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miserable excuse of an ego. I live to see that day. Russell continued to sit, arms crossed,
with a hard-eyed sneer on his thin face.
Jake picked up the file folder and turned to leave. He stopped at the door, looked
back over his shoulder and said, Your self-destructive hatred won t bring her back.
Neither will mine. He went out into the hallway connecting the conference room with
the police offices at the other end of City Hall. On the way to his office, he shut down all
feeling: anger, hatred, fear, guilt, and all the positive ones as well: self-respect,
confidence and caring. It s not worth it. Nothing is, he thought while he wound his way
down corridors painted in sickly green and headed for the closet he jokingly called an
office.
***
9:00 A.M.
When Jake stormed into his tiny, stuffy office, Cameron and Brian were waiting
for him. Both of them gave off hostile and standoffish waves of attitude. When Jake
closed the door behind him and spotted Quigley sitting in a chair the door had blocked,
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he knew why. Jake stopped and stared down into Quigley's face. The man's expression
looked weary and on guard. "So, you do have balls then Quigley." Jake turned, moved
past Brian and Cameron as they sat looking over their shoulders at the ex-cop, and eased
down into the oversized desk chair he'd taken from the storage room when he was first
assigned the office. He leaned both hands on the desk and locked gazes with Quigley,
who silently inspected Jake's face in return. Jake frowned at him. "Well? What have you
got?"
Quigley visibly relaxed, as if he'd gotten some sort of answer or signal he'd waited
for before he felt he could speak. He settled back into the uncomfortable metal chair he d
dragged in from the waiting room, reached for a cigarette, thought about it and dropped
his hands into his lap with a resigned look on his face before opening up. The talk on the
street is all about how this has happened before; somewhere else besides here. Have you
checked the outlying towns for similar murders?
Brian s face colored at the question. That s the first thing we did. It was
obvious he was fighting to retain a semblance of good manners toward the man,
something that usually came easily to him but seemed to be failing now.
Cameron peered sideways at Brian s face with a question clearly etched on his
features. Jake saw it and decided to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. Brian,
Cam, before we go any further, I want to introduce this man to you and explain why he s
here.
We know who and what he is, Brian blurted out. But& I do want to know why
you re working with him. The last was spoken with a mixture of sarcasm, disrespect and
puzzlement.
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Jake ignored the tone and addressed the unspoken question. I agreed to let
Quigley help because, quite frankly, we need all the support we can get right now. When
Brian and Cam jerked their heads up in injured pride, Jake added, Look. I know how
you feel. I feel the same way. I don t want to be associated with a man who defiled the
trust placed in him by the public, not to mention he killed an innocent woman in the
process&
What about good manners too? Quigley murmured into the lull. You re talking
about me like I m not even here.
& But, we may just be able to stop a cold-blooded serial killer and that makes it
worth while in my book, Jake continued as if Quigley hadn t said a thing.
Brian crossed his arms and stared out the window. Cameron shrugged and looked
over his shoulder at Quigley, who met his look with a half-smile. Okay, mate. I m with
the boss here. If you can help then welcome aboard. Cameron grinned back at the man,
well aware of Brian s disapproval and uncaring of it.
Jake ignored Brian s attitude and Cameron s nonchalant disinterest. He faced
Quigley with less than a friendly look on his face; a look that said he d tolerate the
situation, nothing more. He wasn t about to give Quigley any reason to think he was an
accepted part of the team and certainly not anything near being a friend; just a necessary
burden that Jake was being forced to bear. Well? What have you found? And make it
good or you re out now.
Quigley relaxed even more, seeming to actually enjoy the heightened tension and
hostility in the room. As I started to say before, the talk is that the killer was doing his
thing somewhere else before he started here. That means that there s a whole lot more
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evidence you don t know about out there somewhere and I m betting that, combined with
what you already have, you could find him. Anticipating Jake s next question, Quigley
rushed on, All the people who know what s happening on the underside of this town are
in agreement. They believe the killer is straight, he hates gays, hates women too and that
he started in San Francisco last year before he came here.
What makes them think that? Jake leaned forward, his heart pounding with
excitement and hope for the first time in four months.
Did you hear about a gay man killed at that big Gay Pride parade last
Halloween? The so-called Southern Belle killing? Quigley dug a dingy, leather
notebook out of his coat pocket and flipped it open. He read, Raymond Chandler, aged
22, blatantly gay since his early teens, lived in the Castro district of the city, was killed on
the night of Halloween during the Gay Pride parade in downtown San Francisco. He was
dressed in a Southern Belle costume. He was last seen at midnight, talking with a tall man
dressed like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, complete with long, black hair, blood red lips,
and skin-tight dress.
Yeah, I remember that one. It came up when I was working on the Shadow killer
case. It seemed like a straight-up gay killing to me. How is it linked to what s happened
here? Jake leaned hard on his desktop now, hyper-focused on Quigley s face and hoping
against hope the man really had something to go on.
Cameron and Brian both held themselves stiffly, with arms crossed and cynical
looks upon their faces. They stared at Quigley, obviously waiting for something
worthwhile to hear. Jake took a deep breath and hoped they d restraint themselves long
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enough to give the man a chance. Quigley stared right back at them with an insolent
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