KANSAS CITY

HOMICIDE

BY

John C. Dalglish

2024

Tuesday, September 10

Home of Charlotte Connelly

5803 Woodland Ave

Blue Hills Neighborhood

South Kansas City

3:30 p.m.

Charlotte Connelly paced the small living room in her south Kansas City home and stared at her cell phone. For the fourth―or was it fifth―time, her call had gone directly to voicemail.

You’ve reached Riley. Sorry, I missed your call. Leave a message.

“Riley, it’s me again. I’m getting worried. Call me back as soon as you get this.”

She hung up and stared out the front window at the maple trees lining her street, most of which were beginning to change color with the shortening of the days. Several children walking home from school passed by in front of her house, but without any sign of Riley behind them. She glanced at her watch and worry finally got the best of her. She dialed 911.

“Jackson County 911. What is your emergency?”

“Yes…This is…I’m calling to report my granddaughter missing.”

“Very well. What is your name?”

“Charlotte Connelly.”

“And your granddaughter’s name?”

“Riley Hamilton.”

“And how old is Miss Hamilton?”

“Twenty.”

“And you say she is missing?”

“Yes. She was due home by six this morning but never showed. I’ve been calling her all day but there’s no answer.”

“What is your address?”

“5803 Woodland Avenue.”

“Okay, Miss Connelly―”

“It’s Mrs.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Connelly, I’ll have an officer come by and speak with you.”

“Oh, thank you so much. I’m so worried.”

“I understand. You stay calm and I’ll have someone over there soon.”

“Thank you again.”

“Bye now.”

“Bye.” She hung up the phone. Just making the call set her nerves even more on edge. Knowing she was about to have a visitor and always conscious of her looks, she stepped over by the hall mirror to assess herself. Still with a full head of hair, albeit white, her curls hung almost to her shoulders and framed her face. Her blue eyes remained alert despite her seventy-two years and she prided herself on her trim figure.

Smoothing her red blouse, she decided she was presentable, and went into the living room. Settling herself onto the sofa where she could watch the front door, she folded her hands in her lap, mostly to keep them from trembling.

On the table next to her sat a photo of Riley and herself on the front steps of the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library. Riley was a history buff, and the library a favorite spot for the two of them to visit. She reached out and touched the young face in the photo. Where are you, Riley?

A dark blue sedan with KCPD emblazoned on the side stopped in front of the house. A female officer got out and came around to the front walk, stopping to wave back at a few of the school kids who gave her a thumbs up.

Charlotte stood and went to the door, opening it as the young Hispanic officer with short brown hair came up the walk. “Hello, I’m the one who called.”

The officer, wearing a standard light blue, button-down shirt and navy pants, smiled warmly. “Mrs. Connelly?”

“That’s right. Please come in.”

“Thank you. I’m Officer Pope.”

“Charlotte Connelly. Nice to meet you.” She led the officer into the living room and gestured at a brown overstuffed chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Sure.”

“How about something to drink?”

Pope shook her head. “No, I’m fine, but thank you.” She took out her notepad. “You said your daughter was missing.”

“Granddaughter.” She lowered herself back onto the sofa. “Her name is Riley Hamilton.”

“And how old is Miss Hamilton?”

“She just turned twenty last month.”

“And when did you last see her?”

“When she left for work last night.”

“What time was that?”

“Around seven.”

Pope made a few notes. “Why do you think she is missing?”

“It’s just so unusual for her not to be home when she says and not to answer her phone. She always lets me know if the buses are running late or she’s going to work overtime.”

“Where does she work?”

“It’s a new job. I’m not sure of the name but it’s a nursing home in the Indian Mound neighborhood.”

Pope scrunched her forehead. “Nursing home?”

“Yes. Riley worked the overnight shift.”

“I see.” Pope stood. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Sure.”

The officer went onto the front porch and took out her phone. Charlotte watched as the officer stared at her screen, then dialed a number. Whoever the officer reached, they spoke for nearly two minutes before the officer hung up.

As the officer came back into the house, she keyed her radio. “Patrol 24 to dispatch.”

“Go ahead, 24.”

“Requesting a 10-12 to my location.”

“Copy that. Confirming 10-12 to your location.”

“10-4. Patrol 24 out.”

Charlotte looked up nervously at the officer. “Is something wrong?”

Pope’s brown eyes locked with hers. “Mrs. Connelly, I’ve requested a detective come by to see you.”

She swallowed hard. “Okay…Is that normally how you handle a missing person?”

Pope smiled. “Let’s say it’s not completely out of the ordinary.”

The officer’s clearly forced smile only amped up Charlotte’s fear.

What had transpired on that phone call that made a detective necessary?

She swallowed hard and clasped her hands even tighter. Regardless, she couldn’t keep them from noticeably shaking.

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

4:05 p.m.

The 8-story concrete structure home to the Kansas City Missouri Police Department was built in 1938. A couple of updates had been done, including a refit of the 8th floor into the new city jail, and complete modernization of the first seven floors The changes had made the inside more comfortable as well as functional for visitors and officers alike. One of those was Detective Isaac Green.

“Isaac, come into my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pushed himself up out of his chair and headed across the 7th floor squad room that housed the Missing Persons/Homicide Unit. At 42, he’d reached what he considered the pinnacle of police work―homicide detective. In his opinion, the challenge was the greatest and the impact the most profound.

He entered Lieutenant Ray Sutton’s office. His boss had graduated from the academy the year before him, but they had been close ever since their early days on patrol.

A big man with a round face and broad shoulders, his light skin seemed in perpetual need of some time in the sun. Isaac liked to chide him. “Get outside, man! You’re scaring the children with that ghost look of yours.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t fry to a crisp like I do.”

While true his African-American heritage spared him the lobster look of his friend Ray, he still could get burned. “Whatever. I didn’t say to fall asleep on the beach.”

Sutton would grin at him and roll his eyes.

Isaac sat in one of the three chairs in front of the lieutenant’s desk “What’s up?”

Ray slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Dispatch got a 10-12. That’s the address.”

He picked it up. “Body?”

“No, missing. Female, age twenty.”

Most folks thought you had to wait 24 or 48 hours to report a missing adult, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. Oftentimes, it depended on the circumstances. “Officer say why?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

In many departments, missing persons and homicide are separate divisions, but Kansas City happened to be an exception. It wasn’t unusual for him to have a M/P investigation, nor was it rare for them to turn into a homicide case. “Okay.” He stood. “I’ll head over now.”

“Give me an update when you have the details.”

Yes, sir.”

Home of Charlotte Connelly

5803 Woodland Ave

Blue Hills Neighborhood

South Kansas City

5:10 p.m.

Isaac pulled up in front of the small home and parked behind the police cruiser already there. White clapboard siding accented with red-brick colored paint and a matching brick chimney rose above the single-story roof. The yard was neat but unadorned except for a single tree that appeared to have been planted recently.

He folded himself out of the blue, unmarked cruiser and stretched his arms toward the sky. Born in the Kansas City suburb of Raytown, he had always been bigger than his classmates in school. He had especially excelled at football, playing both offensive tackle and linebacker for the Raytown Bluejays. He’d even had a few offers to play in college, but he’d known what he wanted to do since his freshman high school year―go into law enforcement.

His brother had been killed in a drive-by shooting and the perp was never caught. It had become Isaac’s mission to save as many families as possible the experience his had gone through―especially the pain of not knowing who had killed their loved one.

A female officer came out of the home and approached him. “Afternoon, I’m Officer Pope.”

“Hey. I’m Detective Green.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Isaac stared toward the front of the house. “What have we got?”

Pope looked down at her notepad. “Homeowner is Charlotte Connelly. She’s reported her granddaughter missing. Riley Hamilton, age twenty, hasn’t been seen or heard from since last night around seven.”

“Grandmother say that is unusual?”

“Yes. She claims Miss Hamilton always called when she would be late and never ignored phone calls.”

Isaac met the officer’s gaze. “Something set off alarm bells for you?”

“Apparently, Miss Hamilton started a new job recently working overnights at a nursing home in Indian Mounds but Mrs. Connelly didn’t know the name of it.”

“Okay. And?”

“The only one I could find in that area was Parkview Healthcare on Hardesty Avenue.”

“I’m familiar with it.”

“Well, when I called to check on Miss Hamilton, they told me they had no record of her.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Just an oversight?”

Pope shook her head. “No. HR said no one by that name worked there or had been recently hired.”

“You think Mrs. Connelly could be mistaken?”

“Maybe, but she seemed pretty certain of the location.”

“So the job story may be a cover for something else going on.”

“That was my thought.”

Isaac took out his own notepad. “Give me the basics again.”

Pope fed it all back to him.

He recorded it all. “Okay, take me in and do the introductions.”

Pope led him down the narrow concrete walk to the front door and tapped on the screen. “Mrs. Connelly?”

“Come in.”

Pope opened the door and let them in. At the entrance to the small living room, she stopped. “Mrs. Connelly, this is Detective Green. He’s going to look into your daughter’s whereabouts.”

Isaac stepped forward and smiled warmly. “Hello.”

Connelly, who he pegged at roughly seventy, smiled weakly. “Hi.”

Pope gestured toward the door. “Mrs. Connelly, I’m going to head out, but Detective Green will take good care of you.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

“You’re most welcome. Try not to worry.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Goodbye.” She nodded at Green, then left.

Isaac tipped his head toward a nearby sofa. “May I?”

“Please.”

He lowered himself onto it and glanced around the room. “Lovely home.”

“Thank you. My husband and I shared it for fifty-six years until he passed three years ago, God rest his soul.”

“You have my sympathies.”

“Thank you, Detective. Are you married?”

