Ch 1-10

Summary

This action packed suspense mystery has all the makings of a great story! Bad-ass Detective, maniacal killer and a twist ending you never see coming! As Seattle’s homeless population surges, a serial killer thrives. Slicing the throats of those unfortunate enough to be living on the streets and discarding them like garbage. One man, familiar with the streets of Seattle, gave up a rich and successful life when his wife was brutally murdered. He went off the grid to live a life of nomadic freedom only to re-emerge into society seven years later amid the killer’s rampage through the Emerald City. The question is has he returned to help catch a cold-blooded killer or to avenge his wife’s death by taking victims of his own? Luz Santos – one of Seattle’s finest homicide detectives – relentlessly seeks clues as to who would harm the displaced residents of her city. With each new phase of the investigation, she uncovers information that turns the killer’s focus towards her and those she cares about. Fiercely determined to catch the murderous maniac Luz pushes herself to the breaking point. With her career, her heart and the lives of so many on the line, will her sacrifices be enough to stop this butcher? Or will she, too, become a victim of forgotten rage?

Prologue

January 18th, 1995

“Objection!” Nicholas Mason shot out of his chair in the courtroom.

The judge heaved a sigh. “You are not the trying attorney in this case, Mr. Mason, and while I understand that you are an attorney, in this instance you are to remain silent. Please allow Mr. Marx to state any and all objections on behalf of the prosecution.”

Nicholas slowly sat, shooting the prosecuting attorney a scathing look. He bent over the banister so that Marx would hear him. “Why didn’t you object?” he spat.

Adam Marx turned only halfway toward his friend. “Because I don’t object to the defense attorney’s cross examination,” he harshly whispered back. “The only thing I object to is you trying to do my job for me. Now sit down and try to control yourself.” He turned forward, facing the witness stand and effectively dismissed his friend.

Nicholas clenched his jaw but took his seat. He and his partners had wanted to work this case all the way up through trial, but due to the conflict of interest, the court had demanded he find another attorney to chair the case from outside his firm. His friend, Adam Marx, had taken over and from the beginning assured Nick that he would see justice done.

Nick sighed and put his head in his hands. The case was slipping away. It had been six months since Adam had taken the case and they were losing points left and right. It began in week five of the trial when crucial evidence was thrown out due to contamination, and since then, they’d had one witness change her story, another disappear, and—currently—their only star witness was being ripped apart by the defense team’s cross-examination.

The judge seemed as blind as lady justice herself and the jury had looked bored throughout the entire trial. Nick badly wanted to shake them all and make them see what a son of a bitch Anthony Yates really was. Nick’s fingers ached from clutching the armrests in a white-knuckled grip, why couldn’t anyone else see it? he wondered desperately.

“Hey, Nick, let’s go.” Adam lightly shook Nick’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Nick asked, snapping out of his thoughts. People were filing out the door at the rear of the courtroom.

“The judge called a recess; the jury is deliberating. We’ll be called once they reach a verdict.”

Nick waited for Adam to gather his notes and place them into his briefcase before following him out of the courtroom.

The press crowded the hall. They flashed pictures and yelled questions as they followed Nick and Adam like a hungry pack of wolves, salivating for even the tiniest soundbite.

“Mr. Mason, given the validity of the defense, how can you believe the jury will find Mr. Yates guilty of murder?” shouted Emily Watkins, top news anchor from Channel four. She led the group of reporters, her designer heels annoyingly clicked against the marble floor as she kept pace with them.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and kept walking, while the morbid slideshow of the murder scene flashed through his mind. Leah, his wife, lay dead in a pool of her own blood. Found on their houseboat with her throat cut from ear to ear.

Bile rose in his throat and he shook his head to distinguish the violent images, but the acidic taste remained, almost choking him.

“Mr. Mason has no comment,” he heard Adam reply as they pushed their way through the throng of reporters.

Nick stopped walking and looked around. The reporters fell silent and watched him. Their ravenous looks should have given him pause but he was too aggravated to care. He took a deep breath and began. “Mr. Yates is a power-hungry politician and I have no doubt that he has risen to his post as city council president through deception and scandal. Given his background as a police detective, he of all people would know how to cover his tracks after committing a murder. He’s guilty. I’d bet my career on it! And I hope the members of the jury remember that the victim here is not Mr. Yates but Leah Mason… my… my wife.” He got stuck on her name but continued. “She lost her life seven months ago at the hands of this monster and I pray to God that he gets punished!” Nick stopped to catch his breath; whenever he spoke of Leah he couldn’t help the rage that built inside.

She was so young, had so much to offer this world. Why couldn’t it have been me, instead? Over the last few months, he had pleaded with the universe for answers, but none ever came so he had dug his heels in and gone after the person responsible for tearing his life apart.

Cameras flashed, and reporters threw more questions out; hungry as ever after being fed the morsels they craved. Adam, however was not prepared to satisfy their appetite. He steered Nick into the nearest office and slammed the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, keeping his voice low.

Nick looked at him. “What?” he asked dully, feeling no remorse over his display in the hallway.

“What? What do you mean ’what?’” Adam snapped, the vein in his forehead angrily pulsing. “What if the jury finds him innocent? He could sue us for slander. Or worse. I don’t think the DA’s office would appreciate you betting their careers on this case, I know I wouldn’t.” Adam’s eyes widened—in what Nick assumed was surprise and regret at his own words—and he backed away from Nick with his hands in the air. Nick looked at him, slack-jawed. He waited a beat before addressing the betrayal he felt.

“You don’t think Yates is guilty, do you?” he asked. “Well shit, Adam, if I would’ve known, I sure as hell wouldn’t have asked you to take on this case!” Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Yates kills my wife and I have to justify my emotions to my best friend of all people. If I were trying the case—”

Adam exhaled and placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder, speaking softly to him. “Nick, she was your wife, which is why I’m handling the case. Normally, it would be a conflict of interest for the friend of a victim’s husband to take such a case, so I was careful not to mention that we knew each other when I was named first chair. I want whoever killed Leah punished just as much as you do, but how can we be sure it was Yates? You’ve heard the defense’s case every day for six months now, and you have to admit, our case isn’t exactly solid.” Nick began to shake again, but Adam kept talking. “I know we’ve had some bad luck with evidence and testimonies, so I want you to be prepared if the jury comes back with a not guilty verdict, okay?”

Nick sighed and shook his head. The pity in his friend’s voice was too much to bear. “Adam, you know how much Leah meant to me. How can you tell me to let go?” He looked up at his friend.

“I’m not telling you to let go. If Yates is guilty, he’ll go to prison, but if he isn’t, the police will continue the investigation. The best thing for you is to not waste time appealing the case and to help them as much as possible. Now I’m going to get something to eat. Would you like to join me?”

Nick stared at his friend and forced a smile. “No, I don’t think I could hold anything down. You go ahead. Meet me back here when you’re done.”

“You sure?” Adam’s hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be fine.” All Nick wanted was to be left alone. He had too many emotions to deal with and he didn’t need an audience.

“Okay but I don’t want you talking to the press, and I don’t want you going after Yates, either. Just promise me you’ll stay here—”

“Just leave me the fuck alone!” Nick snapped. “I said I’d be fine.” Looking up at his friend’s face, he knew he’d offended Adam, but he couldn’t muster up the effort to apologize.

“Whatever,” Adam said stiffly. He left the room, closing the door a little too hard behind him.

Nick sat and looked around the office. How the hell had all this happened? When the case began, it was open and shut. But now there was a chance Yates would walk. Nick briefly considered killing Yates himself, but he could never kill another human being, even one who had murdered his wife. Nick wiped at the tears that flowed down his face.

Leah, I’m so sorry, he thought, I should have been there for you.

There was a knock at the door and Fredrick James popped his head in. “Nick, the jury’s back with a verdict. Adam’s been paged.”

Nick stood up and headed for the door. “Thanks, Fred.” Nick walked down the hall to the courtroom. He paused before opening the door and composed himself; a quick deliberation by the jury usually meant a guilty verdict but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He took a deep breath, walked into the courtroom and took his seat. He clasped his shaking hands on his lap, trying to breathe deep and stay calm.

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation. Nick scanned the room and waited. Soon after, Anthony Yates walked in behind his defense attorney. Yates was the picture of health at forty-seven; six feet two, with a medium build. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, as always, lending him an air of importance. Nick glanced down at his own rumpled suit with distaste. He had lost so much weight dealing with this case and mourning his wife, he had stopped bothering with his appearance months before.

He looked at Yates, whose face was set in a grim expression, but Nick could tell in the way he carried himself that Yates basked in the glow of the press; he was a politician, after all. His lawyer was enjoying the publicity as well, but publicity was nothing new to Paul Cummings.

Cummings and Nick had worked at the same firm until the year before, when Cummings left to work for the DA. They had worked side by side on many cases as prosecutors and eventually became good friends. But Paul had taken on a big case and lost, which garnered negative publicity for the firm. It was because of that publicity that the firm lost a significant amount of business and, in the end, the partners had cut their losses and let him go. Paul moved on to work for the DA where he built his reputation as a defense attorney. He then developed a massive ego and cut ties with everyone from his past, including Nick. Since that time, Nick and Paul had enjoyed a healthy rivalry in the courtroom.

But Paul had taken things too far with this case. Instead of treating it sensitively for Nick’s sake, he had been the most vicious Nick had ever seen him. He guessed working with hoodlums and criminals would do that to a person. One whiff of Nick’s emotional state and Paul had attacked and insisted he represent Yates. Every time Paul was in the same room as Nick, he smiled smugly, which infuriated Nick and wore down his patience.

But Nick wasn’t looking at Paul. His interest was in Yates. Yates, who sat at his counsel table, pompous and calm; Yates who had killed Leah with his bare hands; Yates who might get off and walk away a free man. Nick’s hands trembled harder and he felt nauseous.

Adam asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

Nick looked up at Adam. “Adam—” he started pleadingly but was cut off by the bailiff’s booming voice.

“All rise, the Honorable Judge Melbourne presiding!”

Everyone stood as a short, stumpy old man shuffled out of his chambers up to the bench. Judge Melbourne was an impatient man but was usually fair with his cases. Melbourne took his seat and ordered the jury brought back into the courtroom.

The jury filed in and took their seats, all the while trying to avoid eye contact with Yates. Nick took that as a good sign but held his breath anyway.

Judge Melbourne put on his glasses and faced the jury box. “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

Complete silence took over and the foreman—a pudgy, thirty-something man with a bad comb-over and sweat stains at his armpits—stood and replied, “We have, Your Honor.”

“What say you?” snapped Melbourne.

The foreman cleared his throat. “In the matter of the State verses Anthony Alan Yates on the count of murder one—”

Nick closed his eyes.

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd and Melbourne banged his gavel and called for order. Nick exhaled slowly as he watched the expression on Yates’s face turn from despair to surprise and finally to one of victory. Nick watched him shake hands with Cummings and watched Cummings turn to Nick with his arrogant smile.

“You bastard!” Nick yelled, starting across the room. Several reporters swung their cameras in his direction. “This isn’t finished, Yates! I know you killed her! I know you killed my wife!”

It was Adam’s hand that pulled him back. “Don’t do this. Let it go, man!” he hissed in Nick’s ear.

But Nick shoved him off and sat down. Again, he gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white. The room spun, and he felt sick.

A timeline of images played in his mind: meeting Leah at law school, asking her on a date, asking her to marry him, their wedding day, their beautiful honeymoon in Hawaii, the look on her face when they closed on their first house, the two of them celebrating with a bottle of wine at their favorite restaurant when he made partner at the firm, Leah sleeping soundly in their bed, her long hair fanned out on the pillow and her head resting on her arm. She had looked so peaceful… so beautiful… so… alive. He would never know that kind of happiness again.

Without warning, images from the murder scene flashed through his mind—all that blood, and the way her life had drained away, the way her eyes were no longer bright but dull and fixed. Even in death, Nick believed her eyes had stared at him asking him the question he’d asked himself ever since: “Why weren’t you there?”

Nothing mattered. Not the case. Not his job. Nothing.

Completely numb, Nick got up and, without looking at anyone, shoved through the reporters and left the building.

Nicholas Mason was no more.

CHAPTER ONE

The rage inside has found its way free

The evil has long been restrained inside of me

The way to quench the thirst to kill

Is to succumb to this wicked thrill

May 12th, 2002 2:05 am

Garbage was meant to be discarded and left alone. Yet the woman in the alley dug through it as if she’d discovered lost treasure. Disgusting, thought the spectator who watched the woman’s face light up when she pulled a half-eaten sandwich from the dumpster near the building. The woman tore off the moldy pieces of bread and greedily ate the remainder of the sandwich, licking each of her filthy fingers when she was done. She then took her cart and pushed it to the next dumpster. Carefully, she climbed in, using the three-wheeled shopping cart as a step stool, and rummaged around. The spectator moved then, entering the alley while listening for any signs that they were not alone. Satisfied there would be no interruptions, the killer pulled out a knife and crept toward the dumpster.

~

Mildred Jamison thought she’d hit the jackpot. Inside the dumpster, she found boxes of discarded Thai food. It had been years since she’d eaten Thai. She salivated at the memory of savoring it before she’d become homeless.

Mildred once rented a small, run-down house in south Seattle. It wasn’t hers alone—she split the rent with another woman, Anne. Mildred and Anne had fixed that house up so that it looked almost new. They were great friends and often confided in each other over rocky road ice cream and a pack of Newports.

One day, Anne came home from work late with track marks on her arm. Mildred tried talking to her, but Anne wouldn’t listen, saying the heroin wasn’t an addiction; that it was just for fun. But as time passed, Anne lost her job and began stealing to pay for her “fun”. Mildred tried to get her help but didn’t have enough money to send her friend to rehab. When the rent was due, Mildred couldn’t afford it on her own. Anne had sold everything of worth in the house.

Mildred didn’t have a husband or any family to go to for help. Anne was her only friend. So she stayed as long as she could until the power was shut off and she was escorted off the premises. Soon after that, she lost her job and was forced to live on the streets. She’d seen Anne twice downtown; the first time, Anne was offering her body to a passerby. The second time had been more recent. Anne was walking down the street with two other women; she was clean, well-dressed and looked very healthy. She looked as though she’d gotten the help Mildred had always wished for her and had turned her life around. So Mildred approached Anne to talk, hoping Anne would be able to help her now that she’d helped herself. But Anne barely recognized Mildred, and when there was a flicker of recognition, Anne had scoffed at her; told her she had no time for pathetic homeless people and walked off. Mildred’s face reddened, and her stomach sank. She felt hurt and abandoned as Anne walked away.

Since then, Mildred had fended for herself. She went hungry most of the time. Stomach pains kept her up at night in whatever shelter she landed in—if she found room. Food was hard to obtain, and the other homeless people were very territorial.

But that night, she had struck gold. She dug her hand in the Styrofoam container and scooped up a handful of day-old noodles and was about to thrust them into her mouth when someone grabbed her head from behind. Mildred, stunned, dropped the container of Thai food. A searing pain creased her neck and her breath left her body in one loud, final gasp. The last thing she saw before she died was the bottom of the rusted dumpster.

May 16th, 2002 3:36 am

Headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the small figure drenched in blood and the sound of tires screeching pierced the silence

Luz jerked awake gasping for air, her eyes wildly searching the room for something to anchor her back to reality. She tried to steady her breathing by slowly counting to ten and taking deeper breaths.

Her phone rang, startling her. She quickly tried to block the effects of the nightmare and answered the phone.

“Santos.”

“Luz, this is Mike. Sorry to wake you, but we need you downtown. We got a body.”

Luz sat up straighter in bed. “I’ll be right there, give me the address.” She reached into her nightstand for her pen and paper.

“Just come to the corner of James and Second.”

“Come on, Mike, just give me an address, I’ll find it,” she said, irritated that her boss wasn’t more forthcoming with the information. God, I need some coffee, she thought.

“That is the address, Santos,” Mike said, sounding a little annoyed himself. “The vic’s a dead homeless person.”

Luz pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a beat before speaking to her boss again. “Oh… okay. Well then, that’s not my problem, Mike. Homeless people die all the time—disease, old age and exposure to the elements.”

“This one was murdered, so get up and get your ass downtown. I’ll expect a full report when I get in.” He hung up.

Luz laid back, looked up at the ceiling. She shook off the panic from her nightmare and sighed. “Well, chica,” she said to herself, “another day another peso.” And with that, she jumped out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.

She had a modest-sized living space with two bedrooms and one bathroom, a large kitchen with a connecting dining room and a living room. Her favorite aspect of the house was the fact that it was a boat.

No other houseboat on Lake Union had cost as little as hers. But nobody else on the lake had a father like hers. Her father once worked for a man who owned property all over the Puget Sound. When Luz had moved out on her own, her father convinced his old employer to let her move in at a huge discount. Once she graduated the academy and made detective, she not only could afford the place, she could afford to furnish it right. It was adios to Swedish furniture and hello to something plush, things more her style.

She hopped out of the shower and over to the mirror to dry her hair. She surveyed herself closely; promising to get her roots done as soon as she could. She preferred honey brown to her natural black; it made her look much more glamorous. She chuckled to herself; not that she needed to be glamorous—she was the only female detective in her precinct and she had already turned down offers from half the men in her department. She didn’t need to attract more attention. She smiled, gave herself an appraising look and returned to her bedroom to dress.

Once dressed she grabbed herself a Pepsi from the fridge and put on her coat. She didn’t normally drink soda but there was no time to brew coffee. On the way to the front door, she spotted her Chihuahua sleeping under the window. She went to the closet, pulled out a puppy piddle pad and laid it on the kitchen floor.

“Hey, Cheech,” she called, and the small dog popped up and came over wagging his tail. “Sorry, boy, no time for a walk. I gotta go.” She looked up at the clock and scowled; seven-fifteen.

“¡Dios mío!” she exclaimed, “traffic’s gonna be shit!” She ran out the door.

May 16th, 2002 8:01 a.m.

Officer Leroy Sacks had been with the Seattle Police Department for eleven months and had yet to see a body so sickening as the one he was looking at. They’d carefully removed the woman’s corpse from the dumpster—to not disturb evidence—and laid it on the ground. Leroy considered himself lucky that the crime scene guys got stuck with moving her. They had a very difficult job doing it.

Rigor mortis had come and gone, leaving the body as dead weight. What complicated things was the dumpster. It was so deep that after the body was photographed, one of the guys had to climb in and haul the corpse part of the way out before anyone could give him a hand. Once the body was freed, it was laid out on a plastic sheet for examination.

At this point, Leroy assumed he was no longer needed at the scene, so he’d gone to his patrol car, intending to go home. Unfortunately, his boss spotted him and ordered him to stick around until the crime scene crew finished up. Leroy had gotten out of his car and taped off the area so that passersby wouldn’t get the urge to rubberneck.

He couldn’t guess why anyone would want a glimpse of what he had seen. The woman they found had been dead a while and her pasty skin and glossy eyes were enough to give him nightmares. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was found with her throat cut from left to right, and thousands of maggots eating away at the tissue in the gash. The smell alone was enough to make him lose his breakfast and when he saw the body extracted from the dumpster, he found that he hadn’t gotten rid of all his eggs and bacon. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.

“You’re looking green today,” a voice came from behind him.

Leroy relaxed when he saw it was his mentor. “You would be green, too, if you saw what they pulled out of that alley this morning,” he replied, shaking his head.

Eddie Lopez smiled. “Yeah, I just took a look, poor woman. Probably never saw it coming,” he said calmly.

Leroy looked at his friend, surprised. “That’s it? You didn’t even gag?”

Eddie shook his head. “No, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen a murder vic like this, I’ve seen worse… way worse,” he said.

Edward Lopez transferred from East LA four years before and Leroy had no doubt his partner had seen more than his share of violent crime.

“But I guess you wouldn’t have seen much like this back in Rhode Island, would you?” Eddie asked him.

“No. The closest thing I’ve seen to this was an old man hit by a bus—there was blood everywhere—but at least he lived.”

Eddie patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “Leroy, my man, unfortunately you’ve been sheltered. But you’ll get used to it. For now, let me handle this scene and you can handle the paperwork. I’ll meet you back at the office. Deal?”

Leroy groaned; he hated paperwork, but the alternative was to spend more time with the body, so he readily agreed. “Sure,” he said. As he got into his car and closed the door, a silver Mitsubishi Eclipse, tires screeching, came peeling around the corner and pulled up to the curb.

“Here comes Speedy Gonzales,” Eddie called, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin.

Leroy snorted. “That’s Detective Santos, right? Lutz is her first name?”

“Her name is Luz, pronounced like the word ‘lose’,” Eddie explained, keeping one eye on Luz as she got out of her car.”

“Got it. If you’re gonna go over and say hi, wipe the drool off your mouth first,” Leroy said giving his partner a smug grin.

Eddie shot him a stern look and asked, “Don’t you have paperwork to do?”

Leroy laughed and started his car. He watched Detective Santos head straight for the alley. Then he glanced at his partner, who stared as she walked by him in a rush, not even acknowledging his presence. Eddie had harbored a flame for Santos since the beginning. He’d asked her out several times and she’d always turned him down. It seemed she had a policy about dating other cops—not to. But that hadn’t stopped Eddie. Every time he saw her he put on that, “You’re Latina, I’m Latino” routine. Leroy thought it was time for Eddie to come up with new material, but his partner was determined. He watched Eddie follow Santos to the crime scene like a dog in heat. When will he learn? thought Leroy. He chuckled and drove away.

~

“What have we got, Ben?” Luz asked the medical examiner as she approached the body. She was aware that Officer Lopez was tailing her.

“White female, approximately thirty-nine, been rotting here for about four days now,” Ben said as he bent down to examine the body.

Luz crouched as well. The smell almost knocked her over. Atop the scent of death lay an aroma of rotting food and garbage. Luz did not regret skipping breakfast that morning. “Cause of death?” she asked, swallowing a gag.

Ben pulled back the sheet. Luz stood and backed away. She put her hand over her mouth then turned and spit. It’s not the first dead body you’ve seen, Santos, she thought. Get a grip.

“Knife wound. Looks like someone came up from behind and sliced her,” Ben said, tracing the wound from ear to ear with his latex-covered hand. “Why? I don’t know. She didn’t have any money or valuables on her. But these homeless people can get violent when their space is compromised.”

