"

"He's the Director of City Planning. Basically, he's the treasurer for the redevelopment project."

"Is he for or against it?"

"He's supposed to be impartial. His role is only to match the funding with the projected and real costs of the project and keep us up to date."

"Nobody at city hall is impartial to the project." Marjorie took her turn reviewing the same three pages. "Mel Tillson and Garrett Malloy also have targeted a few preferred areas in the Hollows. And they have been Turpin's main support in the pushback."

"He could be seen as being in conflict of interest. He benefits if the project is scrapped. Strike two."

Kayla opened a file containing over one hundred pages. "Here's the big honey pot. These are Tillson and Malloy development plans for those preferred areas. This one site alone would replace over seventy percent of the designated affordable housing apartments, the ones under rent control."

"With double the number of luxury apartments in their place," Marjorie said and then issued another burst of profanities. "I need more tea." She grabbed up her cup and left the office.

"According to what's here, Tillson and Malloy have contingency development plans for every site in the Hollows that our redevelopment project covers." She enlarged one page of the same building plan drawn from various elevations and angles. "Marjorie was wrong about the number of luxury apartments on that other site. But they would replace our apartments, which we had to reduce to three floors from their original five, with what they consider to be medium-priced larger apartment buildings up to ten floors high. That would require changing city zoning for those sites again, the same zoning Brent and Coralee spearheaded to force us to cut the two floors off our plans."

"They must be confident they'd get it."

Kayla put her hand over the next page of diagrams on the screen. "But this is a plan for the site where our hospital is supposed to go. It includes a building with eight floors of luxury condominiums. And look at this." She paged down to page sixty-four. "This is an elaborate alternative development plan for the Port Gates site. We were hoping the next phase of our redevelopment would put more affordable housing in there."

"I don't see any of that in these plans, but if you want a choice of movies to go to, you will have it. There is a twelve movie theater complex going right where the Starways Motel is now."

"Yeah," she said, "and a theater for plays and smaller venue concerts, two casinos and a boutique mall with eighteen exclusive shops catering to very wealthy customers." She went a few more pages into the document. "It also looks like they have no less than three shell companies in place to bid for these alternative development projects to avoid being accused of conflict of interest. And if I'm reading this correctly, financial support from foreign sources has contributed to the biggest shell company's substantial bank account balance."

"Do you know Estelle Pearson-Brown?"

"Why are you asking that now?"

"Do you know her?"

"Not really, no," she said with that growl of impatience that always crept into her voice sooner or later when talking to him.

"She thinks you and her husband are having an affair."

"How do you know?"

"I overheard her telling your mayor that just before they started playing."

She didn't growl at him, but she did slap his hand. "Our affair has been three kisses and a couple of hugs."

"But he's—"

She punched him in the stomach, though not hard. "After all we've been through I don't need reverse racism coming from you."

"He's married is all I meant to say."

"And that's why it's been only three kisses and a couple of hugs. But their marriage is essentially over. I played no part in that. They have nothing to do with each other anymore except when they attend public events like that scholarship banquet. She resents his work in the Hollows. They are headed for a separation and then a divorce. The one good thing about that is Estelle has her own money. She's already told him that she wants it all settled quickly and she won't be looking for anything in the settlement other than a clean break."

"When and how?"

"I didn't want to pry."

"If you won't," he said.

"You mind your own business about us. I love you dearly, brother, but I will smash your skull to bits if you meddle this time."

"You have taken a shocking turn toward violence."

"Only with you." She took hold of his hand and kissed it. "We will work it out so it isn't tawdry or anything like that. I'm a big girl now. I know what's what."

"What's what, then?"

"Wait a second. Brent and Estelle were playing together?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Christopher told me Estelle had taken up with Austin Knight."

"Is that something you can use? Would that be strike three?"

"I'd never do that, but it is curious. Estelle and Austin together I can understand. They are both gym rats obsessed with lifting weights and bodybuilding together. And they are both adrenaline junkies. Austin's wife, Annette, would have nothing to do with motorcycles, but Christopher, Austin and Estelle usually took off on theirs every chance they got."

"Christopher is a junky too."

"That's the point, Marco. He isn't anything of the kind. He often complained about the recklessness of those two while they were out on rides, the need for them to always speed, always engaging in very high risk behavior even while in heavy traffic. Finally, as he began to realize he and Estelle were not going to make it, he dropped out. He even conceded that those two were better suited for each other than for their spouses. That's why it's so hard to imagine Estelle and Brent together. I can't see him on a motorcycle ever."

"Your guy confided all that to you and yet you've only kissed him three times? I find that hard to imagine."

"Imagine a hard slap up the side of your head and my boot up your ass. How 'bout that, bro?"

"They weren't about to go off on a motorcycle ride together. Estelle wasn't dressed for it."

"Really? Tell me what—"

Marjorie entered the office with a tray of freshly brewed tea. She had brought a diet pop for him.

"This file is what's what." Kayla waited for the tea to be poured and delivered. "There really isn't anything in it we can label as indisputable conflict of interest, corruption or influence peddling and make it stick. There is nothing in here about him receiving payoffs or perks. It is just a what-if set of contingencies should the project be halted somewhere along the line or canceled completely. But all this could still be death by a thousand paper cuts for Brent. We can put pressure on him."

"Use your own form of coercion." He turned down the offered diet pop.

"Exactly," Marjorie said and took a large, noisy gulp of tea that had her taking a deep breath before she could sigh.

"We won't be coercing Brent with this, but we can, I think, persuade him to reconsider the evacuation and the cutbacks to both the hospital plans and this community center's budget."

"I say run him out of office."

"Marjorie, I appreciate your anger, but we don't do that. And I'm not sure we would succeed. All this looks good, but it is a double-edged sword without material proof. Remember Wyatt's caution for us to stay on the higher road. We have to wield it carefully."

"I could—"

"Stop right there, both of you."

Marjorie took a sip of tea and sighed again. "I was only joking, Kayla."

"You have work to do." She marched Marjorie out of the office. When she returned to her desk, she took hold of both his hands. "Tell me about you and Kimberley."

"There's nothing to tell, not anymore."

Knowing it was better not to persist, she let go of his hands and sat back down. "Thank you for this, Marco. I don't know yet how I'm going to use what we have here, but I'll figure something out."

"If you do, the Hollows won't be the same three years from now. There will be no place here for someone like me anymore."

"Is that what you told Kimberley?"

"I told her everything about me."

"And she didn't flee?"

"You can hit me. Why can't I hit you?"

"It didn't matter to her?"

"She didn't like it, and she insisted I stop, but she understood. She was one of my distributors in the Breach."

"The plan was for you two to move away and start over together somewhere else."

"It sounds lame saying it like that."

"Why did you break up?"

"Dante Parker."

"Those photos of you two at All Nations," she said. "Detective Jacobsen showed them to me."

"I was stupid. We should have gone somewhere else. I should have protected her."

She jumped up from her chair and hugged him. "It wasn't your fault, Marco. No one could have known that would happen to her. Cook and Parker had nothing to do with her murder." She hugged him again. "And you're wrong. There will always be a place for you in the Hollows no matter how much it changes."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Christopher will be here at twelve-thirty. We will attend the sod-turning ceremony at one o'clock."