“Divorced for quite a few years now. I’m afraid my job took its toll on things, but we remain friends.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Tell me about Riley. Is she your only grandchild?”

“Yes. Our son died in a motorcycle accident almost ten years ago. We took Riley in and raised her.”

“And she still lives with you?”

“Yes. After high school, she got a job and remained with me. We’re very close. That’s why her not checking in is so strange.”

Isaac glanced at his notes. “Miss Hamilton works at a nursing home, correct?”

“Yes. It’s up in Indian Mounds.”

“And you’re sure that’s where it was?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she work before that?”

“Highland Healthcare in Holmes Park.”

“Also overnights?”

“Yes. Riley said she liked the quiet.”

“I can certainly understand that. What does Miss Hamilton drive?”

“She doesn’t have a car. She takes the bus to work.”

“I see. Do you have a picture of your granddaughter?”

“Yes.” She stood and crossed the room to a mantel holding numerous framed photos. Reaching up, she removed one from its perch and returned with it. “This is her.”

Isaac accepted the photo. Looking back at him was a young female with shoulder-length blonde hair and expressive blue eyes. He recognized the site behind her. “That is one of my favorite fountains.”

“Riley’s too. She’s very proud of our distinction as the City of Fountains.”

Kansas City with its more than 200 fountains, ranked second in the world only to Rome. The photo had been taken in front of the Mill Creek Park Fountain, with its four heroic figures riding horses, which are said to represent four of the world's mighty rivers. “Has she visited them all? Lots of people make it a bucket list kind of thing.”

“Not yet. I think, at last count, she’d visited over a hundred.”

“How long ago was this taken?”

“Last summer.”

“So she looks pretty much the same?”

“Yes.”

“May I keep this for now?”

“Of course.”

He laid it on the cushion beside him. “Does your granddaughter have any birthmarks or tattoos? Something that would help her be identified?”

The meaning of the question was not lost on the woman. “She has a lightning bolt tattoo on her right ankle and her father’s initials inside a heart on her left forearm.”

He added the information to his notes. “Is Miss Hamilton involved with anyone romantically?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Any recent boyfriends? Maybe a bad break-up?”

“No.” Charlotte gave him a wry smile. “I keep hoping she’ll find that special someone.”

“I understand. May I have your granddaughter’s phone number?”

He wrote it down as Charlotte recited it from memory. “Thank you. I guess I have all I need. I’m going to ask you to stay here in case she comes home.”

“I hadn’t planned on going anywhere.”

“Good. Hopefully, Miss Hamilton will be back before long.”

“Are you still going to look for her?”

He smiled warmly in an effort to reassure her. “Absolutely. I’ve got a few things to check into, but in the meantime, you call me if you hear anything or think of something new.”

Mrs. Connelly, who appeared to be getting more frail by the moment, forced a weak smile. “I will. And thank you.”

He stood. “No problem. I’ll be in touch soon.”

She rose and followed him to the door. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

He left her on the front porch, peering down the sidewalk. As he got into his car, his heart went out to her. Most missing people aren’t missing and show up within just a few hours. He hoped that was the case for Charlotte’s granddaughter.

Highland Healthcare

904 E 68th St

Holmes Park Neighborhood

South Kansas City

6:25 p.m.

Highland Healthcare sat less than two miles from Charlotte Connelly’s front door. The trip took less than five minutes by car, and it seemed unlikely Miss Hamilton needed to take a bus there. He parked in front and approached the front entrance in the growing darkness.

Double glass doors opened into a brightly lit reception area with green terrazzo floors and pale yellow walls. Several burgundy-colored chairs were arranged around an electric fireplace, obviously designed to give a homey vibe to what was otherwise a sterile environment.

To his right, a sliding office window sat open with a forty-something brunette nurse behind it. “May I help you?”

He took out his badge and held it for her to examine. “Detective Green. Kansas City Missouri PD.” The proximity of Kansas City, Kansas required he specify in many situations when he introduced himself. “I’m here about one of your former employees.”

“Who?”

“Riley Hamilton.”

Her carefully plucked eyebrows knit together. “Riley?”

“Yes, apparently she worked here until recently.”

She grimaced. “I’ve been here for two years and I don’t remember a Riley…Hamilton, you said?”

“That’s right.” He had removed the Truman Library picture from its frame and now took it from his clipboard. “This is a photo of her last summer.”

The nurse accepted the picture and stared at it for a long moment, then shook her head. “I don’t recognize her.” She handed the photo back. “I’m sorry.”

An uneasy feeling crept up his spine. “Is there someone here from your HR department?”

“No, but our nursing director is still in her office.”

“Can I speak with her?”

“Hold on.” She picked up the phone and punched three numbers. “Courtney, it’s Ella. There’s a detective here who would like to speak with you.”

Something muffled came across the line.

Ella nodded. “Okay.” She hung up. “Mrs. Stokes will be right here.”

“Thanks.”

He went over by the electric fireplace and waited. Not more than two minutes passed before the nursing director appeared from a hallway to his left.

“I’m Courtney Stokes.” She extended a slender hand. “How can I help you?”

He shook with her, surprised by the strength of her grip. “Isaac Green. I’m a detective with the KCMO police department.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her black hair framed her round face in a sort of pixie cut and accentuated her large green eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“Not really. I’m in need of some information.”

“What sort?”

“Did you have an employee named Riley Hamilton working here recently?”

“No,” A slow shake of the head. “No one by that name.”

He produced the photo. “Does the young woman in this picture look familiar?”

Stokes leaned in to look but didn’t take the picture. “No. I can’t say I’ve ever seen her before.”

He began to suspect Miss Hamilton of not working at any nursing homes. But what was she doing that she needed to keep it from her grandmother? He put the photo away. “Thank you for your time.”

“Of course. No problem.”

“Have a good evening.”

“You as well, Detective.”

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

7:15 p.m.

Back at his desk, Isaac pulled out a phone record request form and began filling it out. Paperwork was the bane of his―and every other law enforcement officer’s―existence, but there was no avoiding it. He’d done enough of these warrants to complete them in his sleep. Nonetheless, the information his warrants brought was invaluable and made him grateful to be working cases in the digital age. Between GPS and cell phones, he had a huge advantage in solving cases compared to his predecessors. Whenever important clues came out of the electronic trails, he liked to look at Ray and ask Isn’t it great living in the future?

With the form completed, he submitted it and went back to his desk. Just because Riley Hamilton didn’t have a car now didn’t preclude her having one before. He punched her name into the DMV records search window and stared at the screen as it displayed No matching records found.

Next, he typed Riley’s name into the criminal database, and this time he struck paydirt.

Hamilton, Riley. Age 20.

1/16/24 – Count 1- solicitation

7/ 22/23 – Count 1- solicitation

Count 2 – disorderly conduct

Isaac let out a sigh. Well, that explains why the nursing homes don’t know who she is.

Charlotte Connelly crossed his mind. She obviously didn’t know what her granddaughter was up to and he had no doubt it would come as a shock. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her.

Both of Riley’s arrests had taken place in The West Bottoms, an area on the south side of the Missouri River, across from the downtown airport. The area was comprised of mainly industrial businesses and had been an area troubled by prostitution for many years.

He glanced at his watch. He had time to grab a bite to eat before visiting the area. The girls would be active and perhaps he could find someone who knew about Riley Hamilton―or more importantly―where she was.

The West Bottoms

Liberty Street

West Kansas City

9:45 p.m.

Isaac parked in the public lot under Interstate 70, about a block and a half east of Liberty Street. He walked slowly past the graffiti-covered concrete pillars supporting the raised highway and crossed Liberty Street. From there, the pavement turned to gravel and became an access road for maintenance of the Interstate. The glow from nearby industrial buildings security lamps provided just enough light for the activity going on there. He approached two girls leaning against a pillar.

The taller of the two wore a black skirt, a red halter, and puffed on a vape. Her brown hair hung to her shoulders and badly needed to be combed―he guessed her to be thirty, maybe thirty-five. The toll of their lifestyle always made the women look older. The vape gave off a fruity smell.

Her shorter friend had neon-green dyed hair and wore blue jean micro shorts and a blue half-shirt. Her smile lacked a front tooth. “Hey there. I’m Cindy. Looking for a good time?”

He showed his badge. “Not tonight.”

Cindy’s smile evaporated with a groan. “Oh, not you guys again.”

“Had a close encounter recently?”

“Last night.”

“Well, relax. I’m not here to cause you problems.”

The taller girl grunted. “Just your presence causes problems.”

He turned his focus on her. “What’s your name?”

“Candy.”

He smirked. “What’s your real name?”

“Gwen.”

“So Gwen, if you’re helpful, I’ll make myself scarce.”

“What do you want?”

“Either of you two familiar with a girl named Riley Hamilton?”

“Riles? What about her?”

“You seen her lately?”

“Why you asking?”

“Her grandmother reported her missing.”

The two women exchanged worried glances.

Gwen shrugged. “I saw her last night.”

“Where?”

She gestured across Liberty Street. “Hanging over by that concrete wall.”

Isaac turned to look. “The low one with the graffiti?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that the last time you saw her?”

“Yeah.”

“What time was it?”

“Eight-thirty, maybe.”

Wendy piped up. “She got in a truck.”

“What sort of truck?”

She shrugged. “A truck. I don’t know what kind.”

Isaac bit his tongue to hide his frustration and took out his notepad. “How about color?”

“Gray, maybe silver.”

“Would you say it was a new truck or an older model?”

“Older, I guess. Not much light down here as you can see.”

“Sure. So no idea on the plate, whether it was Missouri or Kansas, or something else?”

Wendy shook her head. “Nah, but you can ask Carly.”