Luz looked down at the body and shook her head. She took a pair of gloves from Ben and pulled them on. “This doesn’t look like it came from just any knife. Look at the way the skin was cut, not a rip—a clean slice. It must have been a very sharp knife.”

“Could’ve been glass or a razor blade,” she heard someone behind her say. Edward Lopez leaned against the alley wall.

“Officer Lopez, don’t you have something better to do?” she asked and turned back around. “And I don’t mean checking out my ass while I’m investigating this murder scene,” she added.

Luz heard the others snicker, and Eddie snorted and walked over to the body.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Santos, not everybody wants to jump into bed with you,” he said with a smug smile.

Luz blushed slightly. She knew she’d embarrassed him in front of the other cops, but she had more important matters to attend to. She couldn’t worry about wounded pride. Instead of egging him on, she turned his attention to the victim.

“Did you find any identification on the body?” she asked. She saw his disappointed look and knew he’d wanted a chance to confront her in front of the group. She congratulated herself for not letting her temper get the best of her. This is why I don’t date cops, she thought. This is why I don’t date at all.

“Mildred May Jamison,” he read off of a driver’s license, “last known address is located down south toward the town of Whitecenter. Officer Sacks and I will check it out.”

Luz looked up at him and scowled.

“What? We were the first officers on the scene. I’m just following up,” he said, shrugging.

Luz thought this over. Her workload had been piling up and she could use all the help she could get. “Okay, thanks,” she replied reluctantly. She hated depending on Eddie for anything. The only thing she could count on was his desire to get into her pants, and as she looked up at him she could see that very thought written all over his face.

“Well, aren’t you going to leave?” she snapped

He smiled down at her. “Yeah, I’m going. Did you want to get some dinner later to discuss the details of the case?” he said in a way that Luz thought was an attempt to sound professional, but he failed miserably.

Luz narrowed her eyes and stood up so that her face was level to his. “You never give up, do you?” she asked, pointing a finger at him.

He smiled mischievously. “Not until you say yes and since that won’t be for a very long time, if ever, get used to having me around. I’ll stop by your office later if I come up with anything. Adios!”

Luz couldn’t help but smile as he walked away. As persistent as he was, Eddie was a good guy and a good cop. She just wished he wouldn’t look at her like a piece of meat whenever they were in the same room. She turned back to the body and found Ben smiling at her.

“What?” she asked raising her eyebrows.

“Why don’t you just give him a chance?” Ben asked. “He’s been after you for two years now. It’s not like you’re dating anybody.”

“I don’t date cops,” she snapped. “And if I did, I wouldn’t date that one. He’s got trouble written all over him.”

“How would you know?” Ben asked.

“I wouldn’t, but I have a feeling. He’s a typical jock cop and I don’t have room in my schedule to fit his ego.” She looked at Ben squarely. “Can we get back to work now?”

Ben threw his hands up and bent back over the body. He pointed at the throat where the skin had been sliced. “See here how the skin was cut? The wound is deep, the blade on the knife was wide as well as long. I’ll know more when I get the autopsy report back.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” Luz said, watching his expression.

“Well, something tells me this wasn’t an ordinary steak knife. But I’ll have to do some research and get back to you. You can see where the skin goes from ripped to sliced. That means the blade is serrated in some aspect near the hilt. I’ve seen only one other cut like this and it’s got me thinking,” he said, his brow furrowed.

Luz looked at the body. The woman’s face was pale and bloated. She wore a torn, matted wool coat and a wool hat that had seen better days. She was a small woman; maybe about five-foot two, a hundred pounds, and Luz wondered why anyone would want to kill someone so helpless.

“Why do you think someone would have wanted her dead?” she asked Ben.

He shrugged again. “That’s your job. However, homeless people are very territorial. They get greedy over food. I would, too, if I hadn’t eaten in days. But,” he paused and looked down at the body. “I don’t think this was your run-of-the-mill bum scuffle. There are no signs of a struggle, no bruises or scratches. If you ask me, she never saw it coming.”

Luz made some notes on her pad and approached the dumpster where the crime guys were working. “Anything?” she asked them.

The young blond guy working on the ground looked up at her. “Nothing so far,” he said. “I’m not sure anything will turn up. This alley has nothing but garbage in it. Even if we covered every beer bottle and gum wrapper, I wouldn’t expect to come up with anything.”

Luz sighed and walked back to Ben. “All right. Call me when you get something, even if it’s just a hunch, okay?”

Ben began packing up his things and ordered the body loaded into the coroner’s van. Ben glanced at her. “If I get a hunch, you’ll be the first to know,” he said with a warm smile.

Luz left it at that. She knew him well and trusted he would come to her if he thought of something that pertained to her case. She decided she would ask him after she had more information from the autopsy. “Okay then,” she said heading back to her car. “You know how to reach me.”

“Hey!” called Ben. She stopped and turned around. “Be nice to Lopez, he really likes you.”

Luz gave him a sour look and grinned. “I’m done being nice. I was nice to you and look what happened.”

Ben smiled at her with a gleam in his eye. “Yeah, but we had our good times,” he said with a wink.

Luz shook her head and laughed “Yeah, Torres, we had a blast,” she said sarcastically and got in her Eclipse. She rolled down the window as she drove by him.

“Ben,” she said, her tone serious. “I’m glad we’re still friends.”

“Me too, Luz. I only ever wanted you to be happy,” he said. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “We’ll talk later. I have to finish up here, but it was good seeing you again. Don’t be a stranger. You got my number, too.”

He turned and walked back to the crime scene and talked to the other officers. Luz watched him go, rolled up her window and took off.

She drove down to First Avenue, took a right and headed north. The sky above was unusually cloudless for a Seattle day, and the sun was climbing to the east. Days like that one made living in the Pacific Northwest worth it. She turned onto Westlake Avenue and noticed all the well-dressed people on their way to work. Many of them looked as though they were taking their time, soaking up as much sunlight as they could before beginning their dreary day behind a desk, in front of a computer. Luz didn’t blame them; days when the rain stayed away were few and far between, and she planned on spending her free time outdoors. She drove into the parking garage of the West Precinct building and pulled into her parking spot. Before going into the building, she took one last look at the sun-drenched streets, hoping she would be able to have that sort of free time.

CHAPTER TWO

Once forgotten, I was alone

My need for love remained unknown

But rejection cut, and the wound did grow

Into malicious intentions I can’t shove below

May 16th, 2002 1:50 p.m.

“More tea?” the woman asked.

A few of the women nodded but most kept their eyes on their cards. There were six women in all but only four were serious canasta players. They all lived in the same neighborhood, in cookie-cutter houses located in the suburbs of Seattle. It was a nice, neat area, and the women got together once a week to play a mean game of cards. The women were homemakers—and with their husbands at work, children at school and the housework done—they had plenty of time to socialize. That week it was Antoinette’s turn to host.

She went to the kitchen and prepared more tea. She filled the kettle with water while she heard the TV from the other room. She enjoyed playing hostess; she had a big house and expensive taste in furnishings and took pleasure in showing them off. She didn’t consider herself a snob—she was just lucky. A few years back she had had a brush with death. After that she found a renewed interest in life and turned it all around. It hadn’t been easy for her. But I’m here now and that’s what matters! she thought with a smile.

During her transformation, Antoinette had met a man and fallen in love. They’d married five months later and were still in love with one another. It was by chance that her husband worked at Microsoft as head of software development. But the money he brought in made for a comfortable life for both of them and she was more than happy with the way things turned out.

The whistling kettle brought her back from her reverie and she poured the water into the china cups, each with a tea bag, and placed the kettle back on the stove. As she scooped in the sugar, she heard gasps from the other room.

She quickly placed the cups on a tray, straining to make out the voices in the other room. She heard Emily Watkins, the news anchor from Channel Four doing the noon news. She placed a plate of shortbread cookies on the tray and headed for the dining room.

Antoinette passed through the doorway and found all five women absorbed in the television.

“What is it?” Antoinette asked, looking from worried face to worried face.

“Shh!” someone snapped.

A little annoyed, Antoinette took her seat and asked again. This time her friend, Eve, turned to her.

“Some poor woman was found murdered in downtown Seattle this morning. Apparently, it wasn’t just a bum killing another filthy bum,” she said. “God forbid,” she added, laying her left hand on her chest calling attention to the giant rock of a diamond set into her wedding ring. “Wouldn’t that just solve everything? Then we wouldn’t have to worry about those dirty people begging us for money every time we shop downtown.”

Antoinette knew her friend would ramble away from the point, so she turned her attention to the television. Emily Watkins of Channel Four, with her too-perfect hair and five-hundred-dollar business suit, stood on a downtown corner going on about the problem of homelessness in Seattle.

“If those people would bathe once in a while, they could get a good job and find themselves a home,” Eve said huffily, while pulling out a compact from her Coach purse and checking her reflection for the twentieth time since she arrived. The plastic surgeon had done a great job on her nose, but did she really have to check on it every five minutes?

“Shh!” It was Antoinette’s turn to snap. She was annoyed that her friend was so close-minded. Bathe? Where were the homeless supposed to bathe? Shaking her head, Antoinette sipped her tea and turned up the volume. Emily’s voice filled the room:

“…found this morning only feet from where I stand, this woman,” the screen cut to a picture of a middle-aged woman smiling out at them. “Mildred Jamison was found in a dumpster with her throat slashed. If any of our viewers are able to help the Seattle Police Department with information regarding this poor victim, please call the number shown below.”

Antoinette didn’t hear the rest of the report. Her mind seemed to stop, and a loud ringing filled her ears. Her friends turned to her with concerned looks, but Antoinette couldn’t speak. She tried to stand, and the room tilted, then everything went dark.

May 16th, 2002 7:30 p.m.

Luz turned off the ignition and rested her head back on the seat. It had been another long day. In addition to the murder of the Jamison woman, she had a vehicular homicide case, a Jane Doe case with no leads, a gang banger suspected of shooting up a parking garage—causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage as well as taking out the lot attendant—and she had to deal with the owner of a gay bar on Capitol Hill who was worried about hate crimes occurring in the area. He was concerned because the body of a popular local drag queen had been discovered in the parking lot of his bar the previous week. All in all, it had been an extremely busy, albeit slow-moving, day and she was exhausted. She lazily got out of her car and trudged down the dock, at the end of which she unlocked the door to her house. She’d almost walked inside when she remembered she’d left her dinner in the car. Grudgingly, she shuffled back to the car, turned off the alarm and pulled out the plastic bag that held her dinner. She heard her phone ring and found it on the front seat.

“Santos,” she barked into the phone.

“Whoa, is this a bad time?” a tentative man’s voice asked.

Luz locked the car and enabled the alarm before responding. “No, Eddie, what’s up?”

He hesitated. “Well,” he began, “Sacks and I checked out that address in south Seattle today and the place is pretty much condemned. I mean, there are boards on the windows and weeds growing out of every crack. I was positive no one lived there, but Leroy wanted to be sure, so we knocked on the door and nobody answered. We found mail in the box—mostly junk.”

Luz was back at the boat; her stomach growling as she set her food on the kitchen counter. “Did you find out who owned the property?” she asked, pulling out two Styrofoam containers from the plastic bag.

“Way ahead of you on that one,” he chirped. “I called a friend of mine at the King County Assessors’ office and had him track down the owner. It belongs to a Mr. Don Mullen. So I called my other friend at the Department of Licensing and got a current address for Mr. Mullen. He lives down in Tacoma now, small house off the waterfront. I couldn’t track down a phone number for him though. I was thinking maybe you’d wanna drive down and ask him a few questions tomorrow morning.”

“You were correct thinking that. Hold on, let me get a pen.” She grabbed a pen from her desk and snagged a Post-it note. “Okay, shoot.” Eddie recited the address and Luz thanked him for his help.

“So what time should I pick you up tomorrow?” he asked.

Luz closed her eyes and took a breath. “Eddie, I’m grateful for all the time and effort you’ve put into this for me. But—”

“But you’d rather handle this on your own, right? Jeez, Santos, can’t you lighten up? I wasn’t asking you on a date, I just want to help.”

He was angry, and Luz could hear the disappointment in his voice. She had known there would be consequences to letting him help her out. She thought back to what Ben told her that morning and all the fight went out of her.

“Seven,” she stated into the phone.

She took his silence for shock. She gave him time to compose himself.

“Um, sure, seven it is,” he replied. “Did you want to get breakfast, too? I know a little place right on the water that—”

“Eddie, don’t push it. See you in the morning.” She hung up before he could reply. She found herself smiling.

She opened the containers and inhaled the aroma of her native food. She had left work knowing she would be too tired to cook, so she stopped off at the taco truck and ordered dinner to go. She usually liked to eat heathy but that night, she was too tired to care.

She sat down with her food and her Corona with a slice of lime, which she squeezed onto the steak tacos. She dropped the lime into the Corona, then turned on the TV while pouring dog food into Cheech’s bowl. Cheech scurried over and noisily devoured his dinner. As Luz dug into her rice, she channel-surfed until she landed on the Speed Channel.

Her older brother had gotten her interested in cars at an early age. After dropping out of school in tenth grade, Hector decided to be a mechanic, and presently owned his own speed shop. She remembered when he’d first come home after three years at Job Corps. She had barely recognized him. When he left, he was young, scrawny, bored and untidy but when he returned, he’d grown into his body. He had defined muscles in his arms; he was clean and determined to make the most of his education. He enrolled in a vocational college and got his degree in auto mechanics soon after. In the past ten years he’d gone from mechanic to owner. Luz was proud of his success and appreciated all the things he’d taught her along the way. He was the one who suggested she buy her Mitsubishi Eclipse, and when she made the purchase he went to work on the car. After he customized her car, he gave her a few pointers on driving and maintenance. She frequently drove around Seattle at high-speed, passing up state patrol vehicles without hesitation.

She finished dinner and went to the couch to lie down. Cheech trotted over to Luz and quietly whined.

“Hey there, boy,” she said sleepily. He jumped on her face and licked her wildly—his tail wagging.

Luz giggled. She couldn’t resist her pup. “All right. Let’s go.” She got up from the couch and grabbed the leash, fastened it to Cheech and headed out. The night air was warm, but a cool breeze blew up off the bay. She walked the dog down the dock and up toward the parking lot, where they reached the trail and Cheech took his time finding a place to do his duty. Once he was done, Luz cleaned up after him by dumping the plastic bag in the designated receptacle.

They continued on the path for a while and when it became harder to see the trail they headed back. Watching the sun sink toward the horizon, Luz was filled with dread. She wondered if the killer would strike again. Seattle wasn’t one of the best cities in the world for safety, but it wasn’t the worst. Luz lived on Lake Union and had yet to see more than a burglary since she’d chosen to live there. But Luz had been fortunate to live in such a well-kept area. Mildred Jamison hadn’t. A shudder rippled through Luz and she picked up her pace. Cheech seemed to sense his owner’s discomfort and let out a soft whine. When they got back to the boat Luz turned on the news. Channel four was doing a run-down of the murder. The nightly news anchors threw around theories on why the poor woman was killed, but they had no answers.

Luz was confused as well, but her curiosity was genuine. After a thorough background check on the dead woman, Luz found that the victim had no living relatives. Mildred’s parents had died when she was twenty-eight—Luz’s own age—and she had no friends to speak of. Mildred had been in debt for years, but from the looks of it, she was slowly pulling herself out of the hole. Even at thirty-four she’d attended South Seattle Community College to take culinary art courses. Luz suspected that Mildred planned to turn her life around. But what landed her on the streets? Luz wondered. And why had someone taken her life?

Luz turned off the television, locked the doors and went to bed. She lay in bed for a while pondering Mildred’s fate until she drifted off to sleep.

It was half-past midnight when her phone rang. The sound jerked her into consciousness so that she had to collect her scattered thoughts before she could pick up the phone.

“Santos,” she answered.

“Wake up sleeping beauty, we have another one.” Her boss’s voice sounded as tired as she felt.

“Are we going to make this a habit?” she mumbled.

“No, because we found the killer this time,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Luz sat straight up in bed. “What?”

“Yeah, the guy was stupid enough to get caught at the scene.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as I’m going to get. Now you be sure to get your ass down to First and Columbia ASAP. I don’t want anyone talking to the press.”

“I got it. I’ll be there in twenty.” She hung up and swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. She spotted her academy sweatshirt and pulled it on over the t-shirt she wore to sleep in. She didn’t want to bother with a bra but knew she might not make it home until late, so she put one on. She pulled on some fresh socks and found her running shoes. When she reached the bathroom, she pulled a comb through her hair with one hand and brushed her teeth with the other. She pulled her hair up with elastic, wincing when she noticed her dark roots. “I’ll get you my pretties,” she cackled to the mirror. She had bigger things to worry about then getting her hair colored. She looked herself over in the full-length mirror on the door before grabbing her keys and rushing out. She wouldn’t have to worry about traffic so early in the morning.

She should have been happy, but she wasn’t.

The killer hadn’t wasted any time finding another victim.

May 17th, 2002 1:00 a.m.

Luz pulled up to the scene twelve minutes later. There were people everywhere and she required a policeman to help make room for her to get out of the car.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Who are all these people?”

The officer tapped his watch. “It’s still party time for these people. Most of them were just heading home. Ladies’ night at the club up the street, this is a typical Thursday night.” He waved his arm toward the crowd and Luz noticed a man leaning on her car.

“Hey, watch the paint job, idiot! I didn’t wax my car so drunks like you could scratch it up! Get lost!” she yelled

“Bite me, bitch!” the man yelled back but trotted off.

She was about to chase the man down and tell him where he could bite her, but her eyes snagged on Ben, who waved her over. She shot an icy glare at the drunk idiot before she approached the scene. Ben just grinned.

“If you drove a piece of junk like I do, you wouldn’t have to worry about the paint getting scratched.”

Luz pictured his beat-up Toyota and smirked. “If I drove a bucket like yours I’d have to worry whether my car would start up every morning.”

“Hey, it may look like crap but it’s dependable,” he said, weeding his way through the officers. They reached the body and Luz slipped on some gloves and pulled back the sheet. She was surprised to see the face of someone she knew.

“Dammit, Matty. Wrong place at the wrong time once again, I see,” she said, sadly shaking her head.

“You know this guy?” asked Ben, glancing up at her.

“Yeah, a couple months ago I was working this drug case and had a problem finding information on a certain dealer. When I was investigating the area, Matty gave me some useful information. Well, gave would be the wrong word, more like he sold me information. That information checked out and helped solve the case, so I was grateful. He’s been a contact for me ever since. I hadn’t seen him in a while. I assumed he was strung out or something. He was always wandering the streets with a smile on his face, like he had an inside joke.” She looked at the cut and noticed sadly that the gash resembled a sort of second smile but this time the joke was on Matty. She stared a minute longer at his lifeless eyes and pulled the sheet back up.

“Whoever is doing this must prey on the weak because this man is skin and bones,” she said, looking up at Ben.

“You’ll have a chance to ask the perp that yourself. He was taken downtown about an hour ago. He wasn’t a big guy, either, so of course he would have picked someone easy to overcome. But he’s not talking.”

“The weapon was found on him?” she asked.

“Yeah, it was literally found on him, right on top of him.”

“What? It wasn’t concealed? He wasn’t running?”

“I don’t know. When I showed up, he was already in the cruiser. The odd thing was that he was sleeping. The man was just picked up and arrested for murder and he’s catching some Z’s. Pretty strange, right?”

Luz nodded. She’d have to wait until she made it back to the station before figuring things out. First, she had to process the scene and piece together her own version of events.

CHAPTER THREE

The relief floods their stark-white faces.

While I hide in more obvious places.

They’ve caught their death-man and I’m elated.

To watch from afar the game I’ve created.

May 17th, 2002 3:15 a.m.

The cell was warm, and the blanket was cozy if not a little scratchy. It had been a long time since he had slept in a real bed; too long. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep but he heard the officers talking in the hallway. They were discussing the two murders he was accused of. He turned over and huddled closer to the wall, intending to nap, but his eyes were closed no more than five minutes when his cell door slid open. He resisted the urge to turn around but opened his eyes and listened. He heard the guard tell whoever entered that he would be right outside the cell if they needed him. He was surprised when the reply that came was a woman’s voice. At this, the prisoner turned to see her wondering why she would want to speak to him. As she walked toward him, the light caught on the badge hanging around her neck; she was a cop. Not again, he thought. She stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide something.

“I’m Detective Santos. I work in homicide.” She paused, her eyes roving over him, assessing. “So, you’re the sick bastard who likes to cut up homeless people, huh?” she asked in a tone of utter disgust. The prisoner lay unmoving, staring back. She was about five-foot six, with a slim build, though one could hardly tell with the oversized sweatshirt she wore, and long light brown hair with dark roots peeking through. Her face was oval-shaped, and her lips were pouty and full. She wore no makeup and her russet skin was smooth and clean. The most striking feature was her eyes. They were big, round, the color of emeralds and devoid of emotion.

“You won’t talk, eh? You know, when you keep silent, the assumption around here is that you’re guilty. You were found at the scene of the crime with the murder weapon on you, and none of our witnesses saw anyone else in the area, so that leaves you.” She stared at him intensely, but he gave no reply. She shook her head and her ponytail bounced around her neck. She then called for the guard to let her out. Before she left, she gave the prisoner one last look.

“It’s sad that you don’t want to cooperate with me, I might be the only one who really wants to help you.” She spun on her heels and walked away.

The prisoner sat up and rubbed at his beard, wondering why the woman wanted to help him. He laughed at himself for questioning her motives; he could use all the help he could get. He was being accused of murder! He needed someone on his side; he hadn’t needed anyone for anything in a long time. But an image of her face came to mind and he thought about the way she had talked to him—strong willed and determined to get answers. He lay back down and rolled himself up in the blanket, he wouldn’t worry about her; he would just enjoy the free room and board.

Luz rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and headed straight for her boss’s office. Three steps from his door his secretary ran interference, blocking her way, Luz nearly ran into her.

“He’s busy, Santa, doesn’t want to be disturbed,” she stated while examining her manicured nails. Rosa always knew how to push Luz’s buttons; they hadn’t gotten along from the day Rosa sashayed in with her designer clothes and applied for the secretary position. Luz wondered why a woman who obviously had enough money to spend on couture needed a job at a police precinct and she got the distinct impression Rosa herself believed she was slumming it there.