"Are you going to show him what you have?"

"I'm not sure."

"I'll see you later."

"What happened between Amman and Dante?"

"It's better if you don't know."

"Where's Johnny?"

"He got a better offer."

"Jacobsen suspects you of being the burglar they can't catch and of being the Robin Hood of the Hollows."

"He has nothing or he would have arrested me yesterday."

"It may only be a matter of time before he does."

"Then it's a good time to leave."

She punched him in the stomach before kissing his cheek. "That's the insufferably glib big brother I've known all my life."

He displayed his burner phone to her and handed her a piece of paper. "That number will only be good for a day or two."

"Where are you going?"

"I do have another sister."

*****

Kayla had been a fighter from the day she was born. A preemie, she had been touch and go for the first six months of her life, but anyone who looked at her clearly saw she would never give up no matter how much she had to struggle to take a breath or keep her food down. She had earned every second of her life. In the process, however, she had also developed a tendency to be combative and confrontational. If life couldn't bully her into submission, no person was going to, but she had accumulated a long list of aggrieved opponents. Being director of the Hollows Community Center had helped her moderate her behavior, but she hadn't lost any of her fire.

Willa was also a fighter, but she had developed different methods for overcoming challenges. Rather than take on everything head-on as Kayla used to do, Willa was more capable of picking her battles.

Though being the center's director and the leader of the many neighborhood committees working to see the redevelopment project succeed had forced Kayla to at least act more reasonable, she was still quick to anger. Willa was more capable of remaining sanguine about her life in the Hollows.

Both of his sisters were intelligent, capable and successful. People who only knew them superficially would describe them as polar opposites, but Willa and Kayla weren't that far apart. It was only a matter of different behavioral mechanics for each of them.

"What?" Willa touched his arm when he just remained standing at the open door. "Marco, what is it?"

He shook his head and entered the house. "What have you got for me?"

Willa took him to sit at the small table in her kitchen. She did not offer him any refreshment. "It may be nothing, but I've been thinking about what Detective Jacobsen and I talked about."

"The dog hairs," he said.

"I told him I only groomed the two Lowchens that Cassidy Ratzlaff has and that I had to go to his place, but that isn't exactly correct."

"How is it not exactly correct?"

"I had two customers come in together a few weeks ago. They tried to pass their pups off as purebreds, but it was obvious they were mixed-breeds. I've become so used to people bragging about their dogs or putting on airs that I tend to just tune them out while I'm working. When Jacobsen told me the hairs were Lowchen, I just assumed they were from a purebred and Ratzlaff was the only person that came to mind."

"What if the hairs are not from purebreds?"

"It probably is nothing, but maybe I should have told him about those two women."

"Do you remember who they are?"

She shrugged. "I never got their names and they never came back. The smaller one was quiet and polite, so I have to admit I didn't take much notice of her. But the one with the muscles was almost as bad as Cass while I was grooming her mutt." She scowled. "Mostly, I was just combing or cutting out all the knots and tangles. Despite all her affected expressions of concern and interest, she didn't impress me as someone who really cared about her dog. It wasn't sickly, but I still got the impression it was neglected."

She got up, went to the counter and used her hand to sweep some debris from it into the sink. "Should I call Jacobsen about them?"

"He probably already knows about them. He probably has the results on the hairs by now so he would know if they were from a purebred or not."

"That's how they work, isn't it?"

"If you want to call him, go ahead, but I will be seeing him later today. I'll pass on what you told me."

FORTY-SIX:

Harris stood at the top of the stairs to the front plaza of city hall looking up at the sky. He shielded his eyes from the brightness with his hand as he followed the path of two noisy seagulls flying past.

"We've have an appointment with Mayor Turpin, but he can only give us five minutes."

"When can they ever give us more than that?"

Mayor Turpin was standing at his desk gathering papers together when his secretary brought them into his office. He checked his watch. "A busy day ahead, gentlemen," he said. "How can I help you?"

"We're tracing the activities of Joseph and Frieda Haussmann on the night they were murdered. You attended their scholarship banquet last Thursday, is that right?"

"Yes, I handed out a number of those scholarships."

"Joseph and Frieda were pleased with how the banquet went?"

"I would say they were. My impression was they were both enjoying themselves at the event and were very happy with both the turnout and the scholarship recipients. We had a lot of brilliant young talent in attendance."

Harris said, "You were on the opposite side of the Hollows Redevelopment Project from them."

Turpin picked up the papers he'd gathered together and tapped their edges to align them. "While we did have our disagreements over various details of the project, I considered Joseph and Frieda to be friends."

"Would you say the same thing about Kayla Bartlett?"

"I thought you were here to ask about Joseph and Frieda."

He said, "Did you notice anyone hanging around them?"

"In what way do you mean, Detective Jacobsen? It was their annual banquet. They were rarely left alone. People were always hanging around them."

"But no one who seemed particularly persistent?"

"Again, I'm not sure what you mean."

"Did you notice someone who might have been bothering them, someone who might have confronted them, someone who wasn't in a celebratory mood when talking to them?"

Turpin put the papers into his briefcase. He then snapped the briefcase closed and held up his phone. "Everyone keeps predicting we will be or should be doing everything with just this one day." He then held up his briefcase. "I wish."

"Did you notice anyone like that?"

"I can't say that I did. The banquet for me went as I expected. From everything I saw and experienced, I would say Frieda and Joseph were very happy with it and remained so while I was there. I did leave early when I came down with a migraine."

Neither he nor Harris had sat down because Turpin was standing.

Harris approached the desk and asked, "Did you notice anyone doing the opposite with the Haussmanns?"

"Now you really are confusing me." He checked his watch again. "I am sorry, detectives, but I must go. I have this meeting and then I must get to the sod-turning ceremony in the Hollows for one o'clock."

"Did you notice anyone hanging back or staying at the periphery of the people hanging around Joseph and Frieda, but still keeping nearby and keeping a specific watch on them?"

"Now I understand what you're getting at. Was there someone spying on them or stalking them?" He shook his head and started for the door. "No, I did not notice anyone like that either while I was there." He held the door open for them. "Everyone here is heartbroken over the loss of Joseph and Frieda. They loved this city and they never hesitated to show their love for it in so many ways. The best thing for everyone concerned would be for you to catch the killer as quickly as possible."

"Thank you for your time."

Turpin headed down a hallway to his meeting.

Harris said to him, "He didn't ask you about your controversial theory that all the murders are connected and that there is more than one killer."

"I didn't expect him to."

They went to the office of the Director of City Planning next. Austin Knight was gathering together his paperwork when they entered. He did not have a briefcase to put it in.

His secretary had entered ahead of them and brought with her other documents that needed to be signed. As he gathered up his papers in his left hand, he sign the documents set on the desk before him with his right hand. She quickly announced his two visitors to him as she gathered up the signed documents and then hurried out of the office.

"I am sorry, gentlemen, but I have to attend the same budget meeting Mayor Turpin has just left you for."

"You were at the banquet last Thursday night were you not?"

"Anyone in this city who is anyone was there. Those kids are our future."

They went through the same questions they'd asked the mayor and got the same answers. Austin Knight did offer one bit of information Turpin hadn't provided, however.