“Carly?”

“She was standing nearby.”

“What is Carly’s last name.”

“Williams.”

“Where can I find Carly?”

Gwen took out a cell phone. “I’ll see.”

While it rang, the three stood in the darkness, only the noise of the traffic above breaking the silence. Gwen smiled when it was picked up. “Hey, girlfriend.”

A one-sided conversation took place with Isaac eavesdropping on Gwen’s half.

“Got a cop here asking about Riles.”

She nodded. “We told him the same thing, but he wants to talk with you.”

Gwen met Isaac’s gaze and shook her head. “He’s not bringing trouble. Just wants to find Riles. Says her grandma reported her missing. Where you at?”

A momentary pause. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Later.”

She hung up. “She’s over by The Ship on Union.”

Isaac’s brows knit together. “The Ship?”

“It’s a bar on Union, between Mulberry and Santa Fe.”

“I’ll find it. Thanks.” He tucked his notepad away. “You girls be careful.”

Wendy gave him a wry smile. “Always.”

He walked back to his car while checking his phone for The Ship. Unfortunately, it was too far to walk. He started the sedan and headed over there.

The Corner of Union Avenue and Mulberry Street

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

10:20 p.m.

Isaac found a group of four women standing in a circle near a wrought-iron fence. One of them broke from the group and came over to his car. Her red hair flowed behind her as she moved and too much blue eyeshadow gave her a slightly clown look. She didn’t conceal anything in a one-piece, black spandex suit. “You must be the cop?”

“Is it that obvious?”

She cocked her head to one side. “Really?”

He smiled. “Okay. Are you Carly?”

“Yeah.”

“You were standing with Riley Hamilton when she was picked up yesterday evening?”

“I was near her but talking to another John.”

“Did you get a look at the man?”

“Just quickly.”

He took out his notepad. “Can you describe him?”

“White, short hair…that’s about all I saw.”

“What about his truck?”

“Gray, I think, but it could have been dirty white.”

“Anything else stick out about the truck or the driver?”

She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Nah, like I said, I was busy.”

“Did Miss Hamilton mention someone who gave her a rough time lately, maybe a John that scared her?”

“Not to me. But fear is part of the gig out here. We’re on edge with everyone that stops.”

“I have no doubt.” He put his pad away. “I appreciate you talking with me.”

“Yeah, whatever. I hope Riles is okay.”

“You and me both.” He handed her a card. “If you see that truck or hear from Miss Hamilton, please call.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of yourself.” He rolled his window up, but she tapped on it. He let it roll down again. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if it matters, but you’re from KCMO PD right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, the truck had a Missouri plate. I remember that.”

“See any numbers?”

“No, sorry.”

“Not to worry. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

He rolled the window back up. He had more than when he arrived, but that wasn’t saying much. There had to be at least a hundred thousand gray, silver, or white trucks in the metro area alone, not counting the surrounding cities.

With nothing else to go on, he opted to go home and get some shuteye.

Wednesday, September 11

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

8:35 a.m.

Isaac tapped on the frame of the lieutenant’s office door. “Ray?”

Sutton glanced up from his paperwork. “Yeah?”

“Got a minute for an update?”

“Sure, sure. Come in.”

Isaac took a seat and pulled out his notepad. “I got more information on that missing girl. Her name is Riley Hamilton, age twenty, lives with her grandmother over in Blue Hills.”

“Grandmother the reporting party?”

“Yes. She said Miss Hamilton left for work the night before last and never came home. She called her several times but Miss Hamilton did not answer her cell phone nor return calls.”

Sutton leaned back in his chair. “Okay. Why the 10-12?”

“So, the responding officer called Miss Hamilton’s supposed place of work―”

“Supposed?”

“Yeah. A nursing home. When the officer spoke with someone there, they said they’d never heard of a Riley Hamilton and she didn’t work there.”

Sutton’s eyebrows spiked. “Really! Interesting.”

“Anyway, after being briefed by the officer, I interviewed Mrs. Connelly. Because the supposed job was new, she didn’t know the name of the place, but she did know where Miss Hamilton worked until recently.” He flipped a page on his notes. “Overnights at Highland Healthcare in Holmes Park.”

Sutton’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess, they never heard of her either.”

“Bingo. I went by there and spoke with the head of nursing, and she didn’t recognize the name or the picture.”

“Have you found out what our missing girl has been doing?”

“Two arrests for solicitation.”

Sutton let out a long sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Her arrests took place in the Bottoms, so I went down there and talked to a few of the working girls. They hadn’t seen Miss Hamilton since the night she disappeared but they did remember her getting into an older model pick-up.”

“Anything specific about the truck?”

“Afraid not. Even the color wasn’t consistent between the two witnesses.”

“What about the driver? Get a description?”

“White, short hair.”

Sutton laughed. “That rules you out.”

Isaac grinned. “You saying my hair is too long.”

The phone in the squad room rang multiple times without being picked up. The lieutenant groaned. “Is nobody working this morning?” He picked up the receiver. “Homicide, Lieutenant Sutton.”

Isaac stared at his notes, hoping for inspiration on what to do next, while his boss talked on the phone. Suddenly, Sutton snapped his fingers at him, then put the call on speaker. “Where did you say the person went missing?”

“The West Bottoms.”

He and Sutton exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“And the reporting party is with you now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sending down a detective. Ask the RP to stay there.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you.” Sutton disconnected the call. “Didn’t you say your girl went missing in the West Bottoms?”

Isaac stood. “I did.”

“Go see if there’s a connection.”

“On my way.” He tucked his notepad away and took the stairs to the lobby. He checked with the female officer at the front desk. “You had a missing person report?”

She pointed toward a man on a nearby bench. “That’s him.”

“Thanks.”

As Isaac approached, a thin man in his middle thirties looked up from his cell phone. His brown hair was cut short, almost military style, and he had a large tattoo on his neck that disappeared below his red t-shirt collar. His brown eyes appeared wary, scanning the area around him as if on guard, and his free hand rubbed his blue jeans nervously.

Isaac smiled. “I’m Detective Green.”

When the wiry man stood, Isaac found himself looking eye to eye with him. “Axel Reese.”

They shook and Isaac took note of several knuckle tattoos. Mr. Reese could have a gang past. “You wanted to report someone missing?”

“Yeah. My girlfriend.”

“Okay, follow me.”

Isaac led Reese to an interview room and pointed at a chair. “Would you like something to drink?”

Reese dropped heavily into it. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Okay.” Isaac took the seat on the opposite side of the table and placed his notepad in front of him. “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“Sadie Brennan.”

“And when did you last see her?”

“Three nights ago.”

Isaac looked up in surprise. “Why wait so long to report it?”

“Don’t you have to wait like, I don’t know, forty-eight hours or something?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Oh.”

Isaac realized he wasn’t dealing with the brightest bulb on the tree. “Where did you see her last?”

“In the Bottoms. I dropped her off to meet some friends and when I came back later to get her, she never showed.”

“Showed? You meet you had a prearranged meeting time?”

“Yeah.”

“And where in the Bottoms?”

“The parking lot across from the Golden Ox.”

“The restaurant?”

“Yeah.”

“What time did you drop her off?”

“Around nine.”

“PM?”

He nodded.

“And what time were you supposed to pick her up?”

“Around three.”

“Three a.m.”

“Yeah.”

The hours raised a red flag in Isaac’s mind. “Did you call her?”

“A bunch of times. Just keeps going to voicemail.”

An uncomfortable feeling clawed at the back of Isaac’s brain. “Did you speak with any of her friends?”

“Yeah. They ain’t seen her neither.”

“Did they see her that night?”

“Yeah.”

“So where did they last see her?”

“In the parking lot.”

“I’d like the names of her friends.”

“They’re her friends. I don’t know their names.”

“Do you have a picture of Miss Brennan?”

Reese pulled a tattered photo from his back pocket. “This is us.”

Isaac accepted the photo. It appeared to be taken in an alley with graffiti-covered walls. Reese was leaning against a car and a young woman stood next to him with her arm resting on his shoulder. She was nearly as tall as him and equally thin, but her hair was black and her eyes blue. Each had puffy coats on suggesting the picture had been taken in cold weather.

“How old is the photo?”

“I ain’t sure. It was before Christmas, that I remember.”

“Okay if I keep this?”

“Yeah sure, but I’d like it back when you find her. It’s the only one I got.”

“I understand.” Isaac stood. “Sit tight for a minute. I need to check something. Sure you don’t want something to drink?”

Reese shook his head.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Isaac left the room, closing the door behind him. He went down the hallway to a squad room and logged onto a computer. When he punched in the name Sadie Brennan, his suspicions were confirmed.

Brennan, Sadie. Age 27.

8/21/23 – Count 1- solicitation

Count 2 – Resisting arrest with violence

That was the most recent arrest, but her history went back several years. He printed off the report. Next, he entered Axel Reese’s name into the database. It too popped a colorful history.

Axel Reese. Age 34.

On probation.

Isaac scanned the conviction record.

Possession of a controlled substance.

Possession with intent to distribute

Possession of drug paraphernalia.

Sentence – 180 days – probation of 3 years

Beyond that, the record ran for several pages. He printed it as well and headed back to the interview room. Inside, he laid the printouts on the table facedown and retook his seat. “What did you say your relationship with Miss Brennan was?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“And do you live together?”

“Yeah.”

He had his notepad out again, staring down at it. “What’s the address?”

“The Arinki Apartments on East Twenty-ninth. Apartment 2C.”

“And what do you do for work?”

“Uh…I’m kinda between jobs.”

“I see.” Isaac didn’t look up. “And what does Miss Brennan do?”

“She…she only works part-time.”