“Rosa, you know damn well my name is Santos, not Santa. The joke is getting old, and I don’t care how busy the captain is, I need to speak with him right now. So either you take your skinny ass back to your desk or I’ll have your job.” Luz had never threatened Rosa before, but what she had to tell her boss couldn’t wait. Rosa delayed a second longer then resentfully backed away. Luz could feel the secretary’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

Luz opened the door as she knocked. Captain Andrews sat at his desk, speaking to someone who faced away from her.

“Captain, I realize you’re busy, but I have some pressing news I think you need to hear regarding the murders downtown.”

He nodded and waved her over to the unoccupied chair by his desk. “Luz, I’d like you to meet Mayor Yates. Mayor, this is Luz Santos, one of our top detectives in homicide. She solved the Grant case two years ago.”

As she rounded the desk, she got a clear view of the man in the chair. He was tall, gray-haired, and judging from the wrinkles on his face, she estimated him to be in his late fifties.

“Yes, of course, Jonathan Grant; murdered his wife and her mother, made it look like a murder/suicide. He got life in prison; good job on that one, detective.” Yates rose and stepped forward to take her hand. His grasp was strong and she winced when he pumped her hand hard and fast before finally letting go. Her boss waited until they had taken their seats before speaking again.

“Now, what is this pressing news, detective?” the captain asked.

She cleared her throat. “The suspect accused of killing both the Jamison woman and Matthew Hanson was found in the same alley as his second victim with the murder weapon on him.” She paused, looking from one man to the other. “The problem with this is that he was found sleeping with the knife resting in his hand. The other discrepancy is that there’s one set of prints on the knife and they aren’t his. The knife looked clean otherwise.”

Andrews looked at her squarely. “But I hear the man isn’t talking. We don’t know who he is, if he has a criminal history or if he’s mentally ill. If he won’t cooperate, it’s likely he’s hiding something.”

“We’re running his prints right now and I should have that information in a couple of hours. As for his cooperation, I’d say that has nothing to do with hiding something. He’s old and looks like he’s been on the street for a long time. I think he’s taking advantage of the free food and shelter. I don’t think he cares that he’s in a jail cell.”

The Mayor shifted in his chair and looked at the captain. “Mike, let’s just hope this is our guy. We don’t need a serial killer loose in this city. This man was found at the scene with the victim’s blood on his hands as well as the weapon. What more do we need?” he asked, turning to Luz. Maybe a motive? she thought. She could see her boss rolling his eyes behind the mayor’s back, probably in anticipation of the remarks she wanted to make—so she smiled politely.

“Good,” Yates said happily. “Then this whole situation should be contained and solved by the end of the day.”

Andrews stood and extended his hand. “I can’t promise that, Tony, but we’ll do the best we can. Thanks for coming by. I’ll keep you updated.”

They shook hands and the mayor saw himself out. Luz’s boss loudly exhaled and plopped down in his chair. “That man gives me a headache,” he said, massaging his temples. “He thinks because he was a cop back who-knows-when and who-knows-where that he knows the ins and outs of my precinct. He’s used to open and shut cases, a murder, man found with the weapon, guilty verdict and put him away. This isn’t an episode of C.S. fucking – I. That’s not how this shit works.”

Luz agreed and pushed on. “One more thing, boss, this knife that was used; it’s not your basic kitchen knife. This knife looks like an antique. It’s oddly shaped and it’s got engraved designs on it. Davis down in evidence says it must have cost nearly two-thousand dollars; his grandfather used to collect.”

“And?”

“So, what the hell is a bum doing with an expensive knife like that? Davis said that this particular knife is rare. He said it would have to be from a serious enthusiast’s collection.”

Her boss put his head in his hands moaned. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a rumpled pack of Marlboros. In most buildings, the recent smoking ban was in effect. However it was far from enforced in their department mostly due to the fact that the boss smoked when he was stressed.

Luz raised her eyebrows. “I thought you quit, Mike?”

He laughed and shook out a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag and blew out a big cloud of rolling smoke. “Well, I quit quitting.” He said.

May 17th, 2002 7:38 a.m.

“Help me!” the boy shouted. Blood dripped all over his tiny frame, and her stomach hurt thinking about whatever horror had caused him to look that way. She took a step towards him, but he quickly backed away, his eyes feral and afraid.

“Let me help you,” she told him, gently trying to creep closer to him. He eyed the darkness behind her but when she was a step away from reaching him his eyes widened and focused on her.

“What is it?” she asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Run.”

She felt someone shake her shoulder and she grabbed their arm and pulled, ready to execute a self-defense maneuver she’d learned at the academy.

“Oww! What the hell Santos!”

Her eyes snapped open “Eddie?”

“Yeah it’s me. Dammit. Let me go.”

She immediately released his arm as she recognized where she was. The office was mostly empty, but a few people were looking in her direction.

“You fell asleep at your desk, Santos,” Eddie said rubbing his arm. “I went to pick you up at your place and your car was gone. So I came here. You could have called.”

She checked her watch and cringed, she’d been sleeping for a half hour. “I’m sorry Eddie; I got zero rest last night. They found another body this morning and I’ve been up all night.”

Eddie stared at Luz, his mouth slightly open. “So, are… are we going to talk about what just happened? What were you dreaming about that had you react to me like that?”

She felt the tears on her face and quickly wiped them away. It was one thing to have nightmares at home, where she could calm herself down but at work she was a different person and didn’t want people seeing her vulnerable. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“It was nothing, really. Just a bad dream. I’m sorry if I hurt you, I was acting instinctively.” She stood up and stretched out the kinks that had settled in during the nap at her desk. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. It was time for some caffeine. She turned back to Eddie, who was watching her stretch. Suddenly she felt like she was on display. Clearing her throat, she got his attention and his eyes shot back to her face as a blush crept up his neck. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Okay, Lopez. I might take you up on the breakfast offer; I could use coffee and a good meal.”

Eddie’s face shifted from anger to excitement. “Really? Cuz the place I was thinking of makes great coffee and their omelets are excellent!”

Luz grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and let him go on about the restaurant; she was too tired to ask him to shut up. She had to wake up somehow and Tacoma was a long drive. “Eddie?” she asked, cutting him off. “I have to check in with Andrews before I leave, would you mind running down and getting me a coffee from the Starbucks on the corner?

He stopped talking and eyed her suspiciously. “I thought we were getting coffee at breakfast. Is this your way of ditching me?”

She laughed. “No, and to prove it to you…” she threw him her car keys, “you can hold on to these. Meet me at my car in ten minutes.”

He caught the keys and smiled. “Ten minutes, you better be there, Chiquita, or I’m going for a joy ride in your flashy car.”

“Do it and die,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in a sec. Just hurry. I need that caffeine.” She watched him jog toward the elevators and felt a bit guilty. The only reason he put up with her shit was because he had a crush on her. It was wrong of her to use that to her advantage; she would have to be more careful not to lead him on.

She stopped by the captain’s office, but he wasn’t there. She decided to leave him a message, but Rosa was in one of her moods and after their little scene earlier, Luz doubted she would be much help. She returned to her office, grabbed her stuff and headed downstairs.

~

“I wasn’t sure what you liked in your coffee. I got you a caramel Macchiato,” Eddie said when Luz met him by her car.

“What did you get?” she asked, eyeing the cup he kept close to his chest.

“Just black with cream,” he replied.

She reached for his cup and smiled. “You assumed wrong, Lopez. I like my coffee dark and mild. Let’s go”

They hopped in the car. Eddie looked sullen and Luz felt guilty. “Okay, let me have a taste,” she said.

“Hey if you don’t like sweet, that’s okay, I don’t want to force you.” He winked at her.

“Just give me the damn coffee!” she snapped and took the cup from him. She took a sip and, with great effort, swallowed the rich liquid. It was so sweet it hurt her teeth. She must have made a face because Eddie started laughing.

“Hey, you have to give me credit. I tried it,” she said, smiling broadly. She inserted the key in the ignition and rolled out of the parking lot into the street. In a matter of minutes, they were cruising down Interstate 5 toward Tacoma. Luz rolled down her window to feel the wind on her face. Eddie was the first to break the silence.

“You handle this car so easily. How long have you had it?”

“About three years now, but I take care of her, even spoil her a little.”

“A little?” he asked then listed off the car’s features as he saw them; there was a tachometer, with a shifting light and Indiglow gauges installed, not to mention a top-notch stereo system, complete with a CD changer. The windows were tinted dark and he heard the turbo every time she shifted. He also told her that he’d taken time earlier to admire the custom paint and the flashy rims, as well as the custom spoiler on the back of the car. “You call this a little?”

She laughed and noticed his face lighting up.

“Okay, I admit I splurged, but blame my big brother. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have given this car a second glance.”

They casually chatted about family and hobbies for the rest of the drive. Eddie occasionally stopped speaking to grip the door handles and hold his breath as Luz pushed her speed and wove through traffic. He was relieved when they reached their exit and Luz dropped the speed of the Eclipse back down to the legal level. They drove down on the waterfront where they faced heavier traffic. The sun shone, and the area was bustling; couples rollerbladed down the promenade and kids played in the grass. A few boats sat on the water and business was booming for the restaurants along the docks.

Eddie signaled for her to turn into the next parking lot and she found a space right in front of the eatery.

Boat ropes lined the walls of the restaurant, the windows were shaped as portholes, and the employees wore blue and white striped shirts and navy blue bottoms.

The hostess showed them to a booth near the back of the restaurant next to a large rusted anchor, where they sat and ordered more coffee.

“This place is…” Luz paused. “…different.”

“Yeah, it’s a little much, but the food makes up for the décor,” he said rubbing his stomach. “My ex used to come here all the time and, boy, did she have a set of pipes. They have karaoke every Thursday and Saturday night.”

“Your ex came here? You mean, she didn’t stay home cooking and cleaning for you like a good Mexican woman?” Luz folded her arms and leaned back.

“Ha, ha, very funny. Actually, she wasn’t Hispanic.”

“Really? How surprising. I assumed you only dated Latinos. I guess we’re both learning new things today, aren’t we?” She smiled at him and he realized what she meant.

“Listen—” he started

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie. I was just making a point. Clean slate from here. You won’t assume things about me and vice versa. Deal?”

He took a moment to think and held out his hand. “Deal.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sleep comes quick and pulls me under

My heartbeat booms like rolling thunder

The evil inside burns so bright

It waits for release with the fall of night.

May 17th, 2002 10:14 a.m.

Luz and Eddie finished breakfast and headed back. After a few blocks they took a right and followed the hill all the way to the top and turned down a narrow street. Most of the houses were small but there were a few newer homes that were larger, which made them look out of place in the neighborhood. Luz pulled into the driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac and sat in the car.

“This is the place?” she asked Eddie.

“Yeah, this is it. Kinda ugly, isn’t it?” he said scrunching up his nose.

Salmon-colored stucco encased the house, and its shutters were the color of plums. The roof had gray Spanish-style tiles, and different-colored flowers grew all along the fence. Everything clashed, and Luz pitied the neighbors who had to look at the monstrosity every day. It was as if whoever had chosen the layout had been colorblind.

They got out of the car and strolled up the walk to the wine-colored door. Eddie knocked, and they waited. A dog barked on the other side of the door—a big dog from the sound of it.

“Hello?” came a woman’s muffled voice.

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Officer Lopez. I’m with the Seattle Police Department, with me is Detective Santos. Can we have a word?”

“The police? Why on earth would you want to speak with me?”

Luz was quick to make sure she hadn’t startled the woman. “Please, ma’am, we’re not here to harass you, we just have a few questions.” Maybe the sound of another woman’s voice comforted her because she unlocked the door and peered out. She looked to be in her mid-seventies; her hair was snow white and her skin was loose on her bones, like she was wasting away, but the strength of her gaze told another story.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing,” she cooed at Luz. “Just want to ask me some questions, huh? Okay, come on in. She pushed open the screen door and let them inside. They were about to follow her into the living room, but a huge black mass stood in their way, growling protectively. The woman took no notice and kept walking.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Um, ma’am, could you call off your dog?”

Luz was surprised at the fear in his voice and made a mental note to tease him about it later.

The old woman stopped, turned slowly and whistled. The huge beast stood his ground.

“Hamlet, you come here right now!” she hollered, and the dog stopped snarling and sat next to her. “Well, all right then, you make yourself at home and please, by all means, call me Nelly.” She took a seat in an old oak rocking chair and patted the dog’s head.

Luz sat on the cream-colored sofa closest to the old woman while Eddie opted for a blue Lazy Boy across the room. He sat down, eyeing the dog, Luz enjoyed his uneasiness.

Nelly pursed her lips. “Now then, what is it I can help you with, Ms. Santa?”

Luz ignored the mispronunciation of her name and began. “We were hoping to speak with Mr. Mullen about a property he owns up north in Whitecenter.”

“Well, you can’t speak with him, I’m sorry.” Nelly folded her hands in her lap.

“He’s not in trouble. We just need some information,” Luz clarified.

Nelly closed her eyes and began to rock. The silence in the room stretched for two minutes. Finally, she opened her eyes and fixed her stare on Luz, the sadness in Nelly’s gaze was immense.

“Young lady are you married?”

Luz, bewildered, answered the question. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”

“Well, do you know what it is to be in love?”

Luz felt Eddie’s eyes on her. It was her turn to be uneasy. She didn’t answer. “Nelly, a woman lived in the house your husband rented out two years ago. I need to know if she had any roommates, or a boyfriend who stayed with her.”

Nelly slowly shook her head. “Well, do you? Don’t be rude. It’s a simple question. Yes or no?”

Luz lowered her eyes and stared at her hands, then lifted her chin and said, “No.” Hearing herself say the word made it sound so final. Her eyes shifted to Eddie. Instead of his usual smirk, she found pity in his gaze. Luz didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity. Trying to steady her voice, she turned back to Nelly. “What relevance does this have to the purpose of our visit? And why can’t we speak with Mr. Mullen? We’re working on an important case.”

The room went silent again—this time the tension ran high.

“He’s dead,” Nelly whispered. Hamlet whined, sorrowfully nudging her thigh with his huge snout.

Luz’s heart sank. She felt guilty for having pushed the old woman to speak to them. “I’m so… I’m so sorry. I never meant to…” she trailed off, feeling intrusive.

“Don’t be sorry. He was a great man. He gave me the best years of my life, fifty-three to be exact. The last year was the most difficult to get through; he had cancer. Watching the man I love waste away, watching the cancer eat away at him day after day, month after month, was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I stayed with him, I stayed by his side.” She cried and choked on her words. Hamlet licked her hand, clearly in an attempt to comfort his mistress. She watched Hamlet for a while; lost in her memories, then she wiped her eyes and smiled.

“Look at me,” she exclaimed. “Crying like a loony old woman. I’m sure you didn’t drive all the way here to watch me cry my eyes out.” She stood and headed for the hall. “Come now, follow me, I think I may have some answers for you.”

They obeyed and trailed her down the hall to the last room on the right. Luz looked around the room and wondered when someone had last been in there. Sheets covered the furniture and what wasn’t covered in cloth was coated in a thick layer of dust.

“Mr. Finnity, our attorney, took care of the legal matters, the properties, the cars and the house, but I still have most of Don’s records in here. What was the address?”

Eddie recited it and they waited while Nelly sorted through a musty file cabinet. “Oh, yes, here it is,” she said, pulling out a file and opening it. “I remember now. He rented it to two women. I went with him when they signed the lease. They were delightful young ladies. Said they planned to spiff up the place. They had such an energy about them. I had no doubt that, given enough time, they would have made that house look like new. God knows Don and I didn’t have the strength for it.”

“Mildred Jamison is the one we’re here about,” Eddie said.

Nelly smiled. “Yes, yes, Milly. She was the older of the two. She was working on becoming a chef; told me she was a waitress at some upscale place on Lake Union. She wanted to take some courses to impress her boss, hoping he would give her a job in the kitchen. She was so ambitious. What happened to her? The last time I heard from her she was asking to pay her rent late, said something about family problems. I remember thinking that was strange because she never mentioned having family in the area. But months went by and we never saw the funds. Don was worried about losing money. He had just found out about his cancer and knew the medical bills would be sky high. Eventually, we had to ask them to move out, but we weren’t happy about it. Those two were so nice.”

Luz’s assumptions about Mildred had been correct; she had been trying to turn her life around.

“When did this happen?” asked Eddie.

“About two years ago, I believe.”

“What was the name of the roommate?”

Nelly handed him the file and he read it over. “Antoinette Lesheaux. No forwarding address. I’ll call in the name and run a check.” He walked toward the door, keeping a wide berth from Hamlet, who dutifully stood next to his mistress.

“Nelly, was there anything left in the house when your husband cleaned it out?”

Nelly shook her head. “Don never made it up there. He was too sick to leave the house and eventually had to stay in the hospital. Our attorney assured us the property would be taken care of. Have you been there? It’s a cute little house.”

“I haven’t seen it, but Officer Lopez went down and said the house was boarded up and deserted. The grounds weren’t kept up at all,” Luz replied.

The old woman pursed her lips again. “I’ll have to speak with Mr. Finnity about that,” she said absently.

Luz followed the woman back into the living room and grabbed her coat. “Thank you, Nelly, you’ve been a great help. I am terribly sorry about your husband.”

Nelly followed her to the door where Hamlet stood, looking out at Eddie. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Don was a great man with a big heart. It was just his time to go. But I will tell you this, when you find a love as special as the one I shared with Don, you must be ready to give yourself entirely to that person. The love you’ll share will bond you physically, emotionally and spiritually for the rest of your lives. So when you find it, hold on to it with both hands, and never let go.” Tears pooled in her eyes and instinctively Luz leaned over and hugged her.

“Here I go again,” mumbled Nelly. “I’m sorry. I just get caught up sometimes.”

“It’s okay. I haven’t been lucky enough to find a love like that, but if I do I will remember your words.”

Nelly smiled at her and touched her cheek. “Not if dear, when,” she said softly. “When you find love. And you’ll find it.”

Luz didn’t share the woman’s optimism. She smiled and said goodbye. Nelly invited her back to visit. Eddie walked up to shake Nelly’s hand but was stopped short when Hamlet let out a low growl. Eddie waved goodbye as he backed up to the car.

When they were back on the road, Luz laughed. “Are you dry yet?” she asked.

“Dry?”

“When you saw that Rottweiler, you looked like you pissed your pants,” she joked.

“It’s not funny,” he said flatly.

“It was to me. You squirmed in your seat when that dog breathed too hard. What’s that about?”

He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a scar, about six inches long. It started at his neck under his ear and wound down in a crescent, ending above his collarbone.

“See this? When I worked narcotics in LA, I was conducting a bust at this crack house. I chased a dope head through the house to the backyard and had him cornered against the fence. I was about to handcuff him, but when I got close, he whistled really loud. I wrestled him to the ground and had him cuffed, and he was whistling the whole time. Then, as I dragged him to his feet, I was tackled by this Rottweiler, must’ve been a hundred twenty-five-pound dog. Hit me like a bus. Anyway, it went straight for my throat. I tried to fight it, but it clamped on and had me pinned to the ground. The shithead I arrested stood there, laughing. I could taste my own blood and he was laughing…” he cringed as he trailed off.

“So I was basically stuck on the ground with this dog’s teeth sunk into my neck, waiting for back-up. After my partner cleared every room in the house he came out back and saw me on the ground. He ordered the guy to call his dog off, but the guy just kept on laughing. I don’t know what happened after that because I passed out. I had lost a lot of blood. My partner tried distracting the dog. But the dog stayed put, so in the end, he had to shoot him. I was rushed to the ER and they pumped some blood into me and stitched me up. Since then I don’t piss off any dog, even Chihuahuas.”

Luz swallowed. She felt guilty having teased him about the dog but recovered quickly. “That’s too bad; I think Cheech would like you.” Luz smiled, trying to diffuse the tension created by Eddie’s story. She was relieved when he smiled back.

“Cheech?” he asked.

“He’s my Chihuahua. It takes a while for him to get used to you, but after that he’s pretty amiable. Now, if you were to bring him peanut butter cookies, he’d be putty in your hands.”

Eddie arched a brow. “Cookies, huh? So are you planning to introduce me to Cheech?”

Luz detected eagerness in his voice and realized she’d steered the conversation in the wrong direction. After spending the day with Eddie, her feelings had shifted, but not in a way he’d like. If anything, he felt more like a brother, but she didn’t dare tell him that. Men hated hearing that. And women hate saying it, she thought glumly. She would just have to keep him at arm’s length and not take any more day trips with him. By now he would want to continue helping her with the case, but that didn’t mean they had to work side by side. He also had his own job and his own life, but that hadn’t stopped him from getting himself involved. Luz glanced sideways at Eddie. “Yeah, you’ll meet Cheech one of these days,” she said noncommittally. Then she boosted the car to ninety-five miles per hour and she was sure that Eddie was too busy holding on for dear life to worry about whether she was lying.

May 17th, 2002 1:30 pm

The prisoner slept soundly until angry voices woke him. He opened his eyes and watched a large man argue with the guard. His voice was demanding; he sounded like a man who was used to getting what he wanted. After the verbal battle, the guard reluctantly led the man to the cell door and unlocked it. The larger man stormed into the cell and headed straight for the prisoner.

“Wake up, asshole. Judgment time,” he yelled in the suspect’s ear.

The man on the bed cringed but remained still. The large man squatted down so they were level. “Oh, you want formalities? Okay. Well, hello. I’m Detective Harris,” he said mockingly and held out his hand.

The inmate shifted into a sitting position and reached for the detective’s hand, but Harris snatched it back with a coarse laugh.

“You’d have to be crazy to think I was going to touch your grimy hand! Look at you—your beard is horrendous and probably housing five species of insects. Your clothes are covered in filth, and I could smell you from the Space Needle! But you know what?” he spat, his face inches from the prisoner’s own. “What really makes me sick is the fact that you butchered two helpless people and you’re just lying there, enjoying this place like it’s the goddamn Hilton,” he roared.

Harris paced the cell from end to end, glaring maliciously at the man on the bed. The man calmly stared at him. This did not please the detective.

“Okay, you sick bastard. You’re quiet now, but when you’re on trial for the murder of these people, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say. Just tell me one thing,” he said and bent low so the inmate could smell the coffee on his breath. “Was it worth it?”

Harris waited for a reply and when one didn’t come, the detective swung his fist hard. His punch landed right between the suspect’s shoulder blades.