"I did overhear them talking on their way out about stopping by their new house. It is possible other people overheard that part of their conversation as well."

"Like the killer," Harris said.

"The killer surely must have already been at their house, perhaps a burglar they came in on."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because otherwise that would mean the killer was at the banquet with the rest of us and followed them out. Considering who was on the guest list, I find that idea preposterous."

"Was there anyone else with you at the time who might have heard the same thing?"

"My wife, Annette, Christopher Brown and his wife, Estelle Pearson-Brown were with me. And I am sure many others could have heard them. Whether they did or not, I can't say." He started for the door. "If you will excuse me, I must run."

Knight exited his office first. His secretary stopped him at her desk to present him with more documents that he needed to sign before he was able to proceed along the same hallway Turpin had used to retreat from their questions.

"Do they have an important budget meeting to attend? They knew we were coming."

He walked over to the secretary's desk.

She looked up at him and smiled. "If you had come earlier, you wouldn't have had to cut your interview short."

"Did you attend the scholarship banquet?"

"They'd never let someone like me into something like that."

"That was not my impression of Joseph and Frieda Haussmann."

"You are absolutely right about that, Detective Jacobsen. They were truly lovely people. But they were also very busy people. They left the organization of their annual banquet to others. Those are the entrenched elitist bastards of this city who come up with the invitation list."

Harris said, "Did they really have an urgent budget meeting for today?"

"It wasn't urgent, but they do have a meeting every Monday to go over the budget."

"So those were relevant documents Austin Knight had to sign?"

She nodded only once and said, "Absolutely part of their weekly meeting. Today, he had a few more than normal, but what's normal at city hall?"

"Did I see correctly? He signed the documents you brought to him in his office with his right hand, but he signed the ones on your desk with his left hand."

She nodded and smiled as though he had just figured out how a magic trick worked. "Austin is ambidextrous. He's predominantly right-handed, but he can do things equally well with both hands."

"And that includes writing?"

She nodded and then quickly changed to shaking her head. "Maybe not completely for writing, he doesn't. Writing with his left hand is usually harder to read. It's not that important if he is just signing something, but it can get to look like chicken scratches, particularly if he's in a hurry like he was a few minutes ago. He likes to brag that he's just as good with both hands, but he usually prints if he's using his left hand to keep from getting two scratchy." Using her left hand, she simulated writing. "I think he'd do better with his left hand if he wrote from right to left; his letters sort of lean that way. But then how difficult would that be to read?"

"Thank you."

Out on the front plaza, Harris said, "Do we have them? Knight could have written that note with his left hand; the printing on it sort of leans that way. I would say he's strong enough to have overpowered McLemore. Pearson-Brown had a mixed-breed that her former best friend believes she is more likely to have gotten rid of than lost. She claims to have had her house cleaned from top to bottom three times since losing her dog, and she's getting a makeover for her car. And those two are into kinky games, committed to them so much as to let their marriages collapse while they keep thinking up new ways to thrill themselves."

"If Kara's hair matches the one you picked up at the kennel, we'll be closer."

"Yeah, but that wouldn't rule out Annette Knight."

"We need to search Pearson-Brown's house and her vehicle. Even if she's had them cleaned, we might still find something. I'd like to search the Knight house, too."

"Come on, Myles, we've got them. They're both narcissistic, they're both arrogant, strong and mean. Do we go back and ask them to account for their whereabouts when Deering and McLemore were killed? Can we get warrants for their houses and the vehicles? Should we bring them in for further questioning? Or do we just tail each of them?"

"Gail isn't going to like this."

FORTY-SEVEN:

He parked the Camaro on Eighteenth Street and made his way along the back lane between the houses along Montana Drive and Evergreen Drive. The Brown mansion had plenty of armor around its whole perimeter except for the one chink at the back that was vulnerable to him: a gate secured with an electronic lock, a Viesner Paladin. It took him less than twenty seconds to unlock it and sneak into the verdant and manicured backyard.

The house was even easier to enter. The lights around the pool were off. The French doors from the patio to the billiards room were unlocked.

He put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and took hold of his Shield M2.0. The COP .357 was in the outside right pocket. He heard Pearson-Brown in the front hall talking on her phone as he passed through the kitchen into the dining room.

"That's great, Annette," she said. "I'll see you in two minutes. And I promise you, this is going to make it all better between us again."

She tucked the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She wore a baggy navy blue sweatshirt. Her hair was being held in a ponytail again. Pacing back and forth between the curving staircase and the front door, she appeared to be rehearsing what she was going to say to the woman who was coming. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear any words coming out of it. She kept fiddling with her ponytail, too. Estelle Pearson-Brown was nervous.

His eyes began blinking rapidly as he contemplated what had just occurred to him. Like an athlete, she was psyching herself up, preparing for her visitor, visualizing what was going to happen between them. She was talking herself through her game plan. When he had scammed her last week about her home security system, she had impressed him as arrogant and confident and mischievous, though the term 'mischievous' seemed too tamed given what he suspected her of now.

The doorbell rang. The woman who entered had arrived within her two minute estimation.

Pearson-Brown threw her arms around the woman and hugged her startled guest close.

After only a few seconds, the woman extracted herself from Pearson-Brown's embrace, her eyes still wide and wary, and said, "What do you want to tell me, Estelle?"

"Christopher and I officially called it quits last night. I will be moving out of this mausoleum of his in three days." She leaned in close to her still wary guest. "Annette, I don't think he plans to come back until after I'm gone. He's probably hooking up with his chocolate strumpet until then."

Annette took a couple of steps back. "How is this going to make it all better between us? You and Austin have ignored Christopher and me for months so you two could play your games. Your marriage has been over for a long time, as has mine. I don't see how you and Christopher finally splitting up can possible make it better between us."

His burner phone began vibrating in his pants pocket.

"Let me show you." She stepped into her guest, took hold of her face under her chin with one hand while she put her free arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her.

When Annette tried to pull free, Pearson-Brown just squeezed her closer and intensified her kiss, penetrating into the other woman's mouth with her tongue.

Though repulsed by the assault, Annette had clearly become fearful as she realized she wasn't strong enough to either break free of Pearson-Brown's grasp or defend herself against whatever other assault Pearson-Brown had in mind for her.

His phone continued to vibrate. He ducked back, took it out and held it to his ear.

Dante Parker said, "You and Cook set me up. It's time for payback. I have Kayla."

A peek around the corner presented him with Annette still struggling to get free of a kiss that had now lasted over three minutes.

"Marco, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you. I didn't set you up. I always played it straight with you."

Pearson-Brown released Annette from her kiss but not from her embrace. "You are missing out on such fun and games."

"I'm not buying what you're selling this time, man. Someone owes me for what happened, and I can't find Cook."

Annette wiped her mouth. "I don't want any part of—"

Pearson-Brown stepped into the woman and punched her in the stomach. As the woman buckled over, Pearson-Brown struck her in the face with a thrust of her palm. The blow spun Annette around. She didn't fall unconscious to the floor, but she was dazed.

He whispered into the phone, "I'm trying to prevent a possible murder here. One of Kimberley's killers is beating up her best friend."

Pearson-Brown grabbed hold of Annette by her hair and began dragging her to the back of the house.

"Show me, man. I love watching two bitches fight."