“Where?”

“Dollar Tree.”

“Which one?”

“Uh…over on Linwood.”

“Really?” Isaac leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Because I’m familiar with that area and the only thing over there is a Dollar General.”

Reese shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, right. I get them two confused.”

Isaac turned the sheath of papers face up on the table and slid them toward Reese. The color drained from the man’s face. “What are those?”

“You know what they are. How about you start being straight with me before I bust you for pimping Sadie Brennan.”

Reese’s eyes flared. “I ain’t pimping her! She does it herself. I wanted her to stop.”

“Wanted or want?”

“You know what I mean.”

“So you’ve tried hard to get a good job so she didn’t have to turn tricks. Is that what you’re selling? Because I’m not buying.”

“Look, I don’t want no trouble. I just want help findin’ my girl.”

Isaac grunted. “Your girl!” He rocked forward in his chair. “I don’t give a crap about finding your girl, but I am worried about Miss Brennan, so I’m going to look into this. What’s her cell phone number?”

He recited it.

“And yours?”

Reese gave it too.

Isaac stood and tossed a business card on the table. “You hear from Miss Brennan or learn anything on the street, you call me, understand?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Get out of here before I change my mind about arresting you.”

Axel Reese made himself scarce while Isaac returned to his desk.

Sutton had been waiting for him and waved him into his office. “Find a connection?”

“Yeah. The missing woman is Sadie Brennan, age twenty-seven. She has an arrest history for prostitution.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Three days.”

“I don’t like it. Two women, days apart, go missing from the same area.” Worry painted his lieutenant’s face. “Maybe we should ask for the public’s help. Get the word out we’re looking for them. It could also serve as a warning to the other girls in the Bottoms.”

“Seems like a good idea to me. Should we mention the truck?”

“No, it’s not specific enough to be of value and we might want the information up our sleeve if we get a suspect.”

“Sounds good.” Too often, perps think of prostitutes as disposable and no one will care if they go missing. The reality was they were daughters, sisters, and mothers who have ended up doing something they once thought impossible. “If one person is responsible for both missing women, maybe it will make them back off knowing we’re serious about finding the women.”

Sutton nodded. “If you don’t turn up either of the girls before late this afternoon, I’ll alert the press. Plan to be available at four.”

“Copy that.”

Isaac returned to his desk where he found Riley Hamilton’s phone records waiting for him. He sat down and slit open the envelope. A quick rifling of the multiple pages told him Riley liked to talk. He checked the last three phone calls. Made around 8:00 p.m. the night she disappeared, two went to the same number, and the last one to a different number. None of them lasted more than a minute. Why do these numbers look familiar?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember where he’d seen them before. Of course!

Opening his notepad, he compared the phone record to the numbers Axel Reese had given him. The first two matched Sadie Brennan, and the last one belonged to Reese.

Was Reese pimping both girls? If so, he might have done something to them for who knows what reason. But why report just Brennan missing? The answer seemed obvious―reporting two prostitutes missing at the same time would cast a long shadow of suspicion―just as it was now.

Isaac dialed Reese’s number. It went to voicemail.

“Yo, it’s Axel. Leave a message.”

“Mr. Reese, this is Detective Green. Call me as soon as you get this.”

He hung up. With the rest of the phone records to go through, he went after a cup of coffee before settling in behind his desk.

Police Headquarters

Meeting Room

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

4:15 p.m.

Part of the renovation to modernize police headquarters had been a modern glass meeting room to the west side of the original building. Light poured in from full-length windows along the south side and warmed the interior.

Across the front of the room hung a large video screen. Facing the screen were ten rows of padded chairs allowing for more than a hundred people to be present at board meetings and, like that morning, press conferences.

When Lieutenant Sutton and Isaac entered, they went to a lectern set up to the right of the screen. Sutton laid some notes on the podium and adjusted the microphone. Isaac stood to the back and left of his boss looking out over the audience. Reporters from the Kansas City Star and all the local network affiliates were present. TV cameras lined the back wall, focused on the podium. One reporter stuck out to Isaac as new. He didn’t recall seeing the pretty African-American woman at any previous press conferences. Their gazes met briefly and she nodded almost imperceptibly. He did the same.

Sutton tapped the mic. “Hear me okay?”

A murmuring of “yeah, fine” came back at him.

“Thank you for coming out. You’re going to see two photos up on the screen…” He turned to the side and nodded toward the tech in the booth. “These two women have been reported as missing and we consider them to be at risk.”

The photos of Riley Hamilton and Sadie Brennan filled the screen.

“The young woman on the left is Riley Hamilton, age twenty, last seen in the West Bottoms area the night before last. The woman on the right is Sadie Brennan, age twenty-seven. She was last seen three nights ago, also in the West Bottoms neighborhood. We are asking anyone with information about their whereabouts to call 911 or contact our crime stoppers number. You do not have to give your name if you prefer not to.”

A hand shot up. The reporter from the Star, the daily newspaper, stood. He didn’t bother identifying himself since everyone knew him―Rob Dailey. He’d been covering the crime beat for years. “You said they both disappeared from the Bottoms. Did they know each other?”

“We have not been able to determine that for certain, but they may have.”

“Why were they in the Bottoms?”

“We don’t know that for certain either, but both women have an arrest history for solicitation.”

Another reporter stood, this one from the ABC affiliate. “You said they are considered to be at risk. Is there something besides their work that makes you think that? Blood evidence or a crime scene?”

Sutton shook his head. “There is no scene. We are uncomfortable with the odd coincidence of two gone around the same time from the same area. We just want to make sure both women are okay.”

The reporter Isaac hadn’t recognized stood and pushed her dark, shoulder-length hair off her forehead. “Who reported the women missing?”

Sutton turned to Isaac. “I’ll let Detective Green answer that. He took the initial reports.”

Sutton stepped back and Isaac moved in front of the microphone. “Yes, so the report on Miss Hamiton came from her grandmother. Miss Brennan was reported missing by her boyfriend.”

“Did something in particular that worried them both? After all, they are both adults.”

Isaac peered hard at the badge hanging from her neck. The Examiner. “Yes, Miss―?”

“Wolfe.”

“Miss Wolfe, in both cases, the absence was out of the normal routine for both women. We felt that it needed immediate attention despite the fact they could be missing voluntarily.”

“Because they are prostitutes.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he liked her directness. “That certainly played a part in our evaluation.”

A male reporter at the back of the audience stood. “Do you have any suspects?”

Isaac didn’t recognize him either. Sutton stepped forward. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Fraser Mason, The Kansan.”

“Well, Mr. Mason, we are looking for these women. No crime has been reported and we are hoping there hasn’t been one committed.” Sutton’s irritation leaked into his tone. “As a result, we do not have any suspects.”

Mason stared at Sutton, locking eyes with him for a long, silent, and tense moment. “My apology, let me rephrase. Do you have any leads on the women’s whereabouts?”

“We do not at this time. We’re hoping the public can help us with that.”

Mason sat down.

Isaac gathered up some flyers as his boss finished. “There will be a handout with pertinent details available as you leave. We’ll also send a digital press release with photos to all news outlets. Again, thank you for coming.”

Isaac made his way to the door and stood handing the flyers to the reporters as they filed out. Fraser Mason stopped to get his. “Your boss is a bit touchy.”

Isaac held his gaze. “He just likes to be sure things are clear.”

Mason nodded. “As do we all.”

Isaac resisted the urge to say more and stared after Mason as left.

“May I have one?”

Isaac turned to see Miss Wolfe standing close and smiling. He returned the smile. “By all means.”

She accepted it and nodded after Fraser. “Some people naturally think the worst.”

“Unfortunately so.” Her wide brown eyes and full lips captivated him. “I hope you’re not one of those.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt until they prove me wrong.” She extended a hand. “Emily Wolfe, newly transplanted from Little Rock, Arkansas.”

They lightly shook, and her soft skin warmed him inside. “Nice to meet you. You’re with the Examiner over in Independence?”

“That’s right.”

“Welcome to the area.”

“Thank you.” She glanced behind her. “I think I’m holding up the line. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He watched her walk off, intrigued. Though he handed out numerous more flyers and exchanged pleasantries with several other reporters, his mind remained on Miss Emily Wolfe. He needed to learn more about her.

Sutton came over after the last reporter left. “Hope we get something from this.”

“You and me both, because the phone records I went through earlier didn’t produce much―except for one interesting detail.”

“What was that?”

“Axel Reese, who reported Miss Brennan missing…”

“Yeah.”

“His number was the last one called by Riley Hamilton.”

Sutton’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?!”

“Yeah. I tried to reach him for another interview but he hasn’t returned my call yet.”

“Let me know if you hear from him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harold’s Drive-In

Admiral Boulevard

Downtown Kansas City

6:15 p.m.

Isaac pulled into the small parking lot at Harold’s Drive-In, an old-style hamburger joint that had been around since 1958 and was well-known to locals. The small 400-square-foot building had just a few seats and mainly served a to-go order menu.

Isaac had first visited when his patrol partner brought him by one morning for breakfast―and he had been coming back ever since. His hands-down favorite was the pork tenderloin sandwich, which is what he ordered when he got to the front of the line.

“That’s bad for your heart, you know.”

He turned to look at who was chiding him. Emily Wolfe smiled back at him. “Hello, Detective.”

“Miss Wolfe?” He returned her smile. “Are you stalking me?”

“Maybe.” Her lips curled mischievously. “And call me Emily.”

“Very well, Emily. Are you aware that stalking is a felony?”

“As it should be, but I just wanted to get some lunch. What’s good besides your tenderloin order?”

“The Italian cheesesteak is my next favorite.”