“Huh? Was it worth it?” he yelled, his face reddening. Harris hauled the prisoner off the bed by his collar and threw him to the floor. The man didn’t fight; just got to his knees and stared at the cop. He remained silent but the hate in his eyes was likely evident.

Harris stepped forward. “What? You got something to say? Are you proud of yourself? You must feel pretty big killing two defenseless homeless people.” He waited, took a breath and continued. “Or maybe you’re feeling a little defenseless yourself right now.” He chuckled.

The suspect looked up at Harris just as the cop brought up his knee and slammed it into the prisoner’s ribs.

“What the hell is going on here?” Detective Santos yelled from outside the cell with fury in her voice “Harris, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Harris turned to her and wiped the sweat from his brow. He spit at the floor missing the injured man by an inch. “I’m doing your job, since you can’t do it yourself.” He stated.

The suspect watched as Detective Santos jerked open the jail door and marched up to Harris, who was a half a foot taller than her, but she managed to get in his face. “My job is to serve and protect innocent people. This man is innocent until proven guilty, you got that?”

“Whatever, Santos,” Harris said and shrugged.

Detective Santos shot him an icy stare. “Harris, assholes like you should not be wearing a badge. One day you’ll end up rotting in a cell somewhere, pulling shit like this. But you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a beating. I’m reporting you to Andrews. I hope you like patrol duty,” she finished and stepped out of the way. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to speak to my suspect.” When Harris didn’t move, she pushed past him, shoulder first, and managed to shove him out of her way as Officer Lopez followed her into the cell.

Harris sucked in his gut and walked away. “Fucking beaners,” he mumbled.

Detective Santos grabbed Officer Lopez’s arm as he shot toward Harris. “It’s not worth it, Lopez. Harris is just a hothead. He uses his muscle to get results.”

Lopez was breathing heavily. “Yeah, well, I can use muscle too! Who the hell does that puto think he is, anyway?”

“Hey,” Santos snapped, tugging his arm. The suspect watched their interactions and wondered if they were partners. They treated one another like old friends. “Let it go, Lopez! I’m serious. The guy has cobwebs in his brain.” She held her finger to the officer’s temple. “But use yours. He’s not worth it,” she repeated more sternly, releasing her grip on his arm.

“Yeah, I know. How did that prick ever make it to detective?” Officer Lopez asked.

“Heard of Dick Harris?” she asked.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me! So, daddy’s the district attorney, huh?”

It seemed that the detectives had forgotten about the prisoner. He watched them talk, amused, but not showing it.

“Which comes in handy for a guy like Rick Harris every time he does something, like beat up a suspect,” she said, pointing to the inmate on the floor of the cell. “Guess who’s there to bail him out?”

She kneeled next to the prisoner. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, looking him over for injuries.

The prisoner coughed and stood, holding his ribs tightly. “Title 21, section 210402 of the Violent Crime and Law Enforcement Act of 1994 has data on the use of excessive force by police officers. Police misconduct will often constitute a violation of common criminal statutes. In addition, the US Congress and many state legislatures have passed criminal statutes that prohibit a police officer from willfully interfering with another person’s civil rights. Yet criminal prosecutions of police officers for misconduct in the line of duty are exceedingly rare.”

Luz’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him in amazement, then looked at Eddie who displayed the same shocked expression. The man in front of her wore rags, smelled like garbage, was covered in grime and was homeless. This man—who hadn’t spoken a word to anyone—was articulately speaking about police brutality. Not only did he seem to know the law, he spoke clearly and enunciated every word. Too stunned to speak, they listened.

“Because Officer Asshole’s father is the District Attorney, he will most likely never be prosecuted. Because of their close working relationship, prosecutors tend to be reluctant to bring charges against police officers, on whom they so heavily depend as a group. Perhaps as a result, local prosecutors’ offices traditionally dedicate limited resources to police prosecutions. Probably more so when daddy sweeps it under the rug.” He stopped and sat down on the bed, wincing in pain.

Luz picked her jaw off the floor and walked over to him. “That’s incredible.”

The man looked at her, a bit of anger in his stare. “What’s incredible? That I’m educated? I can understand why you would think that someone who looks like me would be brainless. It’s that kind of limited thinking that has our society in ruins.”

Luz frowned then looked back at Eddie. “I guess there are a lot of assumptions floating around today, huh?”

Eddie shrugged and checked his watch. “Listen, you obviously have your hands full here. I’ve gotta go. I’m on in fifteen and I need to suit up. If you need any more help, give me a call.”

She smiled. “Sure, and thanks for everything today.”.

“No problem. See ya.” He stepped out of the cell and walked down the hallway, Luz waited until his footsteps faded before she focused her attention on the injured man.

“First of all, I came down here because you called and left a message asking to speak with me. Second, if you want to sue Rick Harris, be my guest. I could care less. And lastly, I want to apologize if you thought I was judging you based on your looks. Any common man wouldn’t be able to recite the law verbatim, but you aren’t the common man, are you? You’re a lawyer, right?”

He stared, holding his ribs tightly.

Her gaze softened, and she grew serious. “I will make sure Harris is punished for what he did to you. That man has been accused numerous times of police brutality but because of who his father is, he’s still got a badge. Nobody’s happy about it but that’s the way it is. That’s all beside the point. You called and wanted to talk. I’m here, so talk.”

He was about to say something but was cut off by the sound of Luz’s cell phone.

“Hold that thought,” she said, pointing a finger at him. Then she flipped open her phone. “Santos”

“What’s up, Senorita?” said a male voice.

“Hey, Sonny. Did you get a track on those prints?”

“Yes siree. They belong to a Mr. Nicholas Mason. Thirty-five years old, been missing for some time now. Seven years or so. Used to be some big-shot lawyer downtown. Hope he still has connections, ’cuz if he killed those people, he’ll need a good lawyer.”

Luz shut her eyes and thought for a minute. “Thirty-five you say?”

“Yup, why?”

“No reason, it’s just,” she paused and looked at the man sitting beside her on the bed. “It just didn’t seem that way at first. Thanks, Einstein. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“No problem, sweetie, glad I could help. Be careful around this guy though. He’s been laying low for a long time. Sounds like trouble to me.”

“I will. Thanks.” She flipped the phone shut and shoved it in her pocket. She smiled and turned her attention back to the inmate. “You were saying?” she asked.

“I wanted to know why you think I’m innocent. Due to the incriminating evidence thus far, I could be considered guilty.”

“I’ve been doing my homework. But I just spoke with someone who may have changed my mind.”

He looked doubtful. “You still believe me to be innocent, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Nick, are you?”

His expression turned to one of surprise. “How did you know my name?”

“I got a friend upstairs who did some checking. Your name is Nicholas Mason; you were a successful attorney seven years ago. Now how did you get from there to here?”

Luz watched as he battled with his emotions; he seemed hurt and damaged. All the strength he’d shown earlier ebbed. She waited for his reply, but none came.

“All right, you aren’t ready to talk yet. If you’d like to wait until your attorney is present, I get it. But I need some answers. What were you doing in that alley last night?”

He hesitated before answering and for one moment she thought he’d wait until he had legal counsel present to answer any questions from her. When he finally spoke, she felt relief wash over her. She didn’t know why, but it pleased her that he trusted her enough to keep talking. “Sleeping. I had scored enough money to buy myself a couple of cheap beers and I drank alone in that alley and eventually fell asleep.”

“Scored? Like drugs? Theft?” she asked.

“No,” he stated, his cheeks reddening. “As in sitting on the street begging for money.”

“Okay.” She’d have to take his word on that. “Did you hear anything or anyone else in the alley?”

“No. I pick that spot because a lot of the homeless people congregate farther east. I’m usually left alone.”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Mildred Jamison or Matthew Hanson?”

He looked at her blankly. “No.”

“Does the name Gil Billion ring a bell?”

“No, should it?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

The silence stretched for a couple of minutes and Luz began pacing the cell.

“So you woke up when the police were cuffing you?”

“Yes. I was sleeping, rudely awakened, and read my rights. I had no idea what was happening until I was brought down to the station and questioned.”

Luz searched for any signs of acting, but could find no twitching, fidgeting, or eye movements that would have given him away. His voice was stern and strong like a lawyer trying a case in court. But she wasn’t the judge who could set him free.

“Mr. Mason, tonight I have a charity function to attend at the mayor’s estate. He has already begun congratulating my boss for catching the killer in this case, which would be you. I will speak with my boss on the matter of your innocence. I believe that you are innocent, so either you’re telling the truth or very good at lying and being a lawyer. That’s an asset to the trade, am I right?”

“I’m no longer practicing law. I’ve left that life behind,” he stated in a bitter tone.

“You left it purposefully?” she asked, surprised. Instantly she felt his walls go up again. She stopped pacing and stood in front of him.

“Whatever the reason, it must have been traumatic, and you don’t have to tell me if it doesn’t pertain to this case. One more question; do you have a bank account?”

She watched him hesitate for a fraction of a second before he nodded.

“Yes. I have a savings account that’s been collecting interest for a while now. I had a friend who worked at a credit union lock up my account for ten years so the money wouldn’t be touched. I gave him special instructions so none of that money would be accessible to me for at least the first five years. When I got used to being homeless, I taught myself to never want for anything more than existence. It was hard at first. I had a good job and a wi—” his hands began to tremble, and he stopped. “Anyway, there’s a substantial amount of money in the account but I haven’t spoken to Fredrick in years.” Mason scoffed. “He wouldn’t recognize me anyway.”

Luz took a moment to process this information. The pieces weren’t fitting, but Nicholas Mason was a puzzle worth solving. Not on your schedule, she thought and checked her watch.

“Okay. I have to run. I’ll check in with you again tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest. If you need a doctor to examine you or to check for broken ribs, tell the guard and he will arrange it. If you need to speak with me, call my cell. I will leave the number with dispatch on the way out.” She bent down and stared into his eyes, noticing at once how sharp and clear they were; the blue hue was so light they bordered on gray.

“Was there anything else?” he asked.

Luz blushed, realizing she’d been staring. She got up quickly and walked away.

“No, that’s all.” She called the guard over to lock the cell. She held onto the bars for a moment and stared at the broken man on the bed.

“Mr. Mason, I’ll do my best to get you out of here, but if for one moment I think I made the wrong decision in helping you, you will be very sorry.”

Mason raised his head and stared at her warily and Luz realized she had come across a lot harsher than intended, but she’d made her point. She released the bars and walked away.

~

Nick kept his eyes fixed on the spot where she had stood. He’d made a fool of himself when he jabbered on about police brutality. He wanted to sound smart and to make the cops feel stupid, but it backfired when he was left alone with Detective Santos. After answering her questions, he was the one left feeling dim-witted. He had a very successful life, very capable of flying, but he had chosen to walk, and risk being trampled by society’s expectations.

It was a risk he’d been willing to take. He wondered if his reasons for staying homeless were the same now as they were seven years ago. His wife’s horrific murder still haunted him, and he hadn’t forgiven himself for not being there for her when she needed him. But now that he had slept in a real bed and eaten real food and had an intelligent conversation with someone, he knew the time had come to stand up and take back a place in society.

An image of Detective Santos flashed through his mind and a genuine smile lit his face for the first time since his imprisonment. He’d gotten a better look at her that time; her clothes were of expensive taste and he picked up the faintest scent of Michael Kors perfume when she sat near him. He inhaled slowly trying to pick up any trace of the alluring fragrance.

When she’d stepped up to Harris’s face, she had a take-no-crap attitude and had proven she was stronger than she looked. During the whole ordeal her voice had gone from cold to warm and back again, and he knew that she could either be a powerful ally or one’s worst enemy. He was glad she’d chosen to go to bat for his team. If she’d been on the other side, he would have been doomed. It was one reason he felt safe talking to her without his lawyer present.

He slid himself onto the bed and winced when a sharp pain tore at his ribs. He lifted his shirt and assessed the damaged. The ribs on the right side were red and beginning to swell. He remembered Luz’s suggestion of a doctor and decided against it. The pain would remind him to seek vengeance. Yes. Harris would learn his lesson and Nick would be his teacher. Nick rubbed his ribs a bit longer while he thought of the torment he would inflict on the son of a bitch. He fell asleep with a wicked smile on his face.

CHAPTER FIVE

My body shakes with anticipation

I calm my nerves with some complication

The smell of blood I mournfully long

Tonight the evil is very strong

May 17th, 2002 4:30 p.m.

Luz was typing at a pretty good pace when her computer froze. She stared blankly at the screen then got up and banged on the monitor. “Dammit!” she shouted. She tried several keystrokes to restart her computer, but they were useless. She took a deep breath and tried them again. When they didn’t work, she cursed furiously at the screen.

“Whoa, I haven’t heard words that dirty since the Navy.”

She looked up, startled, and found Sonny grinning at her from the doorway of her office. “Sorry,” she said quickly and banged on the monitor again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on there, honey. That’s no way to treat technology,” he said, stepping protectively in front of her monitor.

She ignored the “honey” since it was just the way he spoke. Sonny worked in the forensic department on the third floor; he had been hired by the Seattle Police Department right after announcing his retirement from the US Navy. He enjoyed his work and the people he worked with and had always been like a grandfather to Luz. He was constantly doing her favors; rushing fingerprint jobs or other reports that usually took forever to get back. Sometimes she would take him to dinner, or get him tickets to a Mariner’s game, but no matter how many times she did something nice for him he would top her with three more favors. Sometimes she felt as though she would never catch up. She smiled thinking of his frizzy gray hair. He bore a strong resemblance to Albert Einstein. So strong, in fact, that the other cops had started calling him that and it stuck.

“Technology, my ass. I just spent the last three hours typing up reports on five different cases and suddenly the computer decided to make my job twice as hard.”

Sonny put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to sit down. “I got this, just hold on.” He turned his back to her and typed furiously. The computer emitted a series of beeps and when he stepped away, all her data was restored safe and sound on the desktop. She sighed as the tension melted from her muscles. “What would I ever do without you, Einstein? Thank you. I owe you lunch.”

He waved her off and took a seat on the corner of her desk. “Glad I could save you, but that’s not the reason I came up here. I lifted the fingerprints off the knife and one pair came from your boy, Mason, and the other I can’t seem to locate. I’m running an extensive search on them now and should have results in a couple of days. But the unidentified prints were stronger and easier to lift. Mason’s prints were barely on the knife at all. I’m writing up a report, but you may want to mention it to Andrews tonight.”

“Oh shit!” Luz jumped out of the chair and grabbed her purse and coat. “I’m sorry, Sonny, I just remembered I have that charity dinner at the mayor’s. I have to go, but thanks for all your help. Let me know what comes up.” She ran from her office to the elevators, tapping her foot as she waited for one of the cars to stop on her floor. The doors finally opened, and she almost collided with another woman.

“Excuse me,” the woman stammered, stepping back. She was at least a half foot taller than Luz, and she wore navy slacks and a cream-colored cardigan. The woman looked lost as her manicured hands fussed with the pearls around her neck.

“I’m so sorry. I’m kind of in a hurry,” Luz said, backing into the elevator.

“That’s okay, I was wondering who I should speak to if I have information on a case.”

Luz stopped the closing doors and pointed to the right. “There’s a secretary over there who will take your information and help you find someone to speak with.”

“Thank you… Ms.?”

“Santos. Detective Santos, and your name?” Luz asked as the elevator doors began to close again.

“Antoinette Peterson.”

“Okay, Mrs. Peterson, have a nice day.” She let the doors close and felt the elevator coast to the ground floor. Luz nearly stepped out of the elevator when the name clicked. Cursing herself, she got back in and returned to the fifth floor. She found Mrs. Peterson in the front office, sitting in one of the chairs staring at the wall.

“Mrs. Peterson, would you please come with me?” she called. The woman was obviously confused at the sight of her. “I know I told you I was in a hurry, but my schedule just opened up. I believe I may be the person you want to speak with anyway.”

She led the woman to her office and shut the door, took her seat behind her desk and motioned for Mrs. Peterson to sit, too.

“Now, you’re here about the Jamison murder, am I correct?”

The woman looked at her with amazement, her blue eye going wide. “How did you know that?” she asked.

Luz ignored her question. “Your maiden name was Lesheaux and you used to rent a house with Mildred in Whitecenter.”

Antoinette brought her hand to her mouth and stared. “I… I don’t know how you know, but you’re correct.”

Luz crossed her arms across her chest. “We looked into Mildred’s past, seeking a reason someone would want to take her life. We didn’t come up with much, but we did get your name. We couldn’t trace it and now I know why. Did you marry?”

“Yes, a year ago next Friday,” she whispered. Luz detected a slight tremble within that whisper.

“Congratulations,” Luz said. “When did you first hear about the murder?”

Antoinette lowered her head—her long blond hair became a curtain, closing off Luz’s view of her face—then mumbled something.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that,” Luz said, leaning forward a little.

“Yesterday.”

“And you didn’t come forward until now? Mrs. Peterson, I don’t know if you know this, but that makes you a suspect. First Mildred is murdered and then another victim is found last night, and you don’t show up until now.” She bent down to see the woman’s reaction but could only make out the top of her head.

“Why did you wait so long?” Luz asked. The woman’s body shook and was soon racked with sobs. Antoinette lifted her tear-streaked face to look at Luz. Luz offered her a tissue. She took it and wiped at her nose while Luz gave her time to collect herself.

“In a way I did kill her. We lived together for quite a while and we enjoyed each other’s company. She was the only person who could make me laugh back then.” She smiled weakly and wiped her nose again. “I lived in Spokane in ninety-three. I grew up there and I had a boyfriend who was moving to Seattle. I followed him here but shortly after the move, he up and left me. Of course he left with my money and my car. Typical of the man. I didn’t have a job, either, so I couldn’t keep the apartment. I looked for a month for a place to stay, and on the day of my eviction, I met Milly.

“She worked at a ritzy Thai restaurant downtown and I applied there as a waitress. When I was walking out, Milly called me over and wished me good luck on the job. She was so sweet…” she dabbed her eyes with another tissue and continued. “Anyway, I got the job, thanks to her, and she told me she was looking for a roommate. I moved in the next week and we became best friends. I mean we told each other everything. Back then she called me Anne, which was a lot less Renaissance than Antoinette. We had a lot in common. I could trust her, and she could trust me…” she trailed off.

“What happened?” Luz asked.

“One day my ex-boyfriend showed up again and I was stupid enough to take him back. He began partying and asking for money. Knowing his past, I should have said no. But one night he gave me a taste of heroin. Then, I began asking Milly for money. Pretty soon she cut me off. She saw what the drugs were doing to me and tried to stop me. Being the addict I was, I mistook her concern for betrayal and blew up. From there, I sold everything I owned and most of her belongings to pay for my habit. It cost me my home, my friend and almost my life. Even though we went our separate ways, we both ended up on the street. But I did see her shortly after, when one time I was, um… earning money for drugs—”

Luz cut in, “Earning money?”

She sighed impatiently. “I don’t like to talk about it, and it only happened that one time. I’m not proud of it at all.”

Understanding dawned on Luz and she nodded slowly. She’d seen what drugs could reduce people to. When she worked the street, she had busted her fair share of prostitutes. “Go on,” she urged.

“Well, I was about to get into this van with this scumbag and I looked across the street and there she was, staring at me like I was trash. I didn’t see her for a long time after that. After I overdosed on the heroin and was rushed to the hospital, I decided my life needed changing. So here I am, born again and living it up while my friend is lying on a cold slab at the morgue.” She sobbed again, and Luz handed her the box of tissues.

“I’m not sure I understand—if you went your separate ways, when was it that you saw her again?”

Antoinette cried harder. Luz watched as her eyes swelled again and felt sorry for the woman. After a few minutes, Ms. Peterson forced herself to be calm and wiped her eyes.

“A couple of months ago I was shopping downtown with some of my friends. Mind you, my friends are very close-minded and know nothing of my past… nothing. We were shopping, and Milly approached me on the street and told me how good I was looking and if there was any way I could help her out. I just stared at her for a minute, and my friends glanced at me, then at Milly, their faces full of disgust, trying to figure out the connection between me and this homeless woman. I started to feel as if the perfect new world I’d created for myself was falling apart… so, I acted like I was revolted by Milly. I tried to mirror my friends’ expressions. I… I yelled at Milly to get away from us and walked off.

“I thought about what I’d done for the rest of that day and the weeks that followed. I couldn’t eat or sleep without thinking about her. One day I woke up early and drove to Seattle hoping to find her. I must have looked in every alley, under every bridge, and in every shelter. I finally went home exhausted from my efforts and I cried. It took me weeks to get over how I’d treated her. I figured Milly was really smart and resourceful and would have found a way to pull herself up. But when I saw her face on the news, when I heard what happened, I couldn’t believe it, and to think that if I hadn’t been such a pretentious bitch and had done the same that she’d done for me—she would be alive.”

Luz watched Antoinette work her way through the box of tissues on the desk. She wanted to tell the woman that she had done everything possible to find her friend, but that’s what the woman had come to her for; redemption. Luz wasn’t going to give her that. The woman in front of her was selfish, ungrateful and didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“So you never held a grudge against Mildred?” Luz asked, arms folded and eyebrows raised.

“No. Why would I? I wouldn’t be the person I am today without her.”

“She didn’t have money stashed away that you knew about?”

“Well, she had saved up some money for her culinary classes but that’s all I knew. Why is this starting to feel like an interrogation?” she asked, gripping the used tissues tightly in her hands.

“Well, Mrs. Peterson, what you’ve told me about yourself has led me to believe that you’re a manipulative liar.” Luz registered the shock on the woman’s face. “And I am going to need you to come downstairs with me for fingerprinting.”

Antoinette’s shock gave way to anger and she slammed her hand on the desk in a surprising show of confidence. “Now see here, detective, I came here to offer information and now I’m being treated as a suspect? This is bullshit!”

Luz got up and walked around the desk, her eyes never leaving Antoinette’s. “First of all, you took quite a long time to come forward. As I said before—there was another murder last night, so you could be a suspect.”

Antoinette stood and looked at her defiantly. “I watched the news this morning and you’ve already caught the killer, so don’t try and intimidate me.”

Luz clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mrs. Peterson. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV. The man caught at the scene is clean. Turns out he’s just another homeless person for you and your friends to turn your noses up at.”

Antoinette hung her head.