"I can't. It's a burner phone. I can only text and talk with it."

"Too bad for you, Marco," Parker growled. "You got ten minutes to get here before me and your sister are gone."

Pearson-Brown and the woman had passed out of sight. The woman groaned loudly and then started hollering and screaming. She knew how strong and perverse Pearson-Brown was, but she was probably only anticipating having to endure some form of enforced sexual abuse and humiliation.

"I can't get there in ten minutes." He passed through the living room to the edge of the hallway. "I'm in the old part of Silverdale Park."

"Give me Amman and you can take as long as you like to come get your sister."

"I don't know where he is. I don't even know if he's alive."

"That wasn't him. You can be sure of that. You got nine minutes now, man."

"Give me fifteen minutes. It will take me fifteen to eighteen minutes, and that's only if all the lights are with me."

Annette's screams were becoming more frantic and shrill as Pearson-Brown dragged her down the stairs. The Crown Sentry door closed. Its lock clicked into place.

"I got your sister, Marco. You gonna let something like two bitches fighting and a few traffic lights get in your way?"

"I'm coming. I didn't set you up, Dante, believe me. We can make this right again. I know we can. Just wait till I get there."

"The clock is ticking, man." The call ended but not before he heard shouting, screaming and one gunshot.

He aimed the derringer at the Crown Sentry door, but even loaded with four .357 caliber bullets, it wouldn't damage the lock enough to get the door open.

"Fuck!" As he ran for his Camaro, he called 911. "Someone is being murdered at eighteen eleven Montana Drive. That's eighteen eleven Montana Drive. Just shut-up and listen. One of the killers of Devil's Breach has a woman victim in the basement. Tell Detective Jacobsen." He ended the call before the dispatcher could ask any more questions again.

FORTY-EIGHT:

None of the usual vehicles that Dante Parker would use were parked on the street at the front of the community center. A search along the side parking lot and then the lot at the back found only three vehicles. Dante Parker wouldn't be 'caught dead' in any of those 'soulless mass transport devices'.

The door to the loading bay was down and locked. The people door beside it was also closed and locked. Peeking through the glass in the door into the dark supply room revealed nothing because all the lights were off.

Then something moved.

He ducked away from the door, but no one started shooting at him. After first taking out his Shield, he knelt down, made his way back to the door and risked another peek.

It was no good.

The only thing he could see from his crouching position was the ceiling. He stood up and looked in, moving one foot back in preparation for another quick duck away.

Something moved again, something under the center table of three used to sort delivered food before it was stored on the shelves.

He put his face close to the glass, shielded it from the brightness with his hands on either side of his head and looked this way and that to see what he could.

The movement came from a pair of bare legs. When the legs stopped, they vanished into the shadows under the table. When they moved again, Marco caught a glimpse of the lower legs of a woman and the hem of a dark skirt or dress coming to just below her knees.

The legs, tied with rope around the ankles, suddenly turned ninety degrees and kicked up into the underside of the table.

He smashed the glass in the door, cleared away enough of the remaining shards and then reached in to unlock both the deadbolt and the lock in the doorknob.

Marjorie Britton was the one kicking at the table. Tanya Fleck, tied and gagged exactly the same way, was lying on her side under the table farthest from the loading bay door watching Britton kicking out her call to him for help.

He freed both women and helped them to their feet. Both of them rubbed their wrists at the same time.

Britton said, "He made Kayla tie us up and gag us. She tried to leave the ropes as loose as possible without being obvious, but we still couldn't get free."

Both Britton and Fleck rubbed their wrists again.

"Who was he?"

Both women continued to rub and massage their wrists as they shook their heads in unison.

Fleck moved her hand up and down in front of her face. "He wore a hood."

"He talked only to Kayla and he always whispered in her ear. The first time she tried to speak in response to him, he slapped her hard. He almost knocked her down. She kept quiet after that, only nodding or shaking her head."

Dante Parker's high, raspy voice would be a sure giveaway to anyone who had even heard him only once.

Britton led them through the auditorium. The scale model of the redevelopment project had been destroyed.

Fleck said as they passed the mess, "Why would he do that?"

He took the lead to Kayla's closed office door. A few feet from it, he moved Britton and Fleck off to the side. "Stay there."

Marjorie whispered, "Who is it, Marco?"

"Dante Parker."

"Oh, Dear God, no." She backed up Fleck and herself a few more steps away from the office door and ducked them behind a vending machine.

He cocked the Smith & Wesson and held it near his hip as he slowly turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked and turned easily.

Just before making the last nudge to release the door, he made sure Britton and Fleck were out of the line of fire. He then crouched down, finished unlatching the door and pushed hard to open it as fast as he could. Dante and Kayla were gone. As he straightened up, a groan came from the other side of Kayla's desk.

The moment he saw who it was, he hollered, "It's safe. Get in here."

Britton brought Fleck in by the hand and came straight to the desk. "Christopher." She pulled Fleck closer. "Call an ambulance and the police."

"Just an ambulance," he shouted. "I will call the police."

"And get the first aid kit from the nurse's station." Marjorie knelt down into the pool of blood that had come from the wound in Brown's abdomen.

He checked the office for anything that might give him a clue to where Parker and Kayla had gone. It was futility at best, but he kept searching the office until Tanya Fleck returned with the first aid kit.

"The ambulance is on its way. God, Marjorie, what can we do?"

He heard Marjorie say something like, "I think it's stopped bleeding. I feel a pulse . . . weak . . . rapid . . . a lot of blood."

His phone rang. "Why'd you have to shoot him?"

"Why'd he have to be a hero? All he had to do was step out of the way."

In the background, Kayla shouted, "How is Christopher?"

"An ambulance is coming. Where are you?"

"Where do you think I'd be at a time like this?"

"The armory," he said.

"You're not on the other side of the city now, Marco, so I'll give you as long as it took me to get here, seven minutes. The clock is ticking." He laughed, fired a shot and ended the call.

Had Kayla screamed?

He called Jacobsen. "Where are you?" He could hear the siren of the squad car.

"On our way to the Brown mansion," Jacobsen said. "I got your message. Where are you?"

"The community center," he said. "Christopher Brown has been shot in the stomach. An ambulance is on its way, but there's a lot of blood on the floor. I don't think he's going to make it."

"What happened?"

"Dante took Kayla. He thinks Amman and I set him up."

"I'll drop my partner off at Brown's house and be there as soon as I can. Stay where you are."

He terminated the call. "I can't."

FORTY-NINE:

He shouted into his phone, "I said stay there!"

Harris said, "I don't think he heard you. The line went dead."

"You couldn't possibly hear that."

"Maybe not, but hollering at your phone isn't going to bring him back."

"Turn that damn siren off." He called Detective Irene Maitland. "What have you got?"

"We just arrived, Myles," Maitland said. "Lenny is about to ring the bell."

"Forget that, just get inside."

"If you say so." A number of voices talked at once, mostly arguing about the legality of just barging into the house.

He shouted into the phone, "Get in there now!"

"Steady, Myles. Irene and Lenny know what they're doing. They'll make a good call."

"Irene, are you in?"

"The front door was unlocked. There is no one here."

"Get to the garage."

"We're on it."