She stepped around him and ordered his suggestion. After she’d paid, they both stepped back from the counter to wait for their food.

Isaac shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything more than what was said at the press conference to give you.”

“Well, since it’s only been forty-five minutes or so, I can’t say I’m surprised. But that isn’t why I stopped here. A colleague mentioned I needed to try the food, and since I don’t know my way around town, I took her advice.”

“Considering Kansas City has a population of roughly three times that of Little Rock, it’ll take some time to get your bearings.”

Emily locked eyes with him. “You don’t know someone who could show me around, do you?”

Isaac hadn’t dated in years, but even he could recognize a flirt that blatant. “I might at that, but he tends to be pretty busy.”

Their orders came up on the counter and they each retrieved a styrofoam container. Emily handed him a business card. “If that person finds they have time available, have them call me.”

He accepted the card with a smile. “I will at that.”

She flashed a neat row of white teeth. “Great. I look forward to hearing from them.”

He watched her leave and realized his heart rate had jumped several notches.

“Excuse me.”

He was blocking the counter. “Sorry.” He went out to his own car. Sitting alone with his sandwich, he found his mind wandering to what a date with Emily Wolfe would be like. He decided it might be quite enjoyable.

His ringing cell phone jarred him from his thoughts. He put down his sandwich and answered. “Detective Green.”

“Isaac, it’s Ray. The story ran on the evening news and the hotline got a call just a few minutes later.”

“Sound promising?”

“The caller said he knew both women and wants to help.”

“Is he coming into the station?”

“No. He gave the hotline his number and said he would be available this afternoon. I’ll text you the number.”

“Copy that. Bye.”

He hung up and seconds later, his phone buzzed.

Kurt Dorsey – 555-2319

He dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Dorsey?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Green with the KCMO police department. You said you might have some information about our missing women.”

“Yeah, I know both Riley and Sadie.”

“Could I come by to speak with you now?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the address?”

“3807 Laurel Avenue. It’s over in Blue Summit.”

Isaac put it at a fifteen minute drive with traffic. “I should be there by seven.”

“Very well. I just want to help.”

“And we appreciate it. See you soon.”

Isaac hung up, took a final bite of his sandwich, then headed for Blue Summit.

He had only just left the parking lot when his phone rang again.

“Detective Green.”

“Isaac, where are you?” His lieutenant’s voice had gone up three octaves since the last call.

“Just leaving Harold’s. Why?”

“Patrol is responding to a body found in the Blue River.”

Isaac swallowed hard. “Where exactly?”

“South side of the river under 435.”

“On my way.”

Beneath the I-435 Overpass

South Bank of Blue River

Northeast Kansas City

7:15 p.m.

I-435 joins its parent road I-35 southwest of Kansas City in Lenexa, Kansas. From there, it does a 100-mile loop, crossing the Missouri River twice―once to the northwest of the city and again on the east side. Roughly 3 miles south of the east overpass, I-435 crosses the Blue River, a tributary of the Missouri.

Isaac had to use a construction access road to get to where three patrol cars and their flashing lights sat waiting for his arrival. He parked and got out, grabbing a set of latex gloves before walking over to the responding officers. The gravel area lay east of a wastewater plant and the odor made it clear they were downwind.

He nodded to the shift sergeant. “Hi. I’m Detective Green.”

“Sergeant McMann.”

“Lead the way.”

Isaac followed McMann under the overpass to the edge of the river.

McMann pointed to the base of a concrete bridge pillar just within the water’s edge. “We found her there, slumped over. We haven’t moved her yet.”

The lower half of her naked body had been dropped into the water, probably in an effort to wash away trace evidence. “Looks like she’s been here a few days.”

“Yeah.”

“Who found her?”

“Officer Sharp. She’d pulled down under the overpass to write a report and spotted her.”

“Coroner notified?”

“Not yet.”

Isaac took out his radio. “Green to dispatch.”

“Go ahead, Detective.”

“I need a 10-66. I’ll also need a forensic team to my location.”

“Copy that.”

“Green out.” He put his radio away and slipped on the latex gloves. “Okay, let’s take a closer look.”

He knelt near the naked victim and examined her for wounds with a flashlight. There were no obvious signs of trauma to her torso but there was a lot of blood from the victim’s neck. “Looks like her throat was slashed.” He looked back at McMann. “Find any ID?”

“Negative.”

Rigor had passed and decomposition was well underway, but he had little doubt who he lay in front of him―Sadie Brennan was no longer a missing person―she was now a murder victim.

He pushed himself slowly back to his feet. “Let’s cordon off the area and start a ground search for evidence. She may be naked now, but that wasn’t the case to start with. Maybe we can find her clothes or the knife.”

“I’ll get the officers started on it.”

“Thanks.” As McMann walked off, Isaac took out his cell phone and dialed.

“Lieutenant Sutton.”

“Ray, it’s Isaac.”

“What have you got?”

“Sadie Brennan, and she appears to have been here for a few days.”

“That’s the girl reported this morning.”

“One and the same.”

“Heard back from her boyfriend?”

“Not yet. I’m waiting on the coroner and forensics to get here, so I won’t know more for a little while.”

“Our hotline caller has dialed in again. Said he was expecting a detective.”

“Oh, crap. I was headed to meet him when you notified me about the body and forgot to let him know I had a change of plans.”

“You want me to go talk to him?”

“That would be great.”

“I’ll arrange it. Keep me in the loop with what you learn.”

“I will. By the way, maybe not mention we found Miss Brennan to the caller. See if he slips up.”

“Copy that. Bye.”

“Bye.” Isaac put away his phone just as the white panel van marked Jackson County Coroner crunched the gravel to announce its arrival.

He went over to see who had responded and was pleasantly surprised to see the boss himself. “As I live and breathe. The head honcho himself. Hey, Big-O.”

Big-O was the moniker for Doctor Orlando Little, the larger-than-life African-American head of the Jackson County coroner’s office for the past 25 of his 57 years. Broad shoulders, large hands, and a thick midsection led to the nickname and his booming voice reinforced it. He laughed. “Must be an important case if the Isaac Green is handling it.”

Isaac grinned as they shook hands. “Good to see you, Brother.”

“Always. How’s your ex?”

Big-O and his wife had socialized with Isaac and Mary before the divorce. “She’s still Mary.”

“That’s both a good and a bad thing!”

“Truth, that is!”

“Make sure you tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

The coroner’s gaze moved toward the body lying a few yards away and his mood turned somber. “What have we got?”

“Sadie Brennan. White female, twenty-seven years of age, death may be tied to prostitution.”

“You know her?”

“Took a missing person report on her this morning. She hadn’t been seen in three days.”

“I don’t see a forensic truck. They been and gone?”

“Nope. Not here yet.”

Orlando went around to the back of his van and pulled out a gurney. He also extracted a digital camera. “Let’s take a look.”

Isaac led him over to the body and stood back while his friend took multiple flash photos.

Satisfied with his digital record, the coroner bent over the body. “Appears to be some ligature marks on her neck.”

“I thought she’d been sliced.”

Orlando straightened up. “I don’t think so. Goes almost completely around the neck. Based on the state of the body, I’d guess she was killed around the time she was last seen. Three days ago, you said?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, it fits.” He headed back to his van. “I want to get some bags on her hands.”

A few moments later, he returned with two paper bags and some tape. He slid one bag over each hand and secured it at the wrist with tape. “I guess we wait for forensics before I can remove her.”

“Hopefully, they won’t be too long.”

Home of Kurt Dorsey

1902 Laurel Avenue

Blue Summit Unincorporated Area

East of Kansas City

8:12 p.m.

Ray Sutton slowed his car to a crawl as he drove down the gravel hill at the end of Laurel Avenue. Among some maple trees sat a blue and white single-wide mobile home. Beyond it, several chickens roosted inside a fenced area illuminated by a single pole light. Even though the city surrounded the area, because Blue Summit was unincorporated, it wasn’t odd to find some animals normally found on a farm.

A breeze rustled the maples as he parked on the dead-end road and got out into the evening chill. Next to the house sat an older model white pickup. Ray’s interest grew immediately. He walked up the driveway and peered into the bed of the truck, but nothing suspicious stuck out. A large black dog in a kennel behind the house started barking and throwing himself at the fence.

“Hush up, Brutus!” A bulky man who appeared to be in his forties or early fifties emerged from behind the chicken yard. He walked with a pronounced limp as he made his way toward the house, his brown hair peeking out from under a blue Kansas City Royals ballcap that clashed with his red Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt. He spotted Ray and his green eyes flared with surprise. “Oh, hi. You must be the detective.”

“Actually, I’m his stand-in. Detective Green was diverted on his way to meet you.”

“Oh, so that’s what happened.” He laid a bucket on the wood steps leading up to the door. “Need some eggs? Got plenty.”

“No, but thanks for the offer. You told the hotline you had information about the two women on the news.”

“That’s right.” He tipped his head toward a rickety picnic table under a tree. “Care to sit down?”

“Sure.” Not convinced it would hold his weight, Ray nevertheless joined Dorsey at the table. Once seated opposite the man, Ray took out his notepad. “Your full name?”

“Kurt Dorsey.”

“Do you live here alone?”

“No. My son lives with me. It’s just him and me since the old lady bailed out. He’s not home right now.”

The term old lady was Ray’s first clue as to why she might have left. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Jared.”

“Did he also know the women?”

“Nah.”

“Okay. So tell me how you know Riley Hamilton.”

“I picked her up a couple times.”

The blunt statement seemed to be the last thing someone would admit about a missing woman. Ray’s surprise must have shown on his face.

Dorsey shook his head. “It’s not what you think. I know what them girls do for a living, but I just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“I was trying to get them to come off the street.”