“Please follow me, Mrs. Peterson. It’s a relatively short procedure,” Luz said, formally opening the door.

Antoinette collected her coat and purse and followed Luz out. The elevator ride down was a quiet one; in fact, they didn’t speak until it was over.

“I suggest you stay in town. I’ll need to ask you some more questions,” Luz said.

The woman simply nodded and left, still shaken. Luz was walking back to her office when her cell rang.

“Santos,” she answered.

“Where are you, Luz? I’ve been here for almost an hour waiting for you. The mayor asked if my date’s even coming!”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Something came up.”

“It better damn well be important, because I’m sitting here dressed like a penguin only because you said you’d be my date for the night. Otherwise, I would have asked Rosa to accompany me, but I chose you because I wanted to have intelligent conversation. I hate these stupid functions. I sat here all night and listened to the mayor ramble on and on about all his accomplishments and contributions to society. It’s all a crock of the steaming pile, ya know?”

“Mike, a woman came to see me today about the Jamison murder. She says they used to be friends but that she didn’t help Mildred to get off the streets when she had the chance.”

“Yeah, so what? She feels guilty. Anything else?”

“She was a pretty big woman, I mean, physically strong-looking. She could have easily handled a person Mildred’s size.”

Luz heard the music in the background fade and assumed her boss had found a quieter place to talk. “Okay. What’s her connection with the other victim?”

“When she told me about her past, she mentioned a boyfriend who had stolen a lot from her; he ruined her life. That could have been Matthew Hanson, right?”

Mike sighed. “Luz, that’s a little far-fetched—” he began.

“I know, but I fingerprinted her just in case. Those could have been her prints on the knife as well as Nicholas Mason’s. I had to be sure.”

“When will we know?”

“I was going to stay all night and work with Sonny until we got a match.”

“So I guess I’m going stag for the rest of the night?” Luz could picture the look on her boss’s face and tried not to snicker but failed.

“I heard that. You think this is funny, do you, Santos?”

“No, sir,” she said, suppressing another laugh.

“Yeah well laugh all you want, cuz you’re coming with me next Tuesday.”

“What’s next Tuesday?” she asked, the smirk disappearing from her face.

“Next Tuesday, Mayor Yates plans to outdo himself and throw a bigger, more extravagant party than the one that I’m sitting alone at right now.”

Luz groaned. “I don’t think I can make it, Mike. I’ve got to wash my hair.”

“Har, har, Santos, it wasn’t a request; it was an order. You will be coming with me.”

“Well since you put it that way, I’ll see you at seven.”

“Good, I have to go now. The mayor is about to blow some more hot air.”

Luz laughed. “All right. Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Probably. It’s a Saturday and I don’t have a life.”

“Great, then we can not have a life together. I need to talk to you about Nicholas Mason in the morning.”

Her boss moaned. “Morning? I was hoping to sleep in. This thing doesn’t end until eleven tonight.”

“If I bring in some Krispy Kremes will you be in by ten?”

“Oh yeah, throw in some premium coffee and I’ll make it by nine.” He perked up.

“Will do. See you at nine.” She hung up and went to find Sonny and some coffee for herself.

It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER SIX

The moon is shining, it’s far from dawn

Time to choose another pawn

Then my rage will subside

Only to surge, only to rise.

May 18th, 2002 12:00 a.m.

I awoke in a cold sweat and sat up in bed, images from the dreams stuck to my consciousness. My body shook badly as I got up and went to the bathroom. I let the water run until it was frigid and splashed it on my face. Shortly after the shaking stopped, the itching began. It started along the back of my neck and spread down to the tips of my fingers. I opened the medicine cabinet for some calamine lotion and slowly rubbed onto my skin. I knew the itching was mental—but the ritual helped me calm down in the past, so I continued to rub it in.

Memories of the dream drifted into my mind and I lifted the lid to the toilet and retched. When my stomach settled down I put the lotion away and got dressed. I quietly tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and opened the back door. There was only one way to make the itching stop. I stepped outside and disappeared into the night.

~

Luz drove home in a daze. She had been up for twenty-four hours and was in desperate need of sleep. She had worked with Sonny all night—breaking only once to go home and let Cheech out—and it still hadn’t made a difference. They would still have to wait until morning for the results. It could have been on a subconscious level, but she ended up cruising the streets downtown. She stopped at a corner store and bought a Snickers bar. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. On her way back to the car she decided to take a walk through Pioneer Square. She grabbed her windbreaker from the backseat, pulled it on and strolled down toward the park.

She passed a lot of homeless people, some sleeping in the doorways of buildings and some on the sidewalk; vulnerable and exposed. She thought about how easy it must have been for the killer to choose his prey. The number of homeless people in Seattle had multiplied significantly in the last five years. Unfortunately, the number of shelters and missions had stayed the same. She wished there was some way to keep them all inside until they could find the sicko who was now stalking them. But there were too many homeless, and not enough resources to do the job.

She thought back to when her own family faced poverty and was grateful that someone had taken them in. Her father, Luis Santos, had come to the United States stuffed into a tiny truck with fifteen other Mexicans. He was born and raised in Jalisco, Mexico. He had come to the States after Luz’s youngest brother, Raul was born. After Luz’s mother had given birth she became ill and Luis had come to the United States to find work to afford the medication she needed to get well. He sent money almost every month but when Raul was eleven months old, she passed away. After that, Luz’s aunt and uncle took her and her two brothers in, but after her mother’s funeral her dad insisted he could raise the children on his own. After four separate attempts and many pesos, Luis got himself and his three children passage to the US.

Luis worked hard in the orchards of California, making ends meet for his family. But when it came time for Hector to attend school, there wasn’t enough money to send him. One day Luis got word of the apple orchards of Washington and how much money was to be made there. So he packed up his children and headed to up to Yakima, Washington. It was rough at first, trying to provide for his family. There was a point when an unexpected drought left no work for the immigrants. Luis was forced to take his family from the house they had grown up in. Luckily the Mexican community was strong and took pride in helping others of their culture. They lived there until Luz was twenty, and by then her father was too old for physical labor. So they moved to Seattle with another family and Luis got a job as a gardener/handyman for a wealthy family. Moving to a big city had been intimidating for Luz. She was used to a small community, but she adapted and soon found life in the city exciting. After trying to attend a community college for six months she had taken interest in law enforcement.

Her older brother, Hector, had chosen Job Corp, and her younger brother, Raul was still in school at the time and she knew her father didn’t have enough money to send her to a decent college. So she called around and interviewed at the Seattle Police Department. After she completed all the testing, she was sent to the academy. She excelled at every level and started her career as a police officer at twenty-one. People who mattered took notice of her hard work and devotion, and she made detective five years later. She had a better track record than the other detectives in her department for solving cases, which earned her many awards along the way. It was difficult working in a male-dominated field, but instead of alienating herself, she tried her hardest to tolerate the men she worked with. She had already received two job offers with the FBI, but she declined because she felt she needed more experience. She was very proud of her accomplishments and grateful for the opportunities in her life.

She stopped walking and surveyed her surroundings. She was close to Chinatown near an overpass, underneath which she saw people sleeping in cardboard boxes or wrapped in plastic for warmth. Instead of walking toward the makeshift shelters, she turned and headed for her car. She decided to visit the murder scenes to figure out a pattern. She was a few blocks from where they had found Matty’s body and decided to take another look. The police tape was still intact, but the area was deserted. She walked around the alley, breathing through her mouth; the stench of rotting garbage was overpowering.

She exited the alley onto a quiet street. She looked up and down the road and after turning right, walked for a while, crossed the street and headed back. As she passed a doorway, someone grabbed her ankle.

“What the?” she shouted and kicked away the hand.

“Could you spare some change, miss?” came a scratchy voice.

Luz’s heart pounded wildly and instinctively she pulled her gun. The old man’s eyes grew wide when he saw that. He held his hands in front of his face and reeled backward.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t shoot me. I’m only hungry.” he said, peeking through his fingers and eyeing the weapon.

She relaxed and put the gun away. The man was leaning against the wall and one of his legs ended at the knee; the stump was wrapped in an old t-shirt. “You shouldn’t grab people when they walk by. You’re likely to get yourself in trouble. I could have shot you just now.”

The man hawked up some spit and launched it in her direction. “Shot, huh? Well I woulda shaken your hand but as you can see,” he rubbed a hand over the nub, “I can’t stand up too fast. What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a gun anyway?” he narrowed his eyes and looked her over.

She pulled out her badge and showed it to him. “I’m a detective; guns are part of the job. Listen, you shouldn’t be alone on the street like this,” she said.

“You’re right, detective. I’ll just hop in my Mercedes and drive home to my mansion and sleep in my fifty-thousand thread count sheets,” the bum replied.

Luz sighed. “Why don’t you take yourself over to the bridge? I can help you. There are more people over there.”

“That’s the reason I’m not over there. Those people are thieves. I’d never get any sleep because I’d be too busy watching my back. Why do you care anyway?” he asked, scratching at a scab on his face.

Luz glanced up and down the dark street. “There have been two murders in this area in the last two days. If I were you, I’d migrate to well-populated spaces.”

“Well, you ain’t me and if you ain’t gonna give me any money, leave me alone,” he said before hawking up more spit.

Luz gave up. “Okay. Do what you want. I did warn you. Just don’t let your guard down.”

He launched another glob of mucus at Luz, and it landed a little too close for comfort. A cool breeze blew through the buildings and she pulled her coat closer and walked away. She could still hear the man laughing when she crossed the street. She felt guilty for not forcing him to go. She was about to turn the corner when the laughter died, and a gurgling noise replaced it. Luz stopped and listened. Footsteps pounded on the pavement from the direction of the man, but it was dark, and she couldn’t make out any features. She knew it couldn’t have been the bum unless he had a prosthetic leg she hadn’t noticed.

She ran back up the street and pulled up short. The bum was staring up at the sky with his mouth open. Blood covered his shirt in random splatters and his head dropped back to reveal a nasty gash stretching from one ear to the other. Luz stood for a second before the shock wore off, and she ran in the last direction she heard the footsteps. She drew her gun and took the safety off. Peering into the darkness she could make out somebody running about thirty yards away.

“Stop! Police!” she shouted. The figure stopped and turned. Then it disappeared around a corner. She picked up her pace, heart pounding against her rib cage. When she reached the corner, she stopped and held her breath. She held up the gun and cleared the corner. Maybe it was because she was so tired, but her reflexes fell short. Something sharp pierced her abdomen and she doubled over in pain. Quickly, she looked up to find the person responsible for the attack, but a strong fist punched her face. She fell over, groping at the wound in her side. The attacker kicked her in the head and took off. She tried to focus on the retreating figure but failed to observe any defining features. Her vision was blurred. She gave up and lay still in the middle of the street, unable to move.

She heard a car door slam and screeching tires. Smelling the burnt rubber, she looked up and saw headlights coming at her; fast—too fast. She cried out and tried to get up, but the pain in her side was immense. The car sped toward her and she managed to roll out of the way; hot pain coursing through her with the effort. The car barely missed her and continued up the street. She squeezed off two shots, one shattering the back window and the other taking off a hubcap. The car fishtailed, and she thought she’d hit her mark, but the driver regained control and the car disappeared from sight. Luz watched the hubcap roll lazily to the curb where it stopped and landed with a sharp clang that echoed in her head.

Weak and lightheaded, Luz dropped her gun and clutched at her side. She brought her hand up to inspect it and saw that it was covered in blood. She let out an agonized, alien cry that she didn’t recognize as her own voice. She blinked rapidly and knew she would lose consciousness soon. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She opened it with one hand and punched a couple of buttons. She couldn’t remember if it rang but she heard the voice on the other end say hello.

“Ben…”

“Hello? Who is this?” he said.

“…help… hurt…”

“Luz? Luz is that you?” he shouted frantically. “Where are you? Luz! Say something, dammit!”

“…towndown.…” She was having trouble speaking.

“Town down? Downtown? Where are you, are you okay?”

With her vision cloudy she barely saw the green and yellow neon sign across the street.

“Subway near homeless bridge…. Please, hurry… I can’t…” she trailed off as her pain intensified.

“Luz, I’m getting help. Hold on, okay? Help is on the way!”

He continued to speak, but she didn’t catch anymore of his words. Before long, she was out cold.

May 18th, 2002 10:30 a.m.

Luz opened her eyes and shut them quickly when the light from the florescent bulbs burned her vision. She whimpered and turned her head, immediately regretting the movement when bolts of pain shot through her skull causing flashing lights behind her eyelids.

“Don’t try to move, the doctor wants you to rest,” a voice said. Familiar. It took Luz a moment to guess who the speaker was.

“Ben?” she whispered and could hear his footfalls as he walked to her side.

“It’s me, Litebrite, I’m here,” he said, and the fear in his voice unsettled her. “I thought we lost you there for a moment.”

She smiled. “Luz” in Spanish means “light” and when they were dating, Ben had chosen the nickname Litebrite. She hadn’t heard it in a long time. A small smile creased her lips.

“What happened?” she murmured.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Luz, just rest now. We’ll talk when you’re feeling up to it, okay?”

“Please, Ben? I need to know. There was a guy, a bum. He was killed. I should’ve… I ran after the killer and—”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened next. I’m guessing he stabbed you and knocked you down and you called me. God, Luz, it scared the shit out of me, hearing you near death and not knowing where you were and if I could get help in time. You sounded so… so… weak.”

Luz grimaced. Ben wasn’t used to seeing her as weak. While they dated she had been careful not to show weakness. When they broke up she made him believe that she’d be okay because she was a fighter, but he didn’t know she’d spent many nights crying thinking about him and deeply missing him.

“What happened after I called you?” she asked, slowly opening her eyes. He stood by her bed looking down at her with concern. He wore an old Guns N Roses t-shirt and his hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up.

“I called 911 and told them about the call. Luckily, gun shots were reported in the vicinity of the attack. I told the dispatcher you said something about a Subway being close by and since Seattle doesn’t have a subway system I assumed you meant the sandwich shop and they narrowed it down to two in the area. They found the homeless man two blocks away… he was dead. They called me, but I sent a replacement so I could be here when you woke up.”

Luz attempted to smile, even though it hurt. “Thank you.”

Ben looked away, his face reddening. “Anyway, they found your gun next to you and figured you must have fired the shots. Across the street they found a hubcap with a slug lodged in it that matched the ones in your nine-millimeter. They assumed that the killer was driving a Honda since the hubcap bore the emblem.” He paused and stared down at her. “They said they found you on the street in a puddle of blood. Your face was swollen, and you had a pretty good-sized bump on your head. Jesus, Luz, what were you thinking chasing a killer by yourself? You should have called for backup.”

“My car was blocks away and I hadn’t remembered my cell phone until I thought to call you. If you want to call it a thought. I was really woozy. I’m surprised I could think at all.”

“The doctor says you have a concussion in addition to the wound in your side and that shiner on your face.”

She lifted her arm and noticed the IV drip, then she touched underneath her right eye and flinched. Ben laughed. “That was smart,” he said. “You didn’t believe me? Seriously, you look like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky.”

Luz closed her eyes against the pain. Good job, Luz, you landed yourself in the hospital, she thought.

Ben’s voice softened, and he reached for her hand. “Hang in there, Santos. The doctor said the knife barely missed a major organ but cut a few arteries on the way in. After the operation they stitched you up and pumped you full of painkillers. You’ve been asleep for hours, but you’ll be fine. I’m gonna go get some coffee. I’ll be back.”

He released her hand and walked toward the door. He paused in the doorway and turned around. “Oh, yeah, you might want to thank Eddie for saving your life. His blood type matched yours and they ran out here at the hospital. Busy night, I guess. You owe him big time.” Ben smiled playfully and walked out.

Luz groaned but this time it wasn’t from the pain.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The stakes are higher, the rules keep bending

My sinful pleasures never ending

All eyes on me but they can’t see

The monster I have come to be

May 18th, 2002 2:30 p.m.

When Luz opened her eyes, the room was empty. Or so she thought.

“Hello,” came a soft voice from her right. She jumped.

She turned her head and saw a well-dressed man sitting in a chair across the room. He looked relaxed, wearing Dockers, a chestnut polo shirt and matching brown Oxfords. His hair was freshly cut, and his face looked clean-shaven and flawless. His bone structure was angular with prominent cheekbones; as if he were a little underweight. Nevertheless, Luz thought him absolutely striking. There was something familiar about him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice croaking through her parched throat.

He stood and crossed the room stopping a few feet from her bed. “Even if I came here for help, I doubt you could do much in your condition,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

Luz realized that her room was dark and—from the sounds of it—the hallway deserted. She clenched the blanket that covered her and kept her eyes on the nurse call button at the side of her bed. When the stranger let out a short laugh she flinched and cursed at him.

“Very constructive vocabulary you have. I guess I should have introduced myself before invading your personal space. I assumed you would have recognized me, but I forgot you suffered a concussion.”

Luz stared at him, trying to figure out who he was. His voice seemed just as familiar as his eyes, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember. She hoped she wasn’t suffering temporary amnesia. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really can’t seem to place where I know you from,” she said.

He held out his hand. “Nicholas Mason, cellblock A.”

Luz tried her hardest to hide her shock. She must not have done a very good job because he laughed again.

“It’s okay. I know, I went from one extreme to the next. It’s amazing how soap and a razor can change a man. I was surprised I still knew how to use a razor after being on the streets for so long.” He eased his way back into the chair across the room.

A uniformed police officer stuck his head in the doorway. “Everything okay in here, detective? Is this man bothering you? I told him to make his visit short.”

Relieved there was a guard posted outside her room, she smiled. “It’s okay officer, thank you for checking on me.”

Luz was still recovering, and it was hard for her brain to process that the old homeless man with the beard and grime had transformed into the handsome specimen sitting before her. Giving her time to cope, Nick began again.

“They let me out after you were attacked. Your friend, Sonny, pulled some strings. It seems that my prints were non-existent on the knife, but I’ve been told to stick around. So I cleaned up a little and headed over to thank you properly. Your boss tells me that you were more responsible for my release than anyone, so… here I am. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could be of assistance,” she said slowly.

“I’m sorry my innocence was proven this way. You almost lost your life.”

Luz thought back to the attack and shuddered. She had been close to death and it wasn’t something she wanted to remember.

Nick took the shudder for a shiver. “Would you like another blanket? I can call the nurse?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” she said but pulled her covers up anyway. She let him stare at her for a while before she broke the silence. “Mr. Mason, how did you get the money to… clean yourself up?”

He surveyed his clothing and grinned. “I do clean up nice, eh?” he joked. “I had a little stash put away. It’s not much but it bought me a hotel room for the week.”

“So this isn’t the same money you had your friend protect for you?”

His face grew grim and Luz wondered why his mood had suddenly changed.

“No, it wasn’t the same money. That money is going to stay where it is for now.”

“Have you spoken to anyone since your release?”

He slowly shook his head. “Wow, you don’t waste any time getting back to being a detective. To answer your question, no, I haven’t, except for your officers, of course.”

“Did you call anyone from jail?”

“Just you, why? I thought you believed me to be innocent?”

“Well, brushes with death cause one to reconsider things.”

He seemed to think this over for a while before retrieving his coat from the back of the chair. “Well, detective, I’m staying at the Ramada Inn on Fifth, room twenty-eight if you feel the need to investigate me. I came here to thank you for your help and to offer my legal expertise. But I have a feeling you won’t be needing it. Take care.”

“Mr. Mason,” she said, and he paused at the door. “I’m glad you’re free and I will call you if I need legal advice.” She managed a small smile.

He smiled back and walked out of the room. Luz wondered if she would see him around. She’d already closed her eyes when she heard the door open again. Thinking it was Mason coming back to see her, she opened her eyes and smiled broadly. After seeing who it was, her smile waned, but just a little.

“That’s no way to greet the man that saved your life.”

“Eddie, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said feebly.

“Well, it didn’t seem that way a second ago. Who were you expecting?”

She thought about Mason and remembered the way he looked at her.

“No one in particular,” she lied but Eddie didn’t seem to notice.

“So anyway, everyone is talking about you back at work. That move you pulled downtown was impressive. Of course, Andrews doesn’t see it that way. He said, and I quote; ‘Santos is a fine detective, but what she did was reckless and landed her in the hospital. I don’t want any of you pulling that kind of stunt. We’re a team here. Call for backup.’ He came down on us hard, but I think it’s because he almost lost his top investigator,” he said, chuckling.

“You flatter me, Lopez,” she said flatly. “Mike hasn’t been to see me yet. I’m sure he’s prepared to rip me a new one when I get back to work.”

“When do you think you’re coming back? You were stabbed, and you think they’re going to release you, what? Today?”

“It’s not their choice. I’m giving it until Monday morning. If the doctor doesn’t let me go by then, I’ll leave on my own.”

Eddie whistled. “You sure are hard-headed, Santos. It’s no wonder you do what you do.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment because I’m too weak to reach over and slap you.”

He laughed and after a few moments, she laughed, too. When they settled down Luz grew serious.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“For the compliment?” he asked, beginning to laugh again.

“For my life,” she said, tearing up.

“Aw, shucks ma’am, it was nothing. I was just doin’ my job,” he teased, but grew more serious as he noticed the tears on her cheeks.

“Luz, really, it was nothing. You would have done the same for me. Please don’t cry.” He reached for a tissue and dabbed her face.

“I’m sorry Eddie. I don’t usually cry like this.”

He stared into her eyes. “I know, but you don’t have to play tough cop in front of me. You are human, you know. Crying is what we do.”

She stared back into his eyes, which were shiny too. She felt awkward sharing such an intimate moment with Eddie of all people. But she was glad he was there with her. They shared a comfortable silence for a while, then Eddie bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Have you called your family?” he asked.

Luz brought her hand up and hit her forehead. “Damn! With all the drugs they’ve been giving me for the pain, I must have forgotten.”

He eyed her warily. “Forgot to call your family? You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” she said sadly. “You don’t understand. I grew up with my father and brothers. I was the only girl and they all wanted me to be a nurse or a flight attendant, anything but a cop. My dad’s not happy with my decision to serve and protect; says it’s a man job. If I tell him I got hurt, he’ll only say, ‘I told you so, mija’.”

“Yeah but I’m sure he’ll be happy that he got the chance to tell you at all. You almost died, Luz! Call your familía!” he scolded and handed her the phone.