Harris turned the car onto Montana Drive and then onto the driveway to the Brown's estate.

Three other police squad cars were already there. Four uniformed officers were out of their vehicles and had just started for the house. They all stopped when they saw the Lincoln coming along the drive.

Before Harris had brought it to a stop, a Mobile Crime Scene Unit van came up the drive behind them.

Irene came back on the phone. "Knight's Mercedes sedan and his Lexus coupe are still here. But one of the Suzuki motorcycles is missing. There's a picture of Knight, Christopher Brown and Estelle in their motorcycle gear hanging on the wall over the other two bikes."

"Call me as soon as you get anything."

Daniel Taliauli was at the front door shaking his head. Thelma Ramsey had left him to come to them. She didn't start shaking her head until she reached them.

"They are both dead," she said. "Each of them took a real beating."

Rosalind joined them. "Where are they?"

"Right where he said they'd be."

Thelma picked up Daniel as she led the way to the door to the basement.

He said, "How did you get past that?"

Taliauli said, "It was open when we got inside."

At the bottom of the stairs, Ramsey pointed out the two bodies. "That's Estelle Pearson-Brown to our right. The one on the floor by the big mirror is Annette Knight. You can still tell it's her."

"It must have been a hell of a fight," Harris said as he looked around at all the blood splattered on the walls."

Taliauli said, "I don't think these two fought much at all, Ben." He took them to Annette's body. "Rosalind will have to confirm this, but I think this is Pearson-Brown's handiwork. Someone else then did her. I would bet most of the splattered blood came from her beating."

Annette Knight was laid out on her back at the bottom of the largest mirror attached to the wall. Her arms were set beside her with her left arm touching the bottom of the mirror to create a bizarre Rorschach-like image of her. She had a bruised right cheek and chin, a fat, cut lip and a lurid red ligature line around her neck.

Rosalind knelt down to make a preliminary examination. "She was likely rendered unconscious from the strangling, but this is what killed her." Ros lifted Knight's bangs away from her forehead to show them a gash about three inches long and gaping about a half-inch for its entire length. The purple dent proving her skull had been crushed was a half-inch deep and surrounded the gash.

Taliauli pointed toward the all-in-one weight machine. "That five-pound dumbbell is a perfect match. There is blood and flesh on it."

Ros left Taliauli and Ramsey and two of her team to process Annette Knight while she took them to Estelle Pearson-Brown.

Harris swallowed hard and wiped his mouth. "There is nothing left of her face." He turned away for a second or two.

He said, "This was rage unleashed and uncontrolled." He pointed back to Knight. "That is consistent with what they had been doing. It was brutal and violent, with some rage there, too. But there is also some experimentation involved. I expect the marks on Knight's neck will reveal strangulation by hand as well as something like a cord or scarf."

Ros said, "You're talking about rendering her unconscious, trying some other way to finish her off, but then clubbing her with the dumbbell instead."

"Estelle beats up Annette. You will probably find all manner of injuries in the full autopsy. She gets Annette down. Maybe she sits on her chest. Maybe she pins her arms with her knees. Then she strangles her, likely with her hands at first just to see if she can do it."

Harris said, "Do you think she had enough touch to end just short of killing her?"

"It was more likely she thought Knight was finished and then her victim moved or made a sound. At that point, she just grabbed the nearest heavy thing to hand and ended the ordeal."

Ros knelt down to inspect Estelle Pearson-Brown's obliterated face. "This was done with fists."

"Austin Knight," Harris said. "Why kill his junior partner? Because she killed his wife?"

"It's more likely he was enraged because she disobeyed him. Annette may not have been a target. Estelle went off program and freelanced on him."

"A deviating deviate," Harris said. "Now there's a surprise."

Ros swatted at Harris's legs. "You have my permission to leave the crime scene."

Harris glanced at Annette Knight. "Sorry, Ros, my bad."

She said to Myles, "What do you think? Austin comes home, finds this and loses it?"

"He wasn't teaching her a lesson if that's what you mean. He immediately understood that her impulsive behavior had ended their run."

Patrick Waller entered the workout room and came straight to them. "You'll want to see this." He took them through the house into the three-car garage and to a black BMW X5. "We found something in the back."

Harris said, "Not at the shop being detailed after all."

Waller's partner opened the hatch to reveal three rolled up blankets, two black ones and one dark blue, as well as crumpled heavy gauge clear plastic. The plastic was stained with blood and hair.

"At least some of that," Waller said, "is from a dog." He pointed to the two black blankets. "They have dried blood stains. It appears they were used to wrap someone. There are also stains on the floor carpet."

Harris took a close look at the plastic. "She killed her dog?"

"Practice," he said. "How clean is it?"

"Someone went through it recently from top to bottom, front to back, but it wasn't a professional job. We might find something more." Waller went back to his work on the X5 with his partner.

Ben's phone began ringing. "Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, I got it." He kept looking at his phone as he said, "That was Abernathy. He's at city hall. Austin Knight is gone. According to Turpin, he got a call on his phone while they were in their budget meeting and just flew out of the room as if his ass was on fire."

Ros said, "Had Estelle called to tell him what she'd done?"

"Or what she was in the process of doing," he said."She could have been bragging to her master. She might have believed he'd approve of what she was doing. Both marriages were over. She was just clearing the way for them."

Harris put his phone away. "Christopher Brown died on the way to hospital."

"Put out an APB for Knight."

His phone rang. "Irene."

"God, Myles, we've found their tomb of the dead."

He put his phone on speaker. "Say that again, please."

"They have what ostensibly is a wine cellar, but really it's just a big refrigerator with two walk-in compartments. Each compartment has its own environmental controls for temperature and humidity. They can be set to minus-twenty Celsius and zero humidity."

Ros said, "That would be cold and dry enough to make a mummy."

"They aren't mummies," Irene said, "but they are freeze-dried."

"How many?"

"There are three women, one man and five puppies. One of the dogs is missing its head and its tail." She took a deep breath. "It's horrible in there, Myles."

Harris put a hand on his shoulder. "Mikhail Baranowski never left town. He did pay Estelle a visit, and he brought his dogs with him."

"But that's not all, Myles," Maitland said. "We found a door behind a section of the wine racks. On the other side is their sex play room. It has some nasty devices for bondage that could just as easily be used for torture. There is even a stainless steel table like the ones Ros has. It has its own drain."

Lenny Corso came on the phone. "There's a map of the city in the wine cellar compartment that has a dozen or more points marked on it, including Starways Motel and the Port Gates site. Some are checked off, others aren't."

"They could be points of disposal," he said.

"Jesus Christ." Harris walked away cursing.

"I'll call you back in fifteen," Maitland said.

"Why kill Mikhail and the dogs?"

"Impulse or panic," he said. "Or they needed victims to experiment on. Don't be surprised if you and your crew find a variety of methods used to kill them."

She took hold of his hand. "I've seen every way you can kill someone, but these ones are going to turn my stomach. I just know it."

Harris came back to them. "What the hell are we going to find at those other points on the map?"

FIFTY:

The armory was Dante Parker's accurate but unimaginative name for a house in Satan Town that he kept full of weapons. On Findlay Street, the last street at the northern edge of the borough, and set among other non-descript houses for the few middle-class families still in the Hollows, no one would ever suspect the house of containing anything other than what every other house on Findlay Street contained.