Dorsey had spoken with prostitutes who admitted to having clients who were just lonely and wanted someone to talk to, but it wasn’t very common. “Is that how you knew Sadie Brennan too?”

“Yeah. Same thing. I know it looks bad, but I just worried about them girls.”

“When did you last see them?”

“It’s been a couple weeks at least, maybe a month or more.”

“Did something in particular prompt you to call the hotline?”

“Dang right. The creep hanging around them girls all the time. He’s sketchy, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Sadie’s boyfriend, at least, that’s what she said. I didn’t buy it. I think he was her pimp.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“He often took money from her.”

“Often?” Ray’s eyes narrowed as he met the man’s gaze. “Were you a regular visitor to the Bottoms?”

“Not every day or anything like that.” Dorsey averted his eyes. “But when I was there, he was too. I think he was pimping Riley as well, but I can’t prove it.”

Brennan’s boyfriend had risen to the top of the suspect list with the discovery of her body, and Dorsey’s information just further solidified the idea.

Dorsey leaned on the table, moving closer, and his tone turned conspiratorial. “You got anyone you’re checking on for the disappearance?”

And there it was. One of the basic rules in working homicides is to watch for people who interject themselves into the investigation. Was the call to the hotline just a ruse trying to get information? Considering the truck sitting just a few feet away, the idea made more sense than his claim of just wanting to talk to the women.

“We’re still looking into the missing women and following any leads we get.”

“So no idea what may have happened or who might have done it?”

“Not yet.” Though I’m getting an idea right now. “Since you have acknowledged knowing the women, would you mind telling me where you were three nights ago?”

“Here with my son. We watched the Royals game.” He tapped his hat. “I’m a big fan.”

“And yesterday evening?”

“Same thing. A few beers, cheer the Royals, then hit the sack.”

“I’ll need to confirm that with your son. What is his cell number?”

Dorsey gave it without hesitation. “He’s at work right now.”

“Where is that?”

“He’s a blackjack dealer at Bally’s.”

Bally’s is a riverboat casino in downtown Kansas City. Sutton makes it a point to avoid the place. “Does he always work day shift?”

“Yeah.”

“And where do you work, sir?”

“I don’t. Tore up my leg up in the military.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I got medically discharged and haven’t worked since.”

“I see. If you think of anything else, let me know.” Ray held out a business card

Dorsey accepted it as if he’d been given a golden ticket. “I sure will.”

Ray stood, relieved to have survived the rickety picnic table. “Thank you for your call, Mr. Dorsey. We always appreciate the public stepping forward.”

“Not at all. I just want to help.”

Ray hesitated. “Oh, by the way. Are there any other girls you picked up and talked to?”

“Yeah. But only a couple times.”

“Who were they?”

“Tanisha and Madison.”

“You know their last names?”

“No. I only learned Riley and Sadie’s last names when I watched the news report.”

“I see. Okay, thanks again.”

Ray went back to his car and dialed Jared Dorsey’s number.

“You’ve reached Jared. Leave a message.”

“Mr. Dorsey, my name is Lieutenant Sutton. Could you call me as soon as possible? Thanks.” He left his number and hung up.

Kurt Dorsey had sat at the picnic table and made a call of his own. When he hung up, he stood and took the eggs inside.

Sutton’s phone rang. “Lieutenant Sutton.”

“Yeah, this is Jared Dorsey.”

No kidding. Just get off the phone with your dad? “Hi, Jared. Thanks for calling me back.”

“What’s this about?”

“Your dad answered some questions for me and mentioned he watched TV with you on the days in question.”

“That’s right. We watched the Royals ballgames and then turned in.”

“On which days was that?”

The younger Dorsey hesitated. “You meant the last few nights, didn’t you?”

“Actually, three nights ago and yesterday evening.”

“Right. We’ve watched the games for several days in a row now. The Royals are on a homestand.”

“Okay. Thanks for your time.”

“Sure, sure. You got it. Bye.”

Sutton hung up, now more certain than ever Kurt Dorsey was hiding something―maybe murder.

I-435 Overpass

South Bank of Blue River

Northeast Kansas City

3:45 p.m.

While waiting for forensics to show, Isaac helped in the search of the area. Unfortunately, gravel doesn’t leave usable tracks―tire or foot―and no clothing was found. Several beer cans and some cigarette butts were collected from near the body, but he didn’t hold out much hope for them providing a clue―they seemed too old.

Forensics had finally arrived and taken over the scene. After complete photography of the victim, they allowed Big-O to transport the body. Isaac had helped load her into the body bag and onto the gurney. “Any idea when you’ll do the autopsy?”

Big-O slammed the van doors shut, then looked at his watch. “Probably won’t be until tomorrow morning at the soonest.”

“Okay. Let me know for sure and I’ll try to be there.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Moments later, his cell phone rang. “Detective Green.”

“This is Axel Reese. You left me a message to call.”

“I need to speak with you.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. I have news about Miss Brennan.”

“Oh. I’m at home right now.”

“The apartments on East Twenty-ninth?”

“Yeah.”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” Isaac hung up and went straight to his car. He did have news about Sadie Brennan, but he also had lots of questions.

Apartment of

Sadie Brennan & Axel Reese

2900 East 29th Street

Santa Fe Neighborhood

Southeast Kansas City

5:17 p.m.

The three-story Arinki Apartment building, with its drab beige brick and black metal bars on the first-floor windows, stood in stark contrast to the stately Victorian homes surrounding it on all sides. Trees shaded the sidewalks on East 29th, and combined with the clouds that had developed, gave the neighborhood an ominous feel.

Isaac parked on the street, got out, and walked around back to access the building entrance. At the top of a dirty concrete stairway to the second story were four doorways―apartment 2C sat to his right. He knocked.

A shuffling came from the other side of the door followed by a deadbolt being unfastened. Resse opened the door and leaned against the frame. “Hey, Detective.”

“Mind if I come in?”

Reese looked back over his shoulder, then shrugged. “Sure.” He let the door swing open and went over to a couch. “I didn’t have a chance to pick up. It’s not usually this messy.”

Reese wasn’t kidding when he said he hadn’t picked up the place, but Isaac would’ve bet a week’s pay it looked like this all the time. “No problem. Can I sit?”

“Suit yourself.”

Isaac lowered himself into a folding chair pushed up against the wall. Three other folding chairs were spread around the small living room. Reese sat on the only couch, and other than a side table with a lamp and a TV hung on the wall, the place was bare of pictures or décor. The sparsity did not continue on the floor, where wrappers, beer cans, and pizza boxes covered most of the free space.

Isaac pretended not to notice. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Sure. You said you had news about Sadie.”

“I do, but I have a few questions first, if that’s alright?”

Reese shrugged. “It’s your show.”

“As you may have heard, another girl went missing in the Bottoms―her name is Riley Hamilton.”

“I saw something about it on the news.”

“Right. So I’ve been looking into her disappearance as well,” He spoke slowly and deliberately, measuring Reese’s body language carefully. “And as part of that investigation, I got Miss Hamilton’s phone records.”

Reese’s jaw muscles tightened but his gaze remained flat.

“The last three calls Miss Hamilton made were of particular interest…”

Isaac took out his notepad and made of show of looking at it. “Two of them were to your girlfriend’s number, and the last one to your number.” He let silence fill the room while he put his pad away. “Imagine my surprise when I learned you knew another missing girl from the Bottoms―and another prostitute at that.”

Reese crossed his arms over his chest and shifted uncomfortably “I only knew Riles through Sadie.”

“Yet Miss Hamilton had your phone number.”

Reese regarded him with a blank stare, but his body had gone rigid. “Sadie must have given it to her.”

“Why?”

“How should I know?” Irritation seeped into his tone. “You’d have to ask Sadie.”

Isaac locked eyes with him. “I would, but Miss Brennan is dead.”

Reese’s eyes flared. “Dead?”

For a moment, Isaac thought he saw real surprise. “That’s right. I just came from where we found her body.”

“That sucks.”

An understatement, to say the least. “So, as you can see, I need you to tell me why Riley Hamilton called your number the night she went missing?”

Reese sighed. “Riles was looking for Sadie. Said she had called her number several times and got no answer. I told her I hadn’t spoken with Sadie either.”

“So, here’s the thing. If Miss Hamilton is also found dead, you’re going to be in a very bad situation.”

“I didn’t kill Sadie! And I didn’t even see Riles the night she went missing.”

“Where were you that night?”

“Here. I watched some TV and chilled.”

“Anybody verify that?”

“Sadie could have, but…”

“But is right.”

Reese fell mute.

“Is there someone from Miss Brennan’s family we should notify?”

“Nah. She hasn’t been in touch with her mom or dad in years. I wouldn’t even know how to reach them.”

“Okay. I don’t want you doing a disappearing act on me, you understand? If you go dark, it will only make me more certain you’re behind all this.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Still, make sure I can find you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Isaac got up and went to the door. “If you hear from Riley Hamilton, you call me first. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Good.” He left the apartment and went back down to his car. All he had at the moment was circumstantial evidence. He hoped the autopsy would give him something more solid.

Thursday, September 12

Jackson County Medical Examiner

950 East 21st Street

East of Downtown Kansas City

9:02 a.m.

The Medical Examiner’s office sits on a dead-end street adjacent to U.S. Highway 71, with only a stone wall it from the constant flow of traffic. The single-story concrete building was beige with brown fabric awnings and a pair of overhead garage doors on one end. Considering the macabre work carried on in the interior, the inconspicuous outside was purposely unadorned to attract as little attention as possible.

The biggest and loudest part of the entire complex was Big-O himself. Boisterous and unapologetically positive, despite his work, he spent most of his time with a wide smile on his face―except when he was at the autopsy table.