She hesitated but took the receiver when he glared at her. “Okay, okay, let me call my brother first.”

Eddie shrugged. “Whatever. Just remember to call your father when you’re done.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “I have to go, but I’m not leaving until I hear you talking to someone.” He stood, arms crossed, and looked expectantly at her.

She sighed and dialed Hector’s home number. A girl answered. “Hola, Karlita, is your papi home?” Luz asked.

“Oh hi, Tía, Daddy’s outside working on the car. I’ll get him for you.” Luz listened as Karlita put the phone down and ran away calling her daddy’s name. Karlita was Hector’s oldest and Luz loved how eager she always was to help. Luz smiled at Eddie and he mouthed “call your dad” and left the room. Luz waited three more minutes before her brother got on the line.

“Hey, sis, haven’t heard from you in a while, what’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing much. Just, uh, sitting here in the hospital passing time.”

“What? Hospital? Luz, what happened?” he asked. His protective instinct had kicked in and Luz could hear it in the rush of his words, the panic behind them.

She recounted the event that landed her there and he listened, interrupting her with questions and concerns. Then he filled her in on the happenings in his life. Martha, his wife, was pregnant with their third child.

“That’s wonderful, Hector! If it’s a girl, you name her after me, right?”

“We find out the sex next week, but I’ll keep your name in mind. Martha’s grandmother passed away a few months ago and she’s leaning on the name Guadalupe.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it’s old-fashioned, but you know how stubborn Martha can be. Anyway, I need to finish up on the car. Can I come visit you?”

“Um, I think they’re going to let me out soon. I’m still in the middle of this case but I’ll make time to come out and see you soon. Do me a favor though, call Dad and tell him I’m all right.”

She could picture Hector frowning on his end. “Luz, you need to call Dad. He’ll want to hear it from you. I’m too old to be doing this for you anymore.”

“Okay, okay. You are such a big pain sometimes,” she said, already anxious of her father’s reaction to her recklessness, bracing herself for yet another lecture regarding her career choice.

“Well, it runs in the family. By the way, have you heard from Raul lately?”

Luz’s younger brother had moved out on his own four years earlier and once in a while he would fall off the map. Two years before he had a bout with drugs but had checked himself into rehab and changed his ways.

“He’s clean, Hector. Don’t worry. The last time I saw him he was talking about enrolling in the army.”

“The army? That sounds a little drastic for Raul, qué no?”

“Well, the boy has dreams. It seems like he’s craving order in his life. What better way to get it than joining the armed forces?”

“Yeah, you’re right, but you’d think he’d call and let us know before he went and did something like that.”

“He would. I don’t think that’s where he’s at. I’ll ask Dad when I talk to him.”

“Good, let me know. So. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Take care.”

“You too. Tell Martha I’ll be in touch. Love you.”

“Love you too! Bye.”

“Oh wait!” she shouted, suddenly remembering Cheech.

“Yeah?”

“Could you please pick up Cheech? He’s probably starving, and his bladder will bust if he’s not let out. Just take him to the house and I’ll pick him up when I’m out.”

“Sure. The kids will love having a dog to chase around.”

“Thank you so much, Hector.”

“No problem. Gotta go. Bye.”

Luz was stuck listening to dead air. She knew she should call her father, but pride kept her from dialing his number. She placed the phone on the table beside her bed and closed her eyes. She felt guilty, but she felt tired too, and eventually her fatigue won out. She dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

May 18th, 2002 8:30 p.m.

Luz jerked awake and, automatically reached for her phone. Its ringing had woken her. “Santos,” she answered, groggy, still assessing her surroundings.

“Mija!”

Luz heard the anger in the deep voice at the other end of the line.

“Uh, hi, Dad. I—.”

“Luz I can’t believe you,” her father interrupted. “You get stabbed, almost killed and you don’t call? What’s wrong with you? Had I not talked to Martha I would have never known you were hurt.”

“Calm down, Dad. I’m okay now,” she said, hoping it would alleviate his stress. The last thing she needed was for him to have a heart attack.

“That would have been nice to know sooner. Why on earth didn’t you call me?” he said a little more calmly.

“Dad, I’ve barely been conscious for more than twenty minutes at a time. I was going to call earlier but the pain killers put me to sleep,” she said, hoping he would understand.

He didn’t. “That’s no excuse. You should have called. I know you think you’re a hotshot cop, but you are my daughter first. It was bad enough you shut us all out after that shooting years ago. We were sick with worry and you wouldn’t talk to anyone. I was so happy when you started reaching out again. You weren’t the same, but who is after something like that? I’m not going to let you go through it again. We are familía, and that means we’re here for the good, the bad and the ugly. Comprendes? Now, I hope you’ll think about quitting to find a job that doesn’t involve risking your life.”

Luz heaved a sigh. “Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I won’t insult you by lying to you, but I knew you would act like this. I like my job and when I recover I’m going back. I’ll just have to be more careful. I promise to stay more connected, you know how much my family means to me.”

There was silence on the other line before he spoke again, softly this time. “Yeah, I think I have some idea how much. Mija, I worry about you. I don’t want to be one of those fathers who outlive their children; you are my only daughter. I want you to live long enough to get married and have kids.” He paused, as if waiting for Luz to say something. She sighed. The silence didn’t last long. “I understand that you have chosen your path in life but you are my daughter and I need to know that you are okay. It’s hard for a father to let go and let his children live their own lives.” There was another silence. Luz could practically hear the question her father was preparing to ask.

“Speaking of children . . . are you seeing anyone?” There it was. Luz groaned.

“Please don’t start with that. When the right man comes, he’ll come. I don’t want to rush it.”

“What about Ben? He was nice.”

Luz remembered how Ben had held her hand and shown her tenderness earlier. Under the circumstances, that behavior was expected, but she wouldn’t fall for him again.

“Ben and I are just friends now, Pop.”

“Well, promise me you’ll keep an open mind when it comes to men—you are so independent sometimes, and it can scare them off.”

Luz knew about that first hand, but she didn’t dare admit it to her father. “I promise, but for now don’t plan on grandchildren from me any time soon.”

He chuckled. “I wasn’t being selfish when I said I wanted you to have kids. I just can’t wait until you worry about them as much as I worry about you.”

She smiled. “Thanks a lot. Now I can’t wait,” she said dryly. “Oh yeah, that reminds me; you haven’t heard from Raul lately, have you?”

Her father stopped laughing. “Actually, I have. He called a couple of days ago asking for money. He got himself kicked out of his apartment; I think he’s back on drugs.”

Luz’s chest tightened. “Drugs? Come on, Dad, he’s been clean for a long time now. Plus, his probation officer gives random UA’s. He wouldn’t risk going back to jail.”

Her father grunted. “Well, whatever. I didn’t give him the money.”

“What? Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” he replied curtly. “He could be on the street for all I know.”

Luz’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Dad, don’t you watch TV?” she asked.

“I work all day and come home and sleep. I barely have time to do anything, why?”

“The case I’ve been working on involves the murder of homeless people downtown. If Raul is on the street, we need to find him ASAP!”

“What are you talking about, Luz?” Now there was a slight tremble to her father’s voice.

“Dad, he could be in danger.”

“I… I didn’t know. What should I do?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put out an APB and have him brought in.”

“Are you sure? There’s nothing I can do?” he asked, his voice higher, more frantic.

“Call his friends. Maybe they can tell you something. I wouldn’t worry though; he’s probably staying at someone’s house. You know Raul, he’s surrounded by friends.”

This seemed to make sense to her father because his tone evened out.

“You’re right. I’ll do that.”

“Good. Call me if you find anything out. Love you, Pop.”

“Love you too, mija. And for once, being a cop helps. Bye”

Luz said bye and hung up the phone smiling. Maybe he was finally starting to support her career. The smile dissolved when she thought of Raul. She made some calls to the station and was promised full cooperation by her peers as well as getting razzed for playing Superwoman out in the field and ending up in a hospital bed. Dinner came but she didn’t have much of an appetite, so she drank the juice and left the food untouched.

She felt helpless lying in a hospital while the person who tried to kill her was free to plan their next kill. She prayed to God that next kill wouldn’t be Raul.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The sun is fading as darkness comes fast

I’m free to hunt and kill at last

My mission is slowly becoming clearer

As my endgame is drawing nearer

May 19th, 2002 11:15 p.m.

Raul Santos wandered the streets of Seattle. He’d just left a friend’s house but had no place to go. He thought about calling his sister—she lived about twenty minutes from where he stood—but decided against it. He had been drinking and the last thing he needed was a lecture. Luz was the only one in the family who usually left him alone, but it wouldn’t be his sister lecturing him, no, it would be her cop alter ego chewing him out. He didn’t need that.

He hadn’t had the best of luck lately. He’d lost his job at the video store because he was accused of stealing from the register. He hadn’t taken the money, but he knew who had. Tim was the other guy who worked on his shift. Tim had asked him to party a couple of times, but Raul declined—he’d been clean a while and wanted to keep it that way. Tim was offended and became bitter toward Raul, but still asked him for money one day. Not wanting to support Tim’s drug habit, Raul said no but offered to get him help. That didn’t go over well at all. Tim made a scene and stormed off. When Raul was called into his supervisor’s office and accused of stealing, he knew Tim had set him up.

Raul tried to explain the situation, but his boss had made up her mind. She simply told him she’d been screwed over too many times and that she took a giant risk hiring people his age. She threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave the premises.

Soon after, Raul’s roommate kicked him out because Raul had been short on rent. Raul gave him all the money he had; he even skipped meals for a week so he would have enough. But his roommate had planned to kick him out anyway so that his girlfriend could move in. Raul wasn’t at all surprised.

Since then, he’d hopped from place to place staying with friends here and there. During all his moving around, he managed to go speak with a recruiter at the Army Center. Sergeant Nickerson had been enthusiastic and assured Raul that he had a future with the US. Army.

Raul proved the sergeant right when he scored ninety-two on his ASVAB test. For three whole weeks, Raul wanted to share the good news with his family, but he knew that telling them would mean revealing he’d lost his job and home. They would think him irresponsible and reckless. He called his dad on Tuesday asking for help, but his father only argued with him and hung up.

Feeling dejected, Raul kicked an empty Coke can across the pavement and yawned. What he needed was a place to crash. It would be two more months before he would report to Sergeant Nickerson and be shipped off to boot camp. He couldn’t drift around; he had to get his head together, had to figure things out.

He checked his digital watch—eleven thirty. It was getting late and he’d landed himself an interview at Westlake Mall for the morning. He had washed up at his friend’s place and secretly used Jack’s deodorant and toothbrush. He didn’t want to smell like a bum at Sam Goody in the morning. But when it came time to leave, Jack hadn’t asked him to stay another night. Raul didn’t blame him. He had already allowed him three nights of free room and board.

Feeling like a burden, he’d left and made his way across town. Looking up he saw the Space Needle in the distance, its lights winking at him. He walked up Denny Way and found a deserted building on the end of the street. He climbed up to the first level of the rickety fire escape and looked down. The streets were empty of pedestrians and he knew he’d be left alone. It was a warm night, so he took off his coat and used it as a pillow when he lay down.

He looked at the sky, wondering what the army would be like. He knew his father would be proud. Pride was a byproduct of the armed forces, as was responsibility and honor. He rolled over and tried to find a comfortable position but on his side the aroma of the dumpsters below proved to be too strong. He rolled on his back, knowing he’d smell like a bum in the morning whether he liked it or not.

May 20th, 2002 2:20 a.m.

Nick grabbed the remote and turned the television off. His eyes were heavy and felt grainy when he blinked. He wasn’t used to watching TV.

He shuffled his way to the bathroom. He didn’t know how he was still awake; he must have been running on reserve energy. He looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink. It had been so long since he’d seen himself bathed and primped. He looked like his old self, except for the crow’s feet around his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. He’d ordered Chinese food, a favorite of his, and ate it in his room but his stomach ached—he was not used to so much food. During dinner he had watched the news, and he was relieved to see that his release hadn’t been announced.

He had caught the clip about Luz Santos’s attack two nights ago. The newswomen had interviewed Captain Mike Andrews, who hadn’t hesitated to defend his detective’s actions—he even went so far as to congratulate her for her bravery. Nick thought what she’d done was foolish, even if it had earned him his freedom. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but when he’d heard of the attack, he was worried for her safety and recovery. On his way to the hospital he tried to convince himself that he was going to see her only to thank her for what she’d done for him, but the truth was that he wanted to be sure she was okay. She’d been kind to him—the first person to be kind to him in a long while. The first person to treat him like a human. He wanted to thank her for that. Maybe he also wanted to be treated like a human again.

He thought the visit was going quite well until she shifted into work mode and began grilling him. He was pretty sure that any bond developed between them had expired, but when he bade her farewell, he thought he saw a small spark of kindness or softness in her eyes.

He walked from the bathroom to the main room and took in his surroundings—a typical hotel room: a queen-sized bed with a nightstand; a dresser and a desk with decorative lamps; a television and heater—all bolted down tight. Even though it was just a hotel, it certainly felt more like home than the streets had. He walked to the window, drew the curtains aside and looked out into the night. He stayed there for a while thinking about the others who still lived outside, sleeping on the hard concrete. He had made some acquaintances along the way and hoped they would be safe.

He listened to the cars go by and thought about taking a walk, though he knew he should go to bed. He wouldn’t sleep, not with so much to do and so little time in which to do it.

He went to the closet and grabbed his coat and hat, then he went back to the bathroom to take one last look at himself before he left. He did not like who he saw. Worst of all, he did not like what he was about to do. But he had to carry out his plan. He shut off the bathroom light and the light from the adjoining room threw shadows over his reflection, casting a sinister look upon him.

May 20th, 2002 8:17 a.m.

The one-legged bum sat on the street looking up at her.

“Aren’t you a cop?”

“Yes” she replied.

“Why didn’t you help me? I’m dead, and it’s your fault. You should’ve helped me.”

“I… I tried, you said—”

“You should’ve helped me!” he screamed and then morphed into a little boy, the little boy.

“Help me!” he pleaded.

Luz was horrified and confused at the transformation. All she could do was stand, stare, and try to speak. It wasn’t easy. But she did it. “I did help you, don’t you remember?” she asked him softly.

“You killed my daddy, you didn’t help. You killed him!” The boy came towards her, his little fists flying as if he would attack her.

Her eyes sprung open and she couldn’t catch her breath. A shrill alarm went off beside her bed and a nurse came rushing into the room.

“Everything okay miss?” she asked as she took Luz’s vitals. “Your blood pressure is elevated, and it looks like you’re having trouble breathing”.

Luz shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m okay now. Just woke up and forgot where I was for a moment. It must’ve been a panic attack. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

Not looking convinced, the nurse finished her examination and changed the bandage on Luz’s wound. The quick stabbing pain helped Luz focus and soon she felt her breaths even out to a normal level. Once the nurse left she gathered her thoughts and started thinking about her nightmare. That was the third time this week. She’d have to talk to someone soon if this continued.

Her phone rang, and she reached over and answered it.

“Have you found your brother yet?” Mike asked immediately.

“No, my father called and told me that he spoke to one of his friends and that he stayed with them two nights ago but hasn’t seen him since. I tried his other friends all day yesterday but to no avail. Why, you hear something?”

He paused before speaking. “I’m afraid so. It’s not good news, Luz.”

Her body went cold. “What? What happened, Mike?” she asked. Her panic returned; thicker. It blanketed her goose-bumped flesh and filled the room. Voice strained by tears that had yet to fall, she whimpered into the phone. “No-no! He’s not. No. He can’t be! What the fuck happened, Mike?”

“Luz calm down—”

“Where is he?” she screamed.

“We’re not even sure it’s him. The body found this morning was a young hispanic male, matching the description you put out Saturday night. That doesn’t mean a thing. There are thousands of young hispanic males in this city.”

Luz fought hard to keep her composure, but it took every ounce of her strength. “Mike, please tell me it’s not him.” Her hands shook so bad she could barely hold on to the phone.

“I wish I could, but I haven’t been down to see the body yet. I’m on my way now.”

“Come and get me,” she demanded.

There was a strained silence before Mike replied. “What? No, I can’t do that. You shouldn’t be out of bed. The doctor said—”

“I’ll find my own way if I have to,” she said, angrily throwing off her blanket.

“You don’t even know where the murder scene is,” he stated flatly.

“Dammit, Mike, if you don’t come and get me, you’ll have my resignation on your desk first thing tomorrow morning. Now, I don’t want to hear your voice, I want to see your face. I’m in room B-two thirty-seven, on the second floor. No arguments. I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up before he could argue. She found herself still violently shaking. Luz pushed the nurse button repeatedly until the she arrived.

“Miss, you only have to push the button once and—”

“Get me a doctor, now,” Luz ordered.

“If you need something I can”

“I’m not going to ask you again. If I don’t see a doctor in five minutes, I’ll pull this IV out and leave.”

The nurse gave her a sour look and disappeared into the hall. Luz got up and retrieved her clothes from the closet, each step causing her to flinch from the pain in her side. By the time she had her jeans fastened the doctor walked in.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice tinged with anger.

“What does it look like? I’m leaving,” she replied.

“We need to keep you here for at least twenty-four more hours. Ms. Santos. You’ve suffered a concussion and a serious wound to your abdomen. It would be best if you stayed to recover a little longer.”

She stopped tying her shoe and shot him an icy glare. She walked over to him with some difficulty, but her face remained impassive.

“I don’t have a choice, doctor. I have to leave now on police business. My boss is on the way and he will authorize my release, so the best thing for you to do is cooperate or we’ll have your ass for interfering with a police investigation.”

He looked at her boldly. “Ms. Santos, I realize you are working a big case, but when you’re here, you are under my care and I don’t think you’re well enough to leave. Those stitches need time to set in order to help you heal properly.” Arms crossed, he held her gaze until she looked away.

Luz sat on the bed and folded her arms. “Fine. We’ll wait for my captain to get here, and you can have words with him. I doubt you’ll convince him to keep me here.”

They waited twenty minutes before her boss arrived. Mike spoke with the doctor out in the hall and Luz could hear his tone go from business to casual to business again. When he was through, he came back into the room, looking grim.

“You sure know how to talk your way into trouble.” He gave her a grin.

“Cut the small talk, Mike. Can we go now?”

He nodded toward the door. “The good doctor is getting the release forms ready but he’s less than happy about it.”

“I could give a rat’s ass. Has anyone found ID on the body yet?”

“No. I called from the parking garage. Luz, this might not be Raul.”

“Don’t say another word. I’m trying not to think about it.” But her eyes welled up and she broke down. Her boss stood awkwardly for a moment, then tentatively put his arms around her. Her body tensed immediately, and he let her go. She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked at him.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, embarrassed for having cried in front of her superior.

“You can cry all over me if you want, I’ll just send you my dry-cleaning bill.”

She managed a small laugh and the tension eased out of her. Doctor Cleveland viewed the scene from the doorway and stepped inside holding a clipboard.

“Here are the release papers along with a form stating that if your injuries worsen we won’t be held responsible.”

Luz took the forms, scanned the fine print and signed on the dotted line. The doctor unhooked her IV and gave her a bottle of prescription Tylenol with codeine.

It took them forever to get down to the car because Luz repeatedly stopped to rest. After being laid up for a few days her muscles were weak, and she couldn’t keep up with Mike’s long strides.

Mike radioed for an update once they got in the car, but there was nothing new. They were still waiting for the ME to arrive. In this case that would be Ben, and if he got there before she did, he’d be able to identify the body. He and Raul had gotten along great when he’d been involved with Luz. She secretly hoped she wouldn’t have to view the body at all. You’re a cop, that’s what you do, she told herself, but if it was Raul—she couldn’t do it.

They drove onto Denny Way and pulled up next to a local news van. As soon as Luz stepped out of the car she was bombarded by the press. Mike covered her and walked her back behind the police tape, where the media wasn’t allowed.

“Goddamn vultures,” he mumbled but she saw him straighten his tie.

The last thing Luz needed was the media watching her every move and reaction. If indeed the body belonged to Raul, she didn’t want her tears splashed all over the eleven o’clock news. Even worse, she didn’t want her father and brother to find out about it from the TV.

She slowly walked toward the crime scene, half because she couldn’t limp any quicker due to her wound and half because she was in no hurry to see the body on the white sheet under the fire escape. She stopped to take a deep breath and felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around and came face to face with Ben.

“Ben,” she said and embraced him.

“I just heard what happened. I’m so sorry, Luz.”

She paled and looked up at him wide eyed. “So, Raul is dead?” she asked, backing away from him. Her hand flew up to her trembling lips. This can’t be happening, not Raul, please God!

“I thought it was confirmed?” he asked, confused. “Hold on.” He called one of the officers over and asked a few questions. Luz was too numb to listen. Too many emotions stirred inside her, and she felt faint.

Ben turned back to her. “Luz, I’m going over to ID the body. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He walked away, and Luz was left to think the worst.

“You look white as a ghost,” someone said, and she looked up to find Eddie, watching her with worry. “Are you okay?”

But she couldn’t talk. She could only cry. He steered her away from the prying eyes of the press and sat her in his cruiser. He didn’t speak to her but stayed close in case she needed him. A couple of minutes later Ben came back looking tense, Luz took one look at his face and sobbed uncontrollably. He bent over and took her hand.

“Litebrite, it’s not Raul. It’s someone named Morales.”

She stopped crying and stared up at him. “How would you know his name if there was no identification?

“Unless Raul tattooed someone else’s name on his chest—” he began

She shook her head. “No… no, Raul has one tattoo from his gang banger days, but that’s on his hand.” She shook off her grief and got up and hugged Ben tightly.

“Now do you want the bad news?” he asked, his voice muffled though her hair. She pulled away, puzzled.

“Bad news?”

“Our killer strikes again. Same knife used on this guy. At least it looks that way.”

“Shit.” She pushed her hand through her hair in frustration.

Ben gripped her shoulders, looking her square in the eyes. “But don’t worry about that now. Find your brother and let him stay with you for a while. I don’t care what you have to do but get him off the street.”

“That was my next step,” she said pulling herself together. She heard someone clear their throat and forgot that Eddie was leaning on the car the whole time.

“I get off in ten minutes if you need help. You don’t look too good,” he said staring her up and down. She could imagine what she looked like in her jeans and disheveled sweatshirt, but fashion was the last thing on her mind. She had to find Raul.