To maintain the appearance of a mundane family home, Parker had commanded a lower-ranking man and woman in the Hellcats to go through the motions of 'living' there, getting up every morning to leave for work, coming home at the end of the day, mowing the lawn, stuff like that.

He had also prohibited one of the telltale indicators of a house being used for dealing drugs or being the center for other gang activities: a steady supply of visitors coming and going. Any deliveries or pickups were handled using a proper commercial delivery service. And only nice mundane, middle-class vehicles were permitted close to 3138 Findley Street, such as his white Honda Accord sedan parked in the driveway.

There was no point trying to sneak into the house. Marco parked his Camaro behind the Honda and then went straight to the front door. Rather than go through the act of ringing the bell, he turned the unlocked doorknob, pushed open the door and entered the house.

"Leave your Smith and Wesson on the table," Parker said through a speaker in the ceiling above him. A camera was fastened beside it. He had installed both of them.

Marco did as he was told.

"Have you anything else?"

Marco held up his arms and made one complete turn. "You know the Shield is all I carry."

"Come ahead slowly. Keep your hands up."

He obeyed the instructions and kept walking until he reached the nook at the back of the house. Glancing into the living room, the dining room and then the kitchen as he passed them confirmed Dante and Kayla weren't in them, and neither was anyone else. No one was in the nook either.

"What do we do now?"

A door opened behind him. Dante and Kayla slipped into the hallway from the top landing of the stairs to the basement. Dante held a gun in his left hand and his knife in his right. He pushed Kayla with that hand to get her started for him.

"Where is Amman?"

"I already told you I don't even know if he's alive. And you gave me only seven minutes to get here. I couldn't exactly stop along the way to look for him, could I?"

Kayla asked, "How is Christopher?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"Look in there," Parker said.

He opened the folding door to a closet and found Johnny beaten and folded up at the bottom of it.

"That is why I don't believe you."

He helped Johnny up.

"Sorry, Marco," Reynolds said. "I was keeping a watch on her. I thought I could sneak in." He rubbed the back of his head. "I guess I was slow and stupid this time."

"I know what you're trying to do." Parker took them all to the nook table. Every piece of jewelry he had ever handed over to Parker was laid out on the table, including the items Parker had removed from the Chrystal Ball Jewelry bag. "You're setting me up to take the fall for all this. I know you are."

"All you had to do was turn this crap into cash. I can't help it if you can't part with shiny things."

"Fucker!" Parker swung his left hand and the butt of his gun at Kayla's head.

Kayla ducked and stepped backwards as Johnny lunged for Parker. The gun fired twice. Johnny fell to the floor clutching his right thigh with both hands. But he had knocked the gun away from Parker.

Enraged, Parker still had the sense to realize where the greatest danger would come from. He swivelled on his heels and grabbed for Kayla.

Marco tackled him into the table. They rolled over the top of it, sending all Parker's precious swag everywhere. Parker had gained the top position when they landed on the floor. Pressing down on his throat with his left arm, he raised his right to stab down into his chest.

A loud grunt, shriek and creak had both of them looking in the same direction just before the nook table came sliding across the linoleum floor at them. Parker couldn't duck because Marco had pressed both hands against his chest to keep him upright. Kayla and Johnny kept pushing the table until they gave it one last, hard shove, striking Parker in the head and pinning him against the wall.

Parker's eyes rolled, his eyelids fluttered before closing. He sagged against the wall, but he still held on to his knife.

Johnny cried out and fell away. Screaming at Parker as loud as she could, Kayla tried to pull the heavy table back to strike him with it again.

Rolling along the floor, Marco passed under the table, swivelled on his side and kicked Parker first in the ribs and then in the shoulder, knocking the knife from his hand. He then pushed the table away from below and scrambled to his feet. "Help Johnny."

The instant Kayla turned away to tend to Reynolds, he slammed Parker's head into the wall, stepped behind him and snapped his neck.

"Shit, that hurts," Reynolds groaned as Kayla wrapped his wound with a towel.

Kayla growled back at him, "It is only a scratch." She pulled the towel tighter before securing it with a knot. "Parker?"

"Dead."

"You need to get out of here, man." Reynolds used the table to get up to his feet. "Go. Kayla and I will talk to the police. They'll believe Parker was behind the burglaries when they see all this jewelry." He took hold of his injured thigh. "They will believe we were defending ourselves. I've talked to people. They all want to help you. They'll tell the cops when they come around that the Hellcats distributed the money to create a network of indebted people they could use whenever they wanted. They will tell them no one dared refuse. I'll tell them Dante forced me to show him how to bypass all the security by threatening to kill you and Kayla if I didn't."

He and Kayla both stared at him.

"I told you I'm not stupid. I knew what you were trying to do. I knew you and Kimberley were planning to leave. I even got it covered for why Kimmy had those envelopes. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Kayla hugged Reynolds, which elicited a yelp of pain from him. "Johnny's right. You need to get away if our story is going to work."

"Your story?"

"Just get out of here. We'll be fine." Kayla hugged him and kissed his cheek. "I know what Kimberley saw in you. We all do." She kissed him again. "But you can't be part of what happens next."

FIFTY-ONE:

The route out of the city to the northeast consisted of seventy miles of serpentine highway through the Coastal Mountains past the cabins at the northern end of the Paradise Lake. Just past the lake, he could continue northeast through Nevada toward Wyoming or turn due east, then south through Nevada to Arizona, east again to New Mexico and finally south into Mexico. Being only one lane in each direction with very few straight stretches for passing, the drive would be slower. But they would be looking for him to be driving his Camaro, not the blue Ford F150 he'd 'borrowed' from Johnny's uncle, who was currently driving the Camaro south to San Francisco.

Traffic had been light. Tractor-trailer rigs wouldn't use this highway because it had too many dangerous curves, as well as hilly sections too steep for vehicles that heavy. Anyone visiting their cabin this time of year would have likely returned to the city yesterday. The traditional lake cabin ritual was to take Friday off to drive up and go back home late Sunday.

Other than a couple of buses taking tourists from China on one of the most scenic routes through northern California, he had encountered no other vehicles until he came upon a man at the side of the road walking around his Suzuki motorcycle.

He parked the Ford behind the motorcycle, checked for his Shield and his derringer and then exited through the passenger side. "Hey, what's the problem?"

The man, dressed in khaki pants stretched tight against his muscular thighs and an equally tight rugby shirt over his big chest and broad shoulders, came to him with his hand out. When he smiled through a thick sandy-brown goatee he displayed just enough superficial charm to disarm someone eager to help a stranded motorist. "I'm afraid I did something very foolish. I was in such a hurry to get to my cabin that I didn't check the gas tank. I thought I could make it to the gas station, but it stalled on just fumes after that last hill."

Marco shook the man's massive right hand. Both hands had raw scrapes on their knuckles. The kind of scrapes one would get in a bare-knuckle fight. "You're talking about the Texaco two miles east of the turnoff to the cabins."

"That's the one, so close and yet too far away. I shouldn't have ignored the warning light when it came on."

"I have a gas can in the toolbox in the bed. I can take you to get some gas."

