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I’m not sure how far back I’ll have to go to find out what connects these—now three—guys, but I know I’ll find it. I’m going to be the one to find this fucker and bring him to justice or put a bullet in his head to stop this mess.
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Frankie.” Here it comes. Jay pulling rank on me. I'm anything but a rookie, but the lead detective has the right to make the important decisions. “You want it to be the same guy, but we don’t have enough proof it’s a serial.”
I’m hungry, grumpy, and in desperate need of another cup of hot coffee. I’m also determined to prove to Jay that I’m right.
“Look,” he says. “You want another notch in your belt. I get it. I’ve been there. But we need the evidence.”
“You’re right,” I say reluctantly, “but I’ll get there.” Now I have even more motivation. I’m going to prove to Jay that I’m right and this creep is a fucking serial killer. He forgets I have my father’s DNA in my blood.
“Finally,” I growl when I spot the two blue vans that mark the arrival of the CSIs. “Where the hell have you guys been?” I ask when they approach the scene.
“Traffic.” Nate, my ex, answers with a casual shrug and a smirk that only pisses me off even more.
“Bullshit. This is the one time of day there is no traffic in this fucking city. It’s raining in case you haven’t noticed, and we need to get this shit collected and logged.”
“We don’t work for you, Frankie,” he growls in a familiar refrain that’s funnily enough, exactly how we ended up fucking and then in a relationship for a year longer than we should have been.
“No, you work for the people of Los Angeles, same as I do, and the rest of us managed to make it out here in a timely manner.”
He shrugs again as if this is no big deal. “I’m here now.”
Asshole. We had the same stupid arguments over the two years we were together, and he’s still the same irresponsible jerk I kicked to the curb six months ago.
“Good. Do your damn job,” I snap, annoyed that he’s late and so nonchalant about it. And to top it off, Nate’s panty-melting smile, which used to turn me on, now makes me want to throat-punch him.
“I’d love to. And maybe after this, we can grab breakfast at that diner you like. Talk?”
Did I hear a purr in that invitation?
I scoff. “There’s nothing to talk about, Nate.”
Undeterred, he presses on. “I think there is. You know I do.”
“I know you think there is, but there isn’t. You can take your wandering dick elsewhere.” I turn away, my stomach growling for more than just food.
“Forget him,” Jay says in a low voice. “He’s not worth it.”
“I know, but I’m cold, tired, and hungry. And this fucking serial murderer is pissing me off.”
“We don’t know it’s the same guy,” Jay reminds me.
He’s right, we don’t know for sure. “It is but the only way to prove it is to find evidence that points to one killer for all three victims.” My gaze scans the area that surrounds the St. Jude Fountain. The park is in the middle of downtown Los Angeles, but there are only two direct paths to the fountain. “The killer would need direct access if he’s carrying a body,” I say half to Jay but mostly to myself. “The north entrance leads to a bank, and he’s shown himself too smart for such a rookie mistake.” The guy is good at avoiding cameras, leaving evidence or any other ways we could potentially identify him.
“But the south entrance leads to a bunch of trendy shops,” Jay grumbles. “Probably fit right in with those avocado-toast-eating hipsters.”
“Damn, you are a grumpy old man.” I laugh, even in this shitshow. “But think about it, hipsters love technology. Cameras, sensors, and especially social media. We’ll have a field day with their digital breadcrumbs.”
Jay groans, but I clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while. Remember that prosciutto and egg puff pastry thing you loved? The shop is on this block.”
Jay looks at his watch. “Fine. What time do they open? For a chance to see this bastard in action, I’ll brave the hipsters. But it better be a damn good pastry.”
“And the prosciutto,” I remind him.
“Goes without saying, DeMarco.”
In this job, you gotta find joy wherever you can. Unfortunately, it’s usually hiding somewhere between dead bodies.
CHAPTER TWO