“Thanks, Eddie, but I need to start looking now. Ten minutes could make a difference,” she said solemnly, not allowing herself to recall how close she’d come to thinking she’d lost her brother for good.

He hopped in the driver’s seat. “Okay get in. I’ll tell Leroy to finish my shift, he won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Is the Pope catholic?” he teased and buckled in.

Luz rolled her eyes and got in the passenger seat. Ben crouched down to the window. “Call me later, so I know you’re all right,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

She beamed at him and winked. “You’ll hear from me either way.”

“Ha, ha. Just try and stay out of trouble. I don’t know how you weaseled your way out of the hospital but now that you’re out, try and stay safe.”

Eddie squared his shoulders. “She’ll be safe with me,” he said, eyeing Ben. Luz suppressed a laugh, but Ben reacted differently; he shook Eddie’s hand, looking dead serious.

“I know. Now get going.” He slapped the side of the car and walked away.

~

They started looking in the surrounding area and slowly worked their way out.

Luz checked in with her father and brother but neither had heard from Raul.

Eddie cleared his throat. “So are you and Ben back together?” he asked.

“No, and this is not the time to talk about this,” she snapped.

Eddie apologized and lapsed into silence.

They were driving past Pike Place Market when Eddie’s cell phone rang. Eddie picked it up.

“Lopez, what’ve you got?…….. uh-huh… great. Where?” he looked over at Luz and gave her a thumbs-up. She sat up and anxiously listened, hoping to hear where her brother was found. Eddie hung up the radio and looked at her, eyes bright.

“They picked him up in the mall. They’re holding him now.”

“Westlake Mall? We’ll be there in a second.” They drove to Pine Street and pulled over in front of the mall. Inside, they walked towards the Sam Goody store where Luz spotted Raul sulking along the wall. She ran over and embraced him, despite her pain, and held on tight.

“I love you,” she said, practically choking him to death.

He tried to squirm away, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Oxygen, Luz. I need to breathe,” he said calmly and untangled himself from her.

“What’s going on? I just finished up a job interview at Sam Goody, which went very well, by the way, and this officer comes up and asks me my name. As soon as I told him, he made me wait here. Now my would-be boss is looking out at me like I’m some kind of hoodlum and I probably won’t get the job. I deserve an explanation,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Luz smiled and recounted all the events of the last week, including the body they found that morning. Raul appeared dumbfounded by the news; four murders, an attack on his sister and a frantic search to find him. He admitted he was pretty spooked that both he and his sister could have been in grave danger.

“Wow, I’m so sorry, sis. I should have called you last night. I didn’t mean to put you through all that.”

“It’s fine now. You’re alive and you’ll come home with me tonight,” she said and linked her arm in his. Eddie led them back to the patrol car and they drove straight to the marina. They rode in silence. When they pulled into the parking lot, Luz saw her car.

“How did you get my car here?” she asked, looking at Eddie quizzically.

He shrugged. “I kinda stole your keys while you were in surgery and had Leroy give me a lift home. It was worth it, too, that car was fun to drive.” He winked.

She snickered. “Thanks. I was worried it was still parked downtown, stripped down to the bare metal frame. I owe you,” she said and got out of the car. Her brother walked over to survey the Eclipse and she shuffled around to the driver’s side of the cruiser.

“Eddie, you’ve been so helpful, thank you so much. I really do owe you. Maybe I’ll buy you lunch sometime.”

“Maybe you’ll let me cook for you sometime.”

“Wow he cooks?” she joked.

“I’m serious. Come over for dinner tomorrow night and I’ll whip up my famous enchiladas,” he said, beaming at her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Big date with the boss tomorrow. Mayor’s having a shindig.” Eddie looked so crestfallen. “But Wednesday is good.”

“Can’t. I work the four to midnight shift. How about Thursday?”

“We’ll see. I believe I can squeeze you in. Call me later in the week.”

“Will do, now go and rest. You’re not Wonder Woman.”

She spread her arms and managed to spin around once before her side ached. “Ow,” she cried.

“You don’t listen too well, do you, Santos? I said you’re not Wonder Woman. But you would look cute in her uniform.”

Luz threw back her head and laughed. “In your dreams, Lopez, in your dreams.”

CHAPTER NINE

The demons lurk within my mind

A thread of sanity I strive to find

The power that comes with ending a life

Grows with every slice of the knife

May 20th, 2002 11:47 p.m.

I watched as the old man on the corner did a sloppy rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “New York New York”. It infuriated me that someone who lived on the streets and ate from the garbage had the gall to sing a song by one of the classiest musical artists of all time. Sinatra’s sophistication could not be imitated by a sixty-year old has-been who danced in rags for booze money.

I continued to view the bum’s performance with forced indifference, which quickly bloomed into disgust. I grew very disturbed by the macabre performance and thought it would be better if the bum was in New York instead of infesting the streets of Seattle.

When the night grew long, the old man packed up his cardboard stage and collected his daily earnings from a ragged hat and started down Pine Street toward the water. I followed silently, trying to blend in with the pedestrians. The bum stopped at a park bench and sat down, humming to himself while trying to get comfortable. A car drove by and the driver flicked a cigarette out of the window. The homeless man jumped up and hurried into the street to pick it up, taking a long satisfying drag and returned to his seat on the bench. I gagged at that wretch, not wanting to imagine what kind of bacteria was left on the cigarette. I curiously watched the man as he finished it off and snubbed it out with his worn-out boot.

The man got up and began walking again and I continued to stalk the oblivious trash. We walked down under the Alaska Way Viaduct and crossed the street to the Ferry Docks. The old man passed the shops and restaurants closing up for the night and turned down a dock near the Ivar’s Seafood counters.

I hesitated, looking for anyone who might be watching and proceeded to follow the bum down the dark pier. For a moment I couldn’t see where the bum had gone but then I heard coughing a few feet ahead of me.

I crept along and unsheathed my knife. The old man sat on the end of the dock leaning against a post, whistling the tune to Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night”. I thought how apt that was as I stepped behind the bum. The old man must have heard something because he started to turn, but he never got a chance to see the face of his murderer because I’d grabbed his head with one arm and sliced his throat with the other. I dutifully stepped back to avoid the splatter of blood. The bum went down quickly with a dull thud as his body bounced off the wood of the dock.

I smiled and wiped the blood from the knife. One less parasite for the good people of Seattle to worry about, and one less “human” to loathe. The night was still young and my craving to take worthless lives wasn’t yet sated. I slinked off into the darkness of the night humming Sinatra’s “My Way”.

I was free to kill again and eager to do so.

May 21st, 2002 7:59 a.m.

Luz woke with a start, aware of another presence in her home. She peered through the darkness and made out a lump across the room on her couch and remembered that Raul had spent the night. She listened to him breathe for a while before she got up.

She showered, awkwardly trying to clean her wound as best as she could. Afterward she went to the kitchen and brewed coffee. She pulled out a slice of bread intent on making toast but the mold on the corner had her throwing the entire loaf in the garbage. Her food had gone bad during her stay in the hospital.

“Morning, sis,” Raul said, stumbling into the kitchen stretching his arms.

“I’m sorry Raul. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I would’ve woken up around this time anyway. What’s for breakfast?”

“I wish I could tell you. Everything went bad while I at the hospital. How about going out for breakfast?”

His face lit up. “Sure, let me wash up,” he said and headed toward the bathroom.

Luz picked out some black Capri pants and a red tank top from her closet. She grabbed a pair of matching sandals and slid them on then quickly brushed her hair, remembering that she had to get her hair done before going to the banquet with Mike. She phoned her hairdresser and made an appointment for that afternoon. By the time she made it back to the kitchen, Raul was dressed and ready to go.

They left the boat and cruised north for a while and got onto Highway 99, heading towards Hector’s house. They stopped and ate at Denny’s, discussing Raul’s plans for the army.

“That’s great, I’m glad you’ve decided what to do with your future,” Luz said between bites of waffles. She made sure to wash down Advil with some orange juice. Even though Advil wouldn’t cover all her pain, she couldn’t take her prescription narcotics and drive all day.

“Yeah, I still feel behind. I mean, Hector had a steady job by my age and you were already on the force at twenty-two and I’ll be twenty-two in about a month. I wish I had figured this all out a little sooner,” he said, taking a swig of orange juice.

“The past is the past. All you can do now is think about the future. Dad will be so proud of you when you tell him.” She beamed.

Raul stopped eating. “You mean, you didn’t tell him when you spoke to him yesterday?”

“No. I thought I’d leave you the honor,” she said. “After breakfast we’re going to see Hector and Martha. Dad said he’d meet us there.”

Raul frowned and stared at his eggs for a while.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. It’s just… he was really mad at me the other day. He accused me of taking drugs again, and, well, I don’t know.” he looked down at the table.

Luz sternly eyed her brother. “Raul, remember when I began working as a cop? Dad went through the roof, but that didn’t stop me. I knew what I wanted and nothing he said or did could have stopped me from reaching my dreams. Yeah, he’s our dad but that doesn’t mean he always knows best. Just tell him and if he doesn’t like it, tough, it’s your life.” She reached up and patted his shoulder.

He went quiet for a while, then slapped the table. “You’re right, Luz. I’ll just tell him, and he’ll deal with it.”

“That’s what I want to hear; optimism. Now finish your breakfast. I’m on a tight schedule.”

~

Their father was waiting for them at Hector’s house. Raul shared his news with the family and to his surprise, his father was very pleased. They asked Luz about the case and she told them about the murders, leaving out the confidential aspects of the ongoing investigation. Raul brought up her attack and the subject seemed to make everyone tense so Luz decided to switch the group’s focus.

“So, Martha, I hear you’re going to name the baby after me,” she said, winking at her sister-in-law.

Martha looked at Hector disapprovingly and he shrugged. “What?” he asked backing away from Martha, a grin on his face. “It was just a suggestion.” He turned to his sister. “See what kind of trouble you get me into?”

Luz laughed. “I’m only kidding, Martha, it was my idea. I wanted—” she was cut off by her cell phone. “Excuse me,” she said, leaving the room. Once she was sure she was out of earshot she answered.

“Luz, it’s Mike. Guess what?”

“You called to tell me that the mayor cancelled for tonight?”

“Yeah, don’t you wish? No. I called because our killer has grown pretty bold; we found two bodies this morning. We need to wrap this thing up. Our forensic guys are going nuts without any evidence to go on. The medical examiner says the wounds match those of the other victims but the only thing they have in common is that they’re homeless. He’s escalating, Santos.”

“Have you spoken with the mayor? Does he want to hold a press conference? Six bodies in less than a week… we’re talking a serial killer here, Mike.”

“I know. I’m up to my ears in calls from news stations because we have a leak somewhere, and if I find out who it is, they’ll never work in this city again.”

“Okay, I’m going to wrap it up here. I’ll see you soon.”

“If you need the time off I can get someone to cover. I know you had quite a scare yesterday with your brother and you just got out of the hospital.”

Luz reached down and touched the tender spot in her side. Replacing the bandages earlier had been painful but the Advil she took had kept the pain to a minimum. “I’ll be fine. Raul is safe and will be staying with my brother for a while. I’ll be in. Besides, who would cover for me? Harris?”

“That asshole. After that stunt he pulled the other day, he’ll be lucky if I let him work meter reader duty. You’re right. I don’t have anyone to cover for you. I was just being polite.” He chuckled.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she said.

“Hey, it’s all part of being the sensitive man I am.”

Luz snorted. “Yeah, you’re sensitive all right, and I’m just being polite.”

He immediately backpedaled. “Okay, you know shit when you smell it. Just get down here, okay?”

“Okay, bye.” She hung up and rejoined everyone in the living room. Hector had Raul in a headlock and the kids were screaming with excitement.

“Get him, Dad,” Erik, Hector’s youngest, shouted, pumping his fists in the air.

“Yeah, Dad, give him a wedgie,” screamed Karlita, hopping up and down on the couch. Cheech ran in circles around the kids, excited by the display, his little tail wagging rapidly.

Luz giggled, grabbing her jacket and purse. “You better watch out, Hector. When Raul gets back from the army, he’ll have you in a headlock.”

Hector took his fist and rubbed it on Raul’s head making him wince. “Yeah right, I’d like to see him try.”

“I have to go. Duty calls,” she said and hugged everybody goodbye.

“But you just got here,” her father argued. “¡Dios mio! I can’t believe they want you back. You’re recovering from being stabbed for God’s sake!”

Luz hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It was my call. I need to find the bad guy and put him away for good. Thanks again for watching Cheech. Don’t give him too many treats; he’ll be farting for days.” She rolled her eyes, knowing they would spoil her dog—they always did. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Her dad grunted, and she took that for a goodbye and moved on to Raul. She gave him a big hug and kiss as well. “You better stay out of trouble, hombre.”

“I will. Now go to work. Oh yeah, and say hi to Eddie for me,” Raul said, batting his lashes.

Instantly her father perked up. “Eddie? Who’s this Eddie?”

Luz sighed and elbowed Raul in the ribs. “No one you have to worry about, Pop.”

“Is he Mexican? When do I get to meet him?”

“Look, Dad, I wish I could stay and chat, but I’m needed downtown. We’ll talk later.” She opened the door and was outside before he could say any more. She hadn’t thought about Eddie all day. She ran to her car and drove off, thinking of how complicated her life was becoming.

~

Luz met Ben at the morgue. He’d just unloaded the second body and had a ton of paperwork to go through. He compared the autopsy photos at his desk as Luz entered.

“I don’t know, Luz, this killer is good. Not one piece of evidence. He surprises his victims so there are no defense wounds to be found. No bloody footprints or witnesses, and he’s getting confident.”

“But that’s how we usually catch them. They get arrogant, think they’re invincible, then they screw up and we got’ em.” She snapped her fingers.

“Yeah. I have a feeling this one isn’t going to mess up. Already six victims and not so much as a fingerprint. Actually, we think it may be eight victims. I checked the database for similar crimes and it looks like there were two other unsolved homeless murders in the last six months. The wounds are consistent with what we’re looking at here. I told you these wounds reminded me of something, I just had to do my homework.”

“What are you talking about? We got prints. Sonny’s working on them as we speak.”

“If he hasn’t traced them by now, I doubt he will.”

“This killer’s already escalated considerably. He’s bound to make a mistake sooner or later. I’d rather it to be sooner. Don’t be such a pessimist.”

“I work with dead people for a living. I can’t help it,” he said.

She noticed Ben’s pale skin, and that the lids of his eyes excessively drooped. “This is taking a toll on you, isn’t it?” she asked.

He fingered the stubble of his beard and managed a smile. “Yeah. Between the bodies turning up and the ex-girlfriends needing rescued, I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep.”

“Of course you’d blame me,” she joked, shoving her shoulder into his. “That’s okay, I’m used to it. So, can I see the bodies?”

He led her downstairs. The room was sterile and very cold. Two of the walls were lined with drawers and the room was empty except for three examining tables set in the middle of the room. The scent of death hung in the air despite all efforts to conceal it. Ben took out a card and counted his way to the fifth row, second drawer up. He pulled it open.

“Curtis Miller, sixty-two. Cause of death; open gash to the throat made by a sharp instrument. Again, I’m seeing the ripped skin and then the clean slice in each gash.” He unzipped the body bag and the smell of decaying flesh hit Luz instantly. She stepped back, covering her nose and mouth. Ben gave her some mentholated gel to rub under her nostrils. She hastily unscrewed the jar and applied the gel before the smell caused her to lose her Grand Slam breakfast.

She bent low to inspect the wound. The skin was beginning to wrinkle and fold over on itself. It looked exactly like the others.

“Both of the victims were male?” she asked, zipping the bag and pushing the drawer closed.

“Yes. All the victims are the same build and race. The Jamison woman doesn’t fit the pattern.”

“So there’s a possibility she wasn’t killed by the same person?”

“The same type of knife has been used for every killing. Whether it’s the same person using that knife is your job to figure out.”

“It just doesn’t make sense. Wait. All the victims weren’t the same race. They found that Latino kid yesterday.”

“But he was light enough to pass as Caucasian. Living in Seattle, we Latinos don’t get very dark,” Ben said, holding out his arm for inspection. “Vitamin D deficiency.”

Luz held her arm out for comparison. “Yeah? Then what’s my excuse?”

“Tanning bed and good genes?” he guessed, looking at her pointedly.

“Damn right,” she said and pulled her arm away. “So where do we stand on all of this?”

He flipped up a couple of sheets on the clipboard he held. “Basically, we have a serial killer who likes to use expensive knives to cut people. He must be intelligent because we’ve got nil for evidence. I’d keep checking on that knife. Call the manufacturer and figure out how many were produced. Sometimes they keep lists of collectors. It’s somewhere to start, anyway. The rest is up to you. Now, I have a ton of paperwork to fill out on these two new guys so if you’ll excuse me.” He pushed the table back into the wall and closed the latch securing it.

“Sure. No problem. Thanks for letting me see the bodies,” Luz said.

She caught his eye again. “I may need your help later. Can I call you?” Her mind was already working on possible scenarios and she wanted to bounce some ideas off him. It’s what they did when they dated, and she missed the exercise. It helped her think.

“I’ll be here. Maybe you can stop by later and bring me some food. I’ll be too busy to get something myself.”

Luz tried to find any hidden meaning in his words and failed—much to her relief. “I have that charity thing at Yates’s tonight but if you want I can stop by Chan’s and grab some chicken chow mien. But I don’t understand how you have an appetite, smelling these stiffs all day.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I can call and have something delivered, though it’s hard to get places to deliver to a morgue. Creeps people out, you know?” he looked up and smiled.

“Can’t imagine why,” she teased. “Okay, well I have a lot of work ahead of me, see you around.” She walked toward the door and was about to leave when he called to her.

“Don’t work too hard, Litebrite!”

“You know I will,” she yelled back and left. She welcomed the fresh air when she stepped outside. It was reaching midday and the sun streamed down through the skyscrapers. She got in her car and pulled open the sunroof, wishing she could spend the day outside; forget the horrible murders of the past week. But those images would stay with her for a while—fueling her need to find the lunatic before more helpless people lost their lives.

CHAPTER TEN

I once lived in an infestation

From the hell around me there was no vacation

All I ever feel are wants and needs

And the madness inside breeds and breeds

May 21st, 2:15 p.m.

Elaine Murphy kneeled in the grass by her husband’s grave and placed red carnations at the base of his tombstone. She usually only visited on Sunday afternoons, but she felt she owed him an apology that couldn’t wait five more days.

She prayed as she always did and placed a kiss on the cool marble before getting to her feet. The whole process took about thirty minutes. The praying went rather fast. It was the getting up that took the most time. Elaine was pushing ninety and if she tried to move faster than her years, she was likely to throw out a hip.

She folded her arms and forlornly read her husband’s name carved in the stone. It was getting harder to make out the words. It had been eleven years, and the headstone showed some wear. It read: EUGENE ALEXANDER MURPHY, A LIFE THAT TOUCHED SO MANY. WONDERFUL HUSBAND AND FATHER. LOVED BY ALL. 1911 – 1986.

To Elaine, Eugene was still alive; in spirit and in her heart. Even when she wasn’t visiting his grave, she felt his presence. She still lived in the house they bought after they were married. It was a wonderful two-story farm-house set on ten acres of land in Carnation, a dairy town that had grown into an immense rural community. Where there were once pastures and a small local grocer, there were now houses and small shopping centers. It wasn’t the same place she and her husband had chosen to live sixty years ago but she liked it all the same.

The cemetery was north of the center of town, only blocks from where she lived. On sunny days—like that one—she enjoyed walking outside. She’d chosen to visit the cemetery because her guilt was too heavy to bear.

Eugene was a man whom everyone had loved; his generous ways had earned him many friends throughout his life. When he had returned from the war at age thirty-two, he was worn and suffered from mild shell shock, or what the navy doctors called “gross stress reaction”. Either way, Elaine knew he’d returned a changed man, but she still loved him, and he loved her. By that time, they’d had a son and were ready to add to the family. Their home was bright and cheerful, always full of friends and family—the kind of home anyone would want to raise a family in.

But their home wasn’t always happy. Eugene would sometimes wallow in his war memories and grieve for those who hadn’t made it home. He would sit for hours in his study going through his memorabilia. There were medals, scraps of uniforms, rusted dog tags, old weapons and many letters and photos. There was one particular knife he spent a lot of time holding; it belonged to his best friend, Frank Addams. Frank had been an avid knife collector and had taken his favorite knife with him into war. He and Frank had been friends for years—they were like brothers—and Frank was their son’s godfather.

When they went off to war, only Eugene came home. As he lay dying on the battlefield, Frank asked Eugene to take the knife and give it to his godson, like his father had given it to him. Eugene reluctantly took the knife, not wanting to accept the loss of his best friend, but in the end, he didn’t have a choice. Frank hadn’t gotten to the medical base fast enough and passed away.

It took Eugene years to get over his friend’s death. In a way, he blamed himself for not protecting Frank better. Elaine told him many times that his friend had died protecting his country and because of that, many people lived free, but that didn’t comfort Eugene when he was awash in memories. He would never let her into that part of his life, much to her disappointment, but she’d made peace with that early on.

Their son, Robert, had held onto the knife until his death in the Vietnam War years later. It was then passed on to Robert’s son, Adam, who gave it back to his grandfather for his fiftieth birthday. Over the years, Eugene became obsessed with collecting knives of all shapes and sizes. At the time of his death, he owned over three hundred knives. Each knife was different, and many were rare. Some originated overseas and some in the US, but somehow Eugene found the means to locate and purchase each one. Soon, their savings dwindled but every time Elaine tried to talk with Eugene about it, he would shut her out and disappear into his study with a bottle of brandy.

The post-traumatic stress he suffered from the war led Eugene to take over Frank’s hobby of knife collecting, but it had also led him to drink excessively. Eugene became an alcoholic and their once-untroubled home became a place of harsh words and hurt feelings. Elaine never gave up on Eugene; he had his good days, and she remained married to him because he was the only man she ever loved, the only one she ever would love.

When he died, he left her the house and whatever remained in it. His life insurance hadn’t been much, but it paid the bills for years after his death. When that money ran out, Elaine had nowhere to turn. Her grandson sent money from San Francisco (where he’d moved his family eight years before), but it wasn’t enough to pay for her frequent hospital visits and her medication. A spring chicken she was not.