That’s where Isaac found him when he peered through the window of Autopsy Suite 3 and tapped on the glass.

The M.E. looked over and waved him in.

Isaac braced his senses for the inevitable onslaught of odors and pushed through the door. “Hey.”

“Morning, Isaac. You’re running a little late. Would that be on purpose?”

Isaac smiled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that suggestion.”

“Hmmm. That’s what I suspected.”

Isaac came up next to the naked body of Sadie Brennan, which already had the Y-incision down the middle of her torso and some of the organs removed. “What did I miss?”

“COD was strangulation.”

“Not a knife?”

“Definitely not.”

“How can you tell?”

Big-O pointed at Sadie’s neck. “See that narrow cut?”

Minus the blood from the night before, Isaac saw Brennan’s obvious ring around the girl’s throat. “Yeah.”

“It’s clean and goes completely around the neck.”

“What then?”

“The combination of extreme force, narrowness of the wound, and blood loss suggests one probability. A wire garrotte.”

“What suggests that?”

“When done properly, the attacker will approach the victim from behind and drop the garrote over their head. Then they spin 180 degrees, putting a twist on the garrotte, and bend themselves forward. That lifts the victim off of their feet and against the killer’s back. The weight of the victim serves to cause the strangulation and leave the deep cut into the neck resulting in major blood loss.”

“That sounds almost like a military maneuver.”

“It could be.”

“Interesting and horrifying at the same time, but it does give me a weapon to look for.”

“My guess is the killer used a wire between two handles.”

“Gruesome. What about DNA?”

“I swabbed for it, but the combination of the river water, time elapsed, and her profession…” He shrugged.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”

“You know how it is.”

“Sure. What about the fingernail trimmings?”

“They’ve been given to the lab.”

“Okay. Time of death?”

“Consistent with what we know.” Big-O lifted the heart free and placed it in a hanging scale. “Roughly seventy-two hours prior to discovery.”

Isaac pretended not to see. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll look forward to your report.”

“Okay. Sorry I couldn’t give you more.”

Isaac smiled. “Maybe next time.”

“You think there will be a next time?”

“In your line of business, there is always a next time.”

The big M.E. nodded. “Too true, my friend. Too true.”

Isaac left the autopsy suite thankful to have his breakfast still inside him. On the way back to his car, his cell phone rang. “Detective Green.”

“Isaac, it’s Ray. What’s your twenty?”

“Medical examiner’s office.”

“You headed in here?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I want to tell you about my visit with our hotline caller.”

“Copy that. See you in a few minutes.”

Rain started to fall, a cool September rain that reminded one that summer was over and winter was not far away. He jogged to his car and headed to the precinct.

Office of

Lieutenant Ray Sutton

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

10:20 a.m.

When Isaac sat down, his boss already had his notes out waiting. “My interview with Kurt Dorsey proved very interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, he admitted picking both of our missing women up on several occasions.”

Isaac’s brow knitted together. “Seriously?”

“Yes. He came right out and admitted it, but here’s the kicker. He said he just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“He was trying to convince them to get off the street.”

“So our hotline caller is a benevolent soul?”

“That’s what he’d have us believe.” Sutton wore a skeptical frown. He slid a photo across the desk. “But look at this.”

Isaac picked it up. “This Dorsey’s truck?”

“Yes.”

The older model pick-up matched the vague description given by the girls in the Bottoms. “I’d call that dirty white, wouldn’t you?”

Sutton nodded.

“Did he have an alibi for the nights our girls went missing?”

“Said he was home with his son. The son confirmed it but I would bet he’d been coached by his dad.”

“Maybe I should take the truck photo and Kurt Dorsey’s photo down to the Bottoms. I’d like to see what the girls say?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea. There’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“Dorsey has a pronounced limp. Said it came from his time in the military.”

“Huh. Big-O said he thought some sort of a garrotte had been used to strangle her. He described garroting as a type of military maneuver. You think Dorsey’s limp was bad enough to prevent him from being our guy?”

Sutton shrugged. “I’m no expert, but he seemed to get around okay, just a little slow. Anything else come out of the autopsy?”

“Not really. Can I keep this photo of the truck?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” Isaac tucked into his folder. “Did you run Dorsey’s name through the database?”

“Not yet. I had other things to handle when I got back.”

“No doubt. Thanks for covering for me.”

“Always glad to get out of the office once in a while.”

Isaac smiled as he stood. “So you’re saying I did you a favor then.”

Sutton scoffed. “No Green, I don’t owe you one.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“True that. Now get out, I have my own work to do.”

Isaac laughed and went back to his desk.

Punching Kurt Dorsey’s name into the criminal database produced a big fat zero. He hadn’t crossed paths with police ever. In the Missouri Department of Motor Vehicles files, two speeding tickets showed up, but that was it. Dorsey’s license also had a veteran designation.

Isaac printed off the driver’s license photo and stapled it to the truck photo given him by Sutton. If he wanted to look at Dorsey’s military record, he would have to go through the proper channels. With nothing more than suspicion―it’s unlikely they would be forthcoming. Besides, they might even notify Dorsey about the request, which would alert him he was being looked at. Better idea is to wait.

His stomach growled, so he checked the wall clock. 11:45. No wonder he was hungry. He stood and scanned over the cubicles for someone to have lunch with but came up empty. The idea of another fast food meal turned his stomach, and he didn’t feel like eating alone. Emily?

He had stashed her card under his keyboard. He extracted it and stared at the number. A detective involved with a reporter came fraught with all sorts of problems. Confidentiality, credibility, favoritism―even just a misplaced word could cause real problems for him. No official department policy existed regarding such a relationship, but that didn’t change the reality.

But I have interaction with reporters almost every day. He shrugged. Besides, it’s just lunch.

He dialed the number.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Emily?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Isaac Green.”

“Oh hi, Detective. Obviously, I heard about Miss Brennan. Poor thing. Is there a new development?”

“Actually, this is more of a personal call.”

“Oh…”

“I was wondering if you were going to lunch.”

“Well, no. At least, not right now. I’m talking to you.”

He rolled his eyes. You dolt, Isaac. “I guess I meant do you have plans for lunch?”

“I’ll probably eat, that’s what I usually do.”

He rather enjoyed her teasing. “That’s what I do too. Would you be interested in doing it together?”

She laughed. “Are you asking me out to lunch?”

“In my own awkward way―yes.”

“Then I think it’s a nice idea―you and I eating at the same time together.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m not James Bond, I admit it.”

“Since I’m the new kid in town, I’ll leave the decision of where up to you.”

“Fair enough. What do you like?”

“I’m a southern farm girl.” Her voice lowered as she played coy. “I’ll let you figure it out.”

“I accept the challenge.”

“See you out front of the paper in ten minutes.”

“Perfect.”

He hung up and realized for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had butterflies. It’s just a lunch. He repeated it several times on his way to the car.

The Farmhouse Restaurant

300 Delaware St

River Market Neighborhood

North of Downtown Kansas City

12:35 p.m.

He arrived a few minutes early but she was waiting nonetheless. When he pulled up to the curb, she dashed through the rain to climb in. “Hello.”

The soft aroma of perfume came over him, not strong, but very inviting. “Hi. Hope you didn’t wait long. My mother taught me not to keep a pretty woman waiting.”

She smiled. “I’ll accept that as a compliment, but I’m willing to bet your mother said any woman waiting.”

“Close enough.”

She laughed, a pleasant sound he found enchanting.

The ride to the restaurant took just twenty minutes, and to his relief, they found small things to talk about without referring to either of their jobs. Inside, he was wary she’d agreed to lunch in search of a scoop.

The Farmhouse Restaurant sits just two blocks from the Missouri River and is part of the trendy City Market area. Located inside an old red-brick building, the quaint farm-to-table restaurant was Voted Best Brunch in Town. The rain had stopped by the time they settled into a table next to the front windows and received their menus. The small bar and most of the tables were filled.

Isaac’s belly churned with unexpected nervousness. “I hope you like the place. The food is all sourced from local farms.”

Emily peeked up from behind her menu. “The first thing I saw was biscuits and gravy. Nothing like going straight to a girl’s heart through her stomach.”

“I thought a woman got to a man’s heart through his stomach.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, haven’t you heard?”

He grinned. “My ex used to say I was born a century too late.” He kicked himself inside for bringing up his ex-wife so quickly.

She seemed unfazed. “Nothing wrong with old-fashioned values.”

Relief washed over him.

Wearing a green Farmhouse t-shirt and jeans, their blond waitress approached with a smile. “Welcome to the Farmhouse. I’m Beth. Can I get you something to drink?”

Emily returned the smile. “Coffee, please.”

“Okay. You, sir?”

“Coffee also.”

“Two coffees. Are you ready to order or do you want a minute?”

Emily looked back at her menu. “I’m still deciding.”

Beth nodded. “Be right back.”

“Recommendations, Isaac?”

He laughed. “I’m afraid I can’t be much help. I get the same thing every time.”

“Which is?”

“The country-fried steak with eggs and white cheddar-poblano grits.”

“Oh, wow. That does sound good.”

Beth returned and set the steaming cups of coffee in front of them. “Ready or need more time?”

“You order, Isaac.”

“Okay. I’ll have the country-fried steak.”

Beth recorded his choice on her pad. “And for you, ma’am?”

“No disrespect to your steak Isaac,” she smiled. “but I’ll have the Farmhouse omelet.”

“Just the meat or do you want to add the veggies?”

“No veggies, but I’ll have a side of those poblano grits.”

“Very well. I’ll get your orders put in now.”