"If you're willing, we could load my bike into the truck and drive to my cabin. I have cans of gasoline there for my generator. And I can pay you back with some very tasty craft beer."

"That is going to be a heavy lift. I don't have a ramp."

"Together we can do it."

Shrugging and nodding, he said, "Marco Kamren."

"John Smith." He shrugged. "My parents had no imagination." He went to the bike and turned it around. He then took up a position to push from the back of it.

Taking hold of the handlebars, Marco nodded and started pushing. Once they reached the end of the truck, he stopped. "Let me get the tailgate down."

He leaned the bike against the truck, stepped around to the tailgate and reached for his Shield. The blow struck him between the shoulder blades. If he hadn't gone down to the ground, he would have staggered onto the highway.

The man knelt down on his back and took hold of his head. But instead of snapping his neck, the man got off him, hauled him to his feet, punched him hard in the face and then dragged him off the road into the woods.

Pretending to be on the verge of passing out, Marco staggered and then went limp as he was taken from direct view of anyone coming along the highway. Once they were secluded in the woods, he fell to his knees, turned as fast as he could and swung at the man's groin. But Knight twisted and stepped away, the blow barely grazing his thigh, and equally quickly swung into the side of Marco's head, sending him down onto his back.

Marco reached for the derringer. Again, Knight's quick reflexes had him stepping down on his forearm before he could get the gun out. Knight dropped down onto him with one knee on his chest and one on his thighs. His foot still pushed against Marco's right arm. Another hammer blow to his temple brought both darkness and blinking dots of light.

Austin Knight was far stronger and just as ferocious, tough and unrestrained in a fight as he was. With his foot still pinning Marco's arm to the ground, Knight shifted his knee from Marco's chest to his throat. One hand pushing against the knee was only going to keep Knight's heavy, powerful leg from crushing his neck for a few seconds. He was going to die.

Knight suddenly grunted and fell off him.

In amongst the blinking dots of light and his vision alternating between blinding brightness and complete darkness, a hand appeared and reached down for him. He must have reached for it because he was up on his feet before he took another breath.

Amman Cook started wiping the detritus off him right after he dropped the length of branch he'd struck Knight with. He only used his left hand because his right hand kept his Glock aimed at Knight. "Why didn't you shoot him right off?"

"I had to be certain who he was."

"And who is he?"

"His name is Austin Knight. He is one of the two people who killed Kimberley."

"There were two of them?"

"That's what the cop investigating suspected. He was right. The other one was Estelle Pearson-Brown."

Cook walked over to Knight and kicked him in the head. Knight grunted but didn't move. "What do you want to do with him?"

"Take him to the lake. What are you doing here?"

"I've been following you since you left Dante's quaint middle-class neighborhood. Nice bit of work back there, by the way. Do I sound too stereotypic when I tell you he had it coming?"

"Just very old," he said as he shook off the numbness in his right arm. All of his tingling fingers could move. No bones were broken. "Why were you at the armory?"

"Johnny and I have been working together. He's a lot smarter than he looks. He told me what he thought you were up to. Personally, I was surprised to find out you were capable of such subtlety. After that night, Johnny kept prowling the Breach until he got lucky and spotted Dante. He kept him under surveillance and called me when Dante took Kayla to the armory. Unfortunately, I got there as you were coming out."

A dog started barking.

"That's just Zipper," Cook said. "He doesn't like being left along too long."

"You have a dog?"

"He comes from a litter of eight. When Bridget told me about them, I had to take a look. Zip and I fell in love right off."

"I'm happy for you both. And the body in the basement was?"

"I told you. Asa was too impetuous. Rogue would be a better term. He was going to gum up my plan. To be accurate, he almost ruined it completely."

"You're sounding old again."

"Then before I die, should we finish this job?" He produced a set of handcuffs. "Never leave home without one."

Austin Knight was conscious, but he hadn't moved because he had a good view of the Glock Cook had kept aimed at him.

Marco put the handcuffs on Knight. They let him get up on his own.

"We can put him in the trunk of the Camry. You can follow me in the truck."

"We'll leave the truck. Johnny will come get it and the Suzuki."

They placed Knight in the back.

Cook fastened a seatbelt around Knight after first pushing Zipper away from biting at his elbow. "Behave yourself, Zip. This one is bad meat."

"Go to the south end of the lake."

"No one goes there, Marco. It's dead at that end."

"It's called a meromictic lake. It's dead because it has no oxygen at the bottom of it. It's deep and it has steep slopes near the bottom. The north end of the lake is shallower and flatter and separated by the beaver dam."

Cook started the silver Camry. "Aren't you Mr. Know-it-all? That road is going to wreck the suspension."

"Why a Camry?"

"Dante had an Accord. I could very well get the same camouflage he had, could I?"

Once they were underway, he turned around and asked Knight, "Why did you kill her?"

"What are you going to do with me? I have money. How much do you want to let me—"

Marco aimed the derringer at him. "I'm going to blow your ugly fucking face off if you don't start telling me what I want to know."

Cook said, "Are you sure about this, Marco? Are you sure you want to know?"

"I have to know." He brought the derringer to within two inches of Knight's face. "Talk or you get all four barrels at once. Her name was Kimberley Deering."

"I didn't kill her, Estelle did."

"You were working together."

"She's dead. I killed her. It was the only way to stop her. She was out of control."

"How did it go?" He cocked the derringer.

"It was all Estelle's idea. We started our affair out of boredom with our marriages. We had married the wrong people and neither one of them were interested in what we liked to do."

He pressed the derringer hard against the end of Austin's nose. "Just tell me what happened with Kimberley."

Cook said, "Let him tell you his way, Marco. He has to do it his way if you want to know. That's the way he is. That's the way he has to go." Cook put his hand on Marco's arm. "Trust me on this, my friend. If you need to know, you need to let him tell you his way."

He turned around and put the derringer down. "Get on with it."

"You've seen Estelle."

"I've seen her."

"She loved to be tied up. It was her favorite thing when we first started out. She loved the firmness of her body, the tautness of her muscles, the feeling of power her strength gave her. She loved to test that strength. She loved to put her muscles into tension. She got off flexing against the tightness binding her, straining to the point of causing pain. She loved to see ropes around her."

Cook said, "She always wanted mirrors nearby."

"She demanded it. If she couldn't see the ropes squeezing her and all that was being done to her, she wasn't interested in doing it. She had this masochistic-narcissistic need to push against resistance. She wasn't truly happy or turned on until I tied her up as tight as I could. It was a good night if she had bruises, blood blisters and rope burns at the end of our sessions."

"Did you do that—"

"Marco, just let him talk."

"Combine all that with her need for thrills naturally led us to intensify our games." Knight shifted his hips against the seatbelt.

Zipper barked and lunged for his elbow again.

"Steady, Zip."

"I love that shit, too, but I was not in her league. The more experimental, the tighter and more painful, and then being dominated and forced to do things, to submit, all the while watching in the mirror, led to rather deeply erotic and somewhat bizarre sexual adventures." He chuckled. "I almost drowned her once."

Knight was getting as much pleasure telling them his story as Pearson-Brown had experiencing it all. That was what Cook was alluding to, let Knight talk his way and all of it would come out. Most of the tale was going to come through his own vicarious, psychotic filter, but interrogating him would yield nothing but self-serving lies. Letting him talk was convincing Knight that he still had control, that he was still the master while he slowly succumbed to his own voyeuristic addiction to vicariously relive what they had done.