One day someone from the church visited and noticed her husband’s collection of knives. He went on and on about how much each knife was worth and asked if she would like to sell some of them. She declined and asked the man to leave. That was seven months ago. Since then she had sold half of her land and her old jewelry—but refused to sell the knives.

She no longer had a choice. She had suffered a stroke and needed a full-time nurse to take care of her at home. Her doctor suggested she move to a nursing home, but Elaine told him that if she were to die, it would be in her home. So she called up Cliff, a gentleman from church, and he helped her put together a website for her collection. She let him take care of the computer aspect of it; she wanted nothing to do with the technology of the last twenty years. She preferred her typewriter and rotary telephone to the computers everyone seemed to always be looking at.

Within weeks she pulled in over ten thousand dollars’ worth of sales from the knives. Cliff then asked her if she would like to sell the rest of the items. She hesitated, worried that if she sold them all she would sell everything that meant something to Eugene. So she kept one small knife for herself in honor of her husband. According to Cliff and the papers for the knife, it appeared to be worth a lot of money, but Elaine needed to keep it; for herself and for Eugene.

The month before, Cliff informed her that a wealthy bidder was looking for a knife like the one she had saved. At first, she waved Cliff off, but he said the bidder would pay anything. With the bidder’s insistent emails and phone calls, Elaine ordered Cliff to shut down the website. With all the other knives gone she wanted nothing more than to live her life in peace.

Peace was the last thing she got. She suffered another stroke and was in the hospital for four and a half weeks. From the cost of the hospital stay, medication, the ambulance and the additional cost of maintenance on her house, Elaine could not pay her bills.

She called Cliff and sadly declared that she would sell the knife, but Cliff said the bidder was long gone.

Elaine panicked, prepared to sell her home.

Six nights before, there was a knock on her door. Slowly, she’d hobbled to the door, with the aid of her new walker. She found a man standing on her doorstep, dressed in all black, his fingers folded over a manila envelope.

“I’m here for the knife,” he said in a soft voice, almost feminine.

Elaine was confused for a moment, then remembered that Cliff had called her earlier. He’d found person who wanted the knife.

She invited the man in, but he declined, claiming he was in a hurry. So she went to the back room and retrieved the knife in its wooden box. She returned to the front door and gave the box to the man. He then handed her an envelope. The bottom half of the envelope dropped and swung like a pendulum. Elaine knew there was a lot of money inside because of its weight.

She looked up to thank the man, but he was halfway down the walk heading back to his car. She watched him drive away before she went back inside and closed the door.

She shakily opened the envelope. And counted out six thousand dollars. It seemed like too much for just the one knife, and at first, she didn’t spend the money. She lived off donations from the church congregation and the money Adam sent her. But when her nurse announced that she could no longer work for so little pay, Elaine knew she would have to dip into the manila envelope and remove the last reminder she had of Eugene’s knife.

All those events had led her to the cemetery on a Tuesday afternoon. She had come to apologize and explain to her husband why she’d done what she did. She wiped the tears from her wrinkled cheek and took one last look at the grave before walking away. She looked up toward the heavens pleadingly, hoping with all her heart that Eugene would forgive her.

May 21st, 2002 6:30 p.m.

Mike Andrews whistled then stared open-mouthed at Luz as she walked toward the car. She flashed a cheesy, million-dollar smile his way and turned full circle, ignoring the pain in her side. It was a dull pain—thanks to the Advil she’d been popping like Skittles. Another day in the hospital would have helped, but she didn’t have time to lay up and mend. The case took priority. It always did. Mike opened her door for her.

“Here you go, madam, and may I say, you look ravishing.”

Luz laughed, though she was flattered by his compliment. “Why, thank you, good sir. I’m sure there’s a human resources violation in there somewhere but I’m feeling too good to care,” she replied and slid into the backseat of the town car. You better look good, you just spent two hours getting ready, she thought and pulled at the straps of her dress. She owned seven gowns and they ranged from cocktail to super elegant. But they were reserved for occasions like this: political functions, charity events, whatever the event of the month was. That night she wore a Sue Wong full-length rosebud embroidered gown with a matching embroidered shawl. The ensemble, plus shoes and jewelry, had come to over seven hundred dollars, but it was worth every penny for the reaction it elicited from those who had seen her in it at previous functions.

It not only complemented her figure, it lent an elegance she would not have in a department store dress. It also did wonders for her ego—men couldn’t help but stare when she strolled by. She was sure that night would be no exception. She was glad she had managed to get her hair colored and styled, as well as a manicure. For the first time in days she felt at ease, like she would enjoy herself, even though she was escorting her boss around town. At least he was good company.

“How are you feeling?” Mike asked, shutting the door and motioning the driver to take off.

“Great. I thought the dress would catch on the bandages,” she said pointing to her injury. “But I’ve been dressed for twenty minutes without incident. Cross your fingers and hope it stays that way.”

He looked her up and down once more and shook his head sadly. “If only I wasn’t your boss and was twenty years younger,” he said.

She laughed so loud the driver glared at her in the rearview mirror. “Now that was definitely sexual harassment,” she said. “Save it, Mike, you’re not my type.” She patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t get a big head, Santos, I said ‘if’. Besides, word around the office is you’re dating Officer Lopez down at the station.”

Luz moaned and rolled her eyes. “Great, that’s just great. The guy helps me out on one case and suddenly we’re bed buddies.”

“No, we were all thinking: the guy saves your life and suddenly you’re bed buddies. Did you forget that you’ve got his blood in your veins?”

She shuddered at Mike’s use of words, but he was correct. “No, but that’s how it feels with Eddie. Like we’re related. He’s like a big brother, you know?” She looked at Mike, hoping to find understanding in his eyes.

Mike held his hands up. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I know you’re smart enough to not date a cop. That’s why I knew I was off limits,” he said with a like chuckle.

They talked about the case as they rode across town. Antoinette Peterson was cleared as a suspect but filed a formal complaint against Luz’s actions towards her during her visit. Mike dismissed the complaint immediately. Working homicide, one had to check every angle, even if that meant pissing people off.

Sonny had yet to find a match for the prints found on the knife. What they did know was that the knife the killer used must have been a duplicate of the one found on Nicholas Mason. Luz had done some work that afternoon and found that only twenty versions of that particular knife had been made, back in 1929, by an American bladesmith in Georgia. She had to leave a message with the guy’s secretary requesting a list of buyers for each knife. The woman told her they no longer made knives—only sold them for a partnering company, and she wasn’t sure they held records dating so far back but she promised to deliver the message.

“Now all we can do is wait,” Luz told Mike.

“There’s nothing else?” he asked.

“Well there’s so much trash at the lab from each murder scene. That’s taking the longest; from cigarette butts to chewed gum, they have their hands full.”

Mike sighed. “So the waiting game continues,” he said and looked out the window as they pulled up to the mayor’s palace.

The grounds had been recently manicured and the fountain in the center of the driveway beamed with lights slowly fading from one color to another as water ran over a sculptured stone rosebush with budding roses. Luz found the sculpture beautiful and got out of the car for a closer look. The water ran over stone petals that seemed to change shape every time the colors changed. She wondered if the fountain belonged to the mayor before his election or if the good residents of Seattle had paid for it. She guessed the latter was likely, since Anthony Yates wasn’t as well off back in his days as the senior policy advisor to the former mayor.

Mike took her arm and led her to the entrance of the house. Classical music drifted through the doors as they walked from the foyer to the ballroom beyond. The room had a high ceiling with several crystal chandeliers lined down the center. Small lamps on the surrounding walls cast softer light, which gave the room a more intimate feel. Linen the color of pearls covered the tables which were and set with china dishes and crystal glassware. They formed six rows with ten tables to each that all arced around the podium and the stage on the far wall. Each chair was made of polished redwood and upholstered with the finest fabric.

Luz and Mike wandered around the room and Luz found that the music was performed live by a string quartet on a platform lavishly decorated with white lilies and a cream-colored silk backdrop. She thought the whole affair was a bit much for a charity auction but recalling the mayor’s love of attention and praise (never mind his need to flaunt his wealth), she knew that despite all the decorations, the evening was toned down a bit.

They hobnobbed with the deputy mayor and his wife, who had just returned from a cruise in the Caribbean, the governor’s wife and her son, a junior at Harvard Law, and several city council members—all promoting their committees. With everyone it was the same conversation; they all wanted to know about the serial killer stalking Seattle and how long it would to take to catch him. Mike politely tried to change the subject many times but failed. Luz could see how relieved he was when it was announced that dinner would be served, and the auction would begin.

Mike and Luz were saved from discussing the case during dinner; they sat with a group of art collectors who had flown in for the auction. Luz was grateful.

The items up for auction ranged from sailboats and paintings to oddly shaped statues and famous items of clothing. But what caught Luz’s attention was the last item on the block. It was brought out in a glass case and the bids were up past two-thousand dollars before she realized what it was. It was a duplicate of the knife they had in evidence. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked at her boss for confirmation, but Mike was engaged in conversation with the woman to his left. She took the heel of her shoe and brought it down gently on the toe of his size twelve wingtip Barringtons. He whipped around and looked at her, baffled.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said to the woman and turned back to Luz. “Is there a reason you’re playing footsies?” he asked.

“Look up there.” She nodded toward the stage and watched his expression morph from irritation into utter shock.

“What the fu—” he began.

“I know. It looks just like the one we have. There were only twenty of that version made. Where did that one come from?” she was cut off when the audience began clapping. The last bid was in and the knife had sold for four thousand dollars. The announcer’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Congratulations to Mr. Petry of Petry’s Rare Knives and Swords based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Not only is this rare knife in mint condition, it comes from the mayor’s personal collection.”

The crowd applauded as Anthony Yates rose from his front-row seat and enthusiastically waved. He then walked to the stage to shake Mr. Petry’s hand and posed for photographs taken by the select members of the press who were invited to attend.

The dinner plates were cleared from the tables and the music played once more. A few people strolled out to the dance floor. Mike grabbed Luz’s arm and dragged her to join him. She tried to protest but he was insistent, so she gave up and let him lead.

“You know what we have to do now, don’t you?” he asked, softly dipping his head towards hers so that he could whisper and not be heard.

“Waltz?” she replied.

“Luz, this is serious. If Yates has more of those knives lying around, he’s a potential suspect and I don’t want to have to bring that to his attention,” he said looking around, likely for any members of the press who might be listening. “Dammit. How do we find out?”

She lifted her head and stared at him. “Where did you get your badge, a Cracker Jack box? We just go up and ask him. As long as he doesn’t know about the knife we have, he’ll have no reason to suspect anything.”

Mike looked doubtful, but he continued to sweep her around the floor until the classical piece concluded, then he steered her toward a group of politicians who had congregated near the French doors that led to the terrace. Mike used his conversation expertise to propel them through the crowd toward the mayor. Yates spotted them and approached with his hand outstretched and ready to shake.

“Ah, there you are, Michael. I was hoping to see you tonight. How’s the case coming along?” he asked and the people around them fell silent.

Mike cleared his throat and leaned in toward the mayor. “I’d love to discuss it with you, but it is official police business,” he said with a wink.

Yates smiled and winked back. “Yes, of course,” he said a little too loudly. “I completely understand.” He turned to Luz and smiled graciously. “Mike, I don’t believe I’ve met your date.”

The volume of chatter returned to a normal level and Luz blushed.

The last time she had seen the mayor she’d worn her hair tied back and was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. It’s no wonder he doesn’t recognize you, she thought and held out her hand.

“Luz Santos,” she said. He kissed the top of her hand and bowed slightly. “Detective Santos,” she corrected.

His eyes grew wide with recognition and he dropped her hand. It was at that moment she understood what she must have looked like when Nicholas Mason revealed his identity.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Santos. I meet new people all the time in my line of work, so it becomes easy to lose track. But I won’t forget your face again. You look exquisite this evening,” he said giving her an appraising look.

Luz accepted his lie and let him kiss her hand once again, raising her eyebrows at Mike in the process. Mike rolled his eyes as if the whole experience was amusing rather than uncomfortable.

“Anthony, darling, I can’t leave you alone for one moment without you kissing the hand of an attractive young woman.” The tone was meant to be playful, but Luz detected ice in those words.

Luz turned and the first thing that came to her mind was that Princess Diana was, indeed, still among the living. The woman bore such a strong resemblance to the late princess that Luz had some difficulty convincing herself that there was not a ghost standing before her. The woman wore a long-sleeved gown of gold silk that trailed behind her when she walked up to take her husband’s arm. Luz wondered how the woman managed to look tasteful when the front of her dress dropped low and revealed enough cleavage to attract attention. Diamonds dripped from her ears and neck and she held herself gracefully, seeming to float rather than walk across the floor. She was stunning with her high cheekbones and slanting eyes. Her blond mane fell around her shoulders in luscious golden locks. Her husband didn’t seem too pleased to see her; he stood, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Mr. Andrews, your wife is trés chic. Where on earth did you find her?” she asked smiling tightly at Luz. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—eyes that sized Luz up with unwavering scrutiny.

“Luz Santos, I would like you to meet Annabel Yates, the mayor’s wife and his better half, I might add,” Mike said laughing uncomfortably. The mayor joined in, sounding equally uncomfortable. “Mrs. Yates, may I present Luz Santos, not my wife, but my top homicide detective on the force.”

The compliment had Luz flush as she held out her hand which Annabel looked at as if it were diseased and turned to her husband. “Darling, Richard and Jennifer Harris are here. I think it would be polite to say hello. He is the district attorney after all,” she said, looking at Mike and Luz.

Yates coldly stared at his wife. “Annabel, don’t be rude to our guests. I was in the middle of an important conversation with Captain Andrews and Detective Santos. The district attorney can wait,” he said, effectively dismissing her.

A look of shock crossed her face but only for a second, as she quickly replaced it with indifference and spoke to him in a chilled voice. “I apologize. By all means, don’t let me keep you.” And with that, she shot a nasty look at Luz and stalked off.

Any similarity Annabel had held to Princess Diana was washed away in Luz’s mind, and she wondered if Prince Charles would disagree. In any case the mayor’s wife had proven to be nothing short of a patronizing snob and Luz didn’t doubt their marriage was a complicated one. She smiled politely at the mayor and he shook his head.

“I’m terribly sorry for the interruption. Now, what were we talking about?” he asked.

Luz summoned her most charming tone. “I was wondering about that last item in the auction. They said it was from your own collection,” she said.

The mayor brightened a bit at the inquiry. “Oh yes, I have quite the collection. It began with my great grandfather; he had quite a passion for collecting medieval weaponry. As the hobby passed down through the generations, my family accumulated many artifacts and rare items from past wars and famous bladesmiths. My father was more interested in pistols of the past, but my fascination lies in knives. My collection is quite extensive, therefore allowing me to auction off a couple pieces a year. I was quite surprised at how much that knife sold for tonight. It’s a rare piece but not impossible to find for less,” he said, rubbing at his mustache. “At least the profit will go to charity,” he absently added.

“Would you mind showing us your collection?” Luz asked. “My grandfather collects as well.”

“Really?” Yates said. “What is his main focus?”

Luz thought quickly. “Weapons of the Mayan and Aztec tribes. He is, after all, Latino.”

The mayor appeared intrigued by that. A slight smile could be detected beneath his mustache. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “Those are very rare indeed, most of the items found at those sites are protected and kept in museums. How on earth has he managed to get his hands on them?”

Luz took a long sip of her drink while she thought of her reply. “There’s a lot of land yet to be excavated by archeologists in Mexico and the surrounding countries. Collectors like my grandfather spend a lot of time and money locating these sites. You’d be surprised what they’ve found.”

“Hmm… you’ll have to tell me more about this. I have only one knife in my entire collection from the Aztecs; it’s very crude—but priceless—and it would be nice to add similar makes. Maybe your grandfather would be willing to part with some of his findings?” he asked.

Luz tried her best to sound clever. “There’s a right price for everyone, Mr. Yates.”

“Of course. Please remind me to get his number from you,” he said, and Luz could practically see the gears turn in his mind. “But first, allow me to give you a tour.” He held out his arm and Luz smoothly slid hers into it.

As they walked out onto the terrace, Luz marveled at the view of the lake. The terrace stretched a good forty yards over the water. The boathouse near the edge of the lake housed two large sailboats. There were also two boats docked; one small yacht and a sleek speedboat. Mike was silent as he stared out at the water.

“You have beautiful boats, Mr. Mayor,” Luz commented, letting a little awe slip through to boost his ego. It was a balancing act trying to stroke his ego and not give herself away, but she was up to the task. They badly needed a lead on the case and if it meant pretending to like the pompous ass attached to the arm she was holding—so be it.

“Ah, yes. Knives aren’t the only thing I like to collect,” he replied.

Mike shot Luz a look behind his back and mimed a kiss while pointing to Yates’s butt. Luz shrugged; kiss-ass or not, she was getting results. They stepped off the terrace onto a path that ran behind the house to the bottom half of the building. Yates pulled down the cover of a security console and blocked it from their view while he dialed the pass code and pulled out a key. He unlocked the door and they walked through, finding themselves in a small foyer with another door at the end. Again, the mayor dialed in his password disabling the alarm.

They walked through the doorway and Luz was amazed. Along the walls were hundreds of glass cases with knives set in velvet stands. Luz walked the perimeter and noticed that the smaller knives were kept along the wall. The larger, more expensive knives were set in separate cases and placed in glass islands around the room. The knives had brief descriptions engraved on small bronze plates attached to the top of each case.

Yates moved through the room, speaking with pride. “As you see, I’m a very serious collector. I’m a member of the National Knife Collector’s Association and the Art Knife Collector’s Associates, as well as many others. One day my collection will be passed to my son. Assuming, of course, that he’ll follow in my footsteps. He graduates next year from Harvard Law. He’s one year ahead of the governor’s son,” Yates boasted.

Always trying to one-up the next guy, Luz thought. “These are indeed very impressive, Mr. Mayor. My grandfather would be honored to assist you in adding to your collection,” she said.

The mayor beamed and looked at her boss. “Mike, I like her already.”

Mike nodded and glanced at Luz. By the look on his face, he was just as impressed as the mayor.

Luz took a deep breath. “Mr. Yates, do you have any more knives like the one that was auctioned off tonight?”

“I have similar makes but that was the only version of that particular knife I’ve owned. I really didn’t want to part with it. I went through a lot to acquire it, but someone convinced me that parting with it would be a smart move on my part. As you saw by the bidding tonight, I have made quite an impression on the art community.”

Seattle was known for its artistic history and way of life. Touching base with local artists and businesses would prove useful come election time.

“I noticed you’ve taken a lot of precautions to protect your collection. Have you had any break-ins?” she asked placing her hand on his arm.

The mayor scoffed. “I have a top-notch security system installed here, Ms. Santos, not only with the double doors, but on every glass case in the room. I’ve had each case de-oxidized,” he said. “The oxygen has been suctioned out. Not only to preserve the items but also to ward against burglary attempts. Once oxygen enters the atmosphere inside the case, an alarm will sound. When unoccupied, this room has laser light beams that, when broken, will trip the alarm. Once the alarm is tripped, the room is sealed from the outside and the thief captured.”

Mike let out a whistle. “Wow, Tony, you’ve thought of everything.”

Yates nodded. “Yes, well, I value my possessions.”

Luz stepped back from the large case at the center of the room and glanced at the ceiling. She counted fifteen cameras mounted around the room. “So you’re saying it is next to impossible for these knives to be moved without your knowledge?”

The mayor chuckled. “My dear woman it is impossible.”

“And no one knows the codes except for you?”

“That is correct,” he said, looking a little put off. “Why are you so keen on knowing these things?”

“I’m a detective, Mr. Mayor. It’s in my nature to question security.” She saw that his suspicion hadn’t eased. “If my grandfather were to sell you a knife, even at the right price, no amount of money would comfort him if he were to learn that the item could be stolen.”

The mayor looked at her blankly, then slowly nodded. “I understand your concern. But I have had this system custom made for my use only.”

She feigned relief, sighing slowly. “That’s all the reassurance I need. Thank you. Shall we rejoin the party?” she asked, glancing toward the door.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed my little tour and please feel free to visit anytime. There’s much more of the property to admire.”

They walked back to the ballroom and the mayor excused himself and went in search of the district attorney. Luz and Mike mingled a while longer and decided they’d stayed long enough. When they got into the car, Mike couldn’t hide his amazement.

“You were incredible, Santos. Your grandfather would be proud.”

“What grandfather?” she asked.

He looked at her, confused, then his face lit up. “There is no grandfather. My god, Luz, you had me convinced.”

She wiped her hands and grinned. “All in a night’s work. For the record, my grandfather passed away thirty years ago, may he rest in peace. Now I’m ready for a good night’s sleep,” she said, then yawned.

“I’m with you on that one,” Mike said, then shook his head at what his words implied. “Not like that. You know what I meant,” he clarified, flustered.

“Yeah,” she said and rested her head back on the seat. They rode in silence and enjoyed the passing scenery. She was replaying the night’s events in her mind when her eyelids grew heavy and she dropped off to sleep.

The blood-drenched boy pointed, indicating something behind her. His face was pale, though with fear or blood loss, Luz wasn’t sure. “Run!” he screamed and ran from her.

“Stop! What’s your name?” she called after him, but he was running so fast. Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her. She spun around, drawing her weapon in the process.

Blood…. So much blood

“Dammit, Santos, wake up now!” her boss ordered as he shook her shoulder.

She snapped awake, her heart beating out of her chest.

“What’s wrong? One minute I’m making notes and the next you’re flailing your arms and making enough noise to scare the driver.”

The last thing she wanted was Mike questioning her ability to do her job, so she shrugged it off. “It must’ve been a nightmare. I get them once in a while if I’m not properly rested.”

“Well you scared the living daylights outta me. I didn’t know you were that tired. You must still be recovering.”

“Something like that,” she murmured.

“Yeah, well, I’ll wait until I see you go inside before I take off.”

“Thanks for a wonderful night, Mike. See you at work.”

“G’night Santos, get some rest. It seems you need a lot more of it.”

She crossed the parking lot quickly and as she neared her boat she heard Cheech’s excited barks. “Mike, I’m really sorry I worried you. A little sleep and I’ll be just—” she started but stopped short when she noticed the note pinned to her door. She took it down.

In small, typed print it read:

You were blessed with a watchful eye.

Keep it open

or you will die.