As Beth went off toward the kitchen, they each sipped black coffees. Isaac quite liked the fact she ordered a hearty meal rather than salad. “Have you had poblano grits before?”

She set her cup down. “I thought you were gonna ask if I’d had grits before. I was going to be insulted.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never known a southern girl who hadn’t had grits.”

“No doubt. Nevertheless, I have not had white-cheddar poblano grits. They sound yummy.”

One of the iconic Kansas City Streetcars, a bullet train lookalike that definitely did not go fast, went by in front of the restaurant. Emily’s eyes got big. “I didn’t know you had trolleys.”

“Yeah. They’ve been running for nearly a decade now. They’re free, too.”

“No kidding. I paid like eight bucks to ride one in San Francisco.”

“You’ve been out there?”

“Yeah. Went out several years ago on vacation with an ex-boyfriend.”

Did he just feel a twinge of jealousy? “Never been to the West Coast myself. Just never wanted to go.”

“What about the East Coast?”

He shrugged. “Same story.”

“Prefer living in a flyover state?”

“Guess so. Never really thought about it that way, but I’m just happy out here in the middle of the country. Too crazy for me on the coasts, I think.”

She cocked her head to one side. “You live in KC all your life?”

“No. My ex and I went to college in Springfield. We got married and settled there after graduation.”

“That’s down near Branson, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Twelve…no, thirteen years, now.”

“Does she live here too?”

“No. She stayed in Springfield.”

“Do you have any kids?”

“No,” Her questions were so direct as to be unnerving, but he was a detective, so it suited him fine. “Parenthood, like our marriage, took second fiddle to our careers.”

“I see. A difficult divorce?”

“Not really. The same old story―grew apart. We’re still friends, though.”

“That’s nice.”

They fell silent. He sipped his coffee and observed her while she stared out the window. She seemed to be waiting for something, but what?

Beth arrived with their plates. “Here you go. Enjoy. I’ll be back with coffee fill-ups in a minute.”

Emily grabbed a bottle of hot sauce and slathered it onto her omelet. Before trying the eggs, she dipped the end of her fork in the grits and sampled them. Her brown eyes flared with pleasure. “Oh, wow. Those are good.”

He laughed. “I see you like spicy foods.”

“The hotter the better.”

They sat in silence while each focused on the delicious brunch in front of them. Beth came and went twice with coffee refills. Eventually, Emily set down her fork and pushed back her plate. “That was down home fantastic.” With her coffee mug cradled in front of her mouth, she watched him over the rim of the mug as he finished his steak.

He leaned back from the table. “That was as good as ever.”

She smiled but said nothing.

They stared out the window for a bit and he noticed her glance at her watch several times. Eventually, she set her coffee down and met his gaze. “Okay, since you’re apparently not going to ask, I’ll answer the questions for you.”

He looked at her quizzically. “I’m sorry?”

“I gave you the third degree before we ate. Don’t you have the same questions?”

He smiled awkwardly. “I guess I’m not comfortable prying.”

Her face lit up with an incredulous grin. “Seriously?! You’re a detective.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well a date is different.”

“Is that what this is?”

Had he misread the situation? He was out of practice after all. It’d been several years since he last dated. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to―”

She reached across and touched his hand. “I’m just kidding. I hope this is a date.” Her hand remained on his as she held his gaze, captivating him with her eyes. “I’m guessing it’s been a while?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Look, I’ll make it easy on you. I’ve never been married but came out of a long-term relationship about a year ago. I have no children, graduated from the University of Arkansas with a degree in communications, and prefer to remain in the Midwest as well.”

He nodded. “That should cover it for now.”

She patted his hand before withdrawing hers. “Good.”

He glanced at his watch. “I guess I should get you back.”

“I do have some work to do.”

He got the check from Beth and paid the bill. Out on the street, the rain had stopped and they walked shoulder to shoulder. He found her nearness enjoyable. “Hope you liked the restaurant.”

“Oh my goodness, yes. It was wonderful, and you passed the test.”

“The test?”

“Finding a place where a southern farm girl would be happy.”

“Oh, that test. That was easy.”

“Easy! Why’s that?”

“You southern farm girls are all the same.”

She stopped abruptly and jerked his arm to make him face her. “I beg your pardon!”

“I’m kidding.” He held up his hands in defense. “Just kidding.”

“You better be. I’m no stereotype!”

“That we can both agree on.”

She locked eyes with him and seemed to be trying to figure out his meaning. Finally, she smiled. “Good.”

The car ride back to her office was quiet but comfortable. He pulled up in front and put the car in park. “Do this again?”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

Just as she grabbed the door handle, his phone rang. She got out and waited by the open door.

He answered the call. “Detective Green.”

“Isaac, it’s Ray. We’ve got another one.”

“Missing girl?”

“Body.”

His heart dropped. “What do we know?”

“Not much. Reporting party thinks it’s a female.”

“Where?”

“There’s a rail crossing over the Blue River about a third of a mile southwest of the Sadie Brennan scene. She’s on the north bank behind the wastewater plant. Forensics are on their way.”

“Copy that. I will be too.”

“Give me an update when you can.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

Emily was looking back toward him. “Thanks for lunch. Talk soon?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Bye.” She shut the door and went into the building.

He hesitated.

Did she hear the call? She didn’t ask about it, which he appreciated, but did she hear something she shouldn’t? Can he be nice and tip her off? The press will know shortly anyway.

His mind spun. This was exactly what worried him―where to draw the line.

He shook his head as if to descramble his thoughts, a habit he developed to make himself refocus. Time to go to work. The immediate concern was the body lying on a river bank. He pulled away from the curb and turned toward the Blue River.

Blue River Wastewater Plant

Rochester Avenue

Northeast Kansas City

2:37 p.m.

Isaac arrived at the front gate of the wastewater plant and stopped.

A female security guard stepped out of the small hut. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He held out his badge. “Detective Green. KCPD.”

She glanced at it, then pointed down the driveway. “Some of your officers have already been through. Follow this down to a Y in the road, take the left fork onto the access road, then turn right. You’ll see them near the end.”

He tucked his badge away. “Thanks.”

The bar lifted and he moved slowly along Rochester Avenue, past the plant on the right and the offices on the left. At the fork, he did as she instructed, then spotted the flashing lights a quarter mile to the west.

As he came to a stop, a female officer broke from a group by the water and approached. Isaac notified dispatch he’d arrived onsite and requested a 10-66 before getting out. The rain from earlier had swollen the river and it rushed by with more force than the last time he was there.

“Detective Green. Hi.”

He recognized the officer as Sharp, the one who found Sadie Brennan’s body.

“Lovely smell you’ve discovered.”

The lanky officer grunted. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. The body is over here.”

“You find this one too?”

“No, but I arrived first on scene.”

“What have we got?”

“White female, twenties maybe.”

Isaac took latex gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on as he followed Sharp back to the scene. “Find any ID?”

“No.”

The other officers separated as they approached, and the odor of decomposition got even stronger. The lower half of her body was being buffeted by the current, but he instantly recognized the contorted face. His heart sank.

On her left forearm, he made out a tattoo in the shape of a heart with a set of initials inside. He peered hard at the girl’s right ankle being washed back and forth in the river and could just make out a faded lightning bolt. It left no room for doubt―Riley Hamilton had been found.

In less than 24 hours, his case of two missing women he’d hoped to find alive, had turned into a double homicide. He knelt next to her head and peered at dried blood around her neck. This time he knew better―they weren’t searching for a knife―she had been garroted as well.

He stood and turned to Sharp. “You know the drill. Let’s secure the area and do a search. I suspect she may have been killed by something like a wire, so make sure the officers keep an eye out for anything like that.”

“Copy.”

As Sharp left, the forensic crime scene van arrived. Isaac went up to meet them. Rather than the tech in blue coveralls he expected, a red-haired woman in a white lab coat got out of the driver’s seat.

Isaac smiled broadly as he crossed to meet her. “Hey, Claire.”

“Hey, Isaac. How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know. Seems like one crime scene after another.”

“That is your job, after all.”

Claire Mitchell, the 39-year-young Chief of Forensics, was one of Isaac’s favorite people at the department. A glass half-full attitude made her a ray of sunshine in the gloomy work of homicide investigation. Her green eyes would flare whenever she faced a challenge, which she attacked with the fire of a redhead.

“What brings you out? Short-staffed again?”

She came around to the back of the van and met another tech who opened the double doors. “Nope. Got a call from Sutton. He asked me to head up the team this time.”

Isaac’s eyebrows spiked. “No kidding. He say why?”

“Seems he thinks you might have a serial killer on your hands.”

Isaac’s thoughts had gone the same direction when he’d learned of a second body in roughly the same area, so it was easy to see why his lieutenant made the connection. “I’m afraid he may be right.”

She gave the male tech instructions, then grabbed a camera from the van. “Let’s see what we’ve got. I’m following you.”

Isaac turned and led the way across the gravel to where Riley Hamilton’s body lay, still being buffeted by the river.

Claire paused to snap a photo. “We need to get her out of the water. Let me get some more photos, then I’ll help you. Do we have an ID?

“Riley Hamilton. She was reported missing Wednesday afternoon.”

“Poor thing.”

He stood back and watched Mitchell work. With practiced efficiency, she shot multiple angles of the scene in just a minute or so. Setting down the camera, she pulled on a set of gloves and bent over one side of the body. “You get that side.”

Still wearing his gloves, he moved opposite her. Together, they gingerly lifted the dead girl enough to get her out of the water without dragging her. As they settled her on the bank, the tech assistant showed up carrying a work case from which he produced a pair of paper bags.

Mitchell put one around each hand and taped them closed. She straightened up. “I see the search is started. Coroner