He said, "Where did these games take you?"

"We had a collar and leash for her, chains and locks, bracelets and belts, rods and canes. She had this lovely skin, but we were going to end up damaging it beyond its ability to repair itself. I believe she was actually anticipating having permanent scars. And she loved being suspended. Hanging upside down with all of me in her mouth was her absolute favorite."

Cook said, "Until that was no longer enough."

"Right." Knight adjusted himself again. He had an erection. "I can tell you know what women are really like. They just need a little—"

"Where did it go next?"

"The adventures became more public, though always late at night in the darkest, most isolated or deserted places we could find at first. That just naturally took us into the Breach."

"But she always needed to take greater risks."

"She couldn't have mirrors outside. She always needed to display herself and refine her teasing. It soon became clear to me that I wasn't audience enough for her. She insisted we find better spots in the Breach to play."

"Why in the Breach?"

"No one would know us there. We wouldn't be recognized. She wore masks and leather hoods most of the time and I mostly kept out of sight until it was time to put her to work for me. No one in the Breach would be able to identify her or even likely tell anyone else about her. She was sure anyone who caught sight of her prancing around naked and bound would probably think she was a hallucination."

He checked the four chambers of the derringer. "Eventually that wasn't enough for her either."

"There is an exchange of power in these games. I couldn't do anything to her if she wasn't willing to submit. In reality, she had more power over me than I did over her. She started talking about pushing the limits of physical sensation, the thrill and the adrenaline rushes. It was her addiction. We started cruising around. Sometimes we had vigorous sex before we headed out. Sometimes we had better sex while we were out cruising. Sometimes she wanted me to choke her to the point of losing consciousness to make everything more intense for her."

Cook stopped him when he started to raise the derringer. "You spotted Kimberley while out cruising."

"She was walking alone. Estelle spotted her first and had me park the car just to watch her. When she turned the corner, Estelle had me follow her. We kept well back. It was a long block before the next intersection and there were no bus stops on either side of the road that we could see.

"Estelle had me pass her and make a right turn to circle and come up behind her again. We did that twice. The first time she had stopped to talk to an elderly couple coming the other way. I think she noticed us the second time even though she was just standing and looking around at the neighborhood. I warned Estelle about this. I told her I was beyond ready to go and we should put an end to the prowl, but I could see it in her. She wouldn't be scared off."

"Did you pick her up?"

"We went around the block a third time. She was getting close to the intersection by then. There was a bus stop at the corner. Two streetlamps were out."

"Most of them are out in the Breach," Cook said and made the turn to head to the south end of the lake.

"Estelle was very excited. She grabbed my arm and ordered me to pull up beside her and grab her. But I was driving. All I could do was pull up beside her and stop. Estelle lowered the window to ask for directions. I don't know what the directions were for, but Estelle got out of her BMW to verify that she got the directions right. She was so natural, very pleasant. I was beginning to think she was losing her nerve and nothing more would come of it. I didn't know what she was going to do or if she was even going to do anything. I thought she just wanted to add another woman to our games. She was naked under her overcoat. But for all I knew, she might flash her, jump back in to the car and we'd drive away. She might do nothing."

"What did happen?"

"It's the funniest thing. Estelle wasn't only naked under the overcoat, she had bare feet. The woman noticed her bare feet. Before I knew it, Estelle threw one arm around her throat, put her other hand over the woman's mouth and dragged her into the back of the Bimmer. We always took her Bimmer."

"Did she fight back?"

"She tried, but Estelle was much stronger than her. She had no trouble pinning her to the seat facedown. She quickly bound her arms behind her back with the device I usually used on her. It has these loops all ready to tighten to make it fast and efficient."

"Then what?"

"Nothing," he said. "Estelle played with her legs, bending them and straightening them. Then she started to hogtie her, but the woman stopped struggling. I think she might have passed out at that point because it had been hard for her to breath with Estelle kneeling on her. Estelle climbed back on to her seat in the front. I drove to a vacant lot near the Starways Motel. My heart was racing. I was trying to think of a way to get out of this without anyone getting seriously hurt, but nothing would come to me other than to dump her and make a run for it. Estelle wouldn't let me do that."

"You should have—"

Cook said, "How long before . . . ?"

"We just kept looking back at her. We hadn't worked out what we would do if we ever caught one. It had mostly just been talk before to get us warmed up and lubricated. She kept reviving and then losing consciousness again. Estelle had opened the coat and just kept playing with herself and looking back at her. After arguing back and forth, we decided to take her to my place where we had everything set up for our games."

"I've heard enough of his bullshit." He aimed the derringer at Knight's face again.

"We're here," Cook said.

"Have you got any rope?"

"There's plenty in the trunk."

"Get it."

He dragged Knight out of the Camry. Zipper leapt out behind them and immediately attacked Knight's right ankle. There was a stain at the front of Knight's pants from ejaculating while telling his story.

"Fucker." He kicked Knight down to his knees and then kicked him in the face.

Zipper started jumping up trying to get at his face until Cook caught him in mid-jump.

"Good boy." Cook put him back into the Camry. "Daddy will only be a few minutes."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Shut-up." He struck Knight in the face with the derringer.

Cook took a turn punching Knight in the face. "I'd do what he says."

Knight remained silent while he and Cook tied him up. He received another blunt force strike to his face when he resisted the gag. That blow rendered him semi-conscious.

They dragged Knight to the end of a short wharf that had been put in place by park rangers. They had left a rowboat tied up at the end of it.

Cook let go of their load and had to take a few deep breaths. "Fuck, this guy is heavy. We're not going to try to get him into that, are we?"

"Get him up."

Knight moaned and stirred when they raised him to his feet. His eyes opened wide and he sputtered against the gag to plead for his life when Cook tied two weights to his ankles.

"Don't worry, you won't be alone. There are two guys down there already just waiting for company to drop in."

"You just had to say that last part, didn't you? It's the kind of stupid-ass pun mighty-whitey James Bond would say."

"Overcome by the moment, sorry."

They pushed Austin Knight off the wharf. There weren't many bubbles as he sank.

"She came to me after your big date. She showed me her pictures. She told me about your plans."

"Why would she do that?"

"She wanted to know if you could keep your promise to stop doing what you were doing."

"What did you tell her?"

"We're friends, are we not? I lied for you."

"Thanks for that."

"And because we're such good friends, Marco, I can tell you that she was too good. It was never going to work for you two anymore than it would have worked for me and Kayla. You and I have been doing stuff like this for too long." He dropped the Glock into the water. "We've gone too far to have any hope for something like you wanted with Kimberley."

"Yeah, probably," he said.

Zipper had jumped out of the window that Cook had left open for him and came running along the dock to them. He only barked a couple of times.

Amman picked Zipper up—caught him in midair again. "He's becoming quite the escape artist." They started back for the Camry with Zip wriggling in Cook's arms and licking at his daddy's face. "You'll like Mexico City, Marco. I own a restaurant there. Actually, I own all or part of twelve restaurants there. They're all very successful and every one of them needs a good security system."

THE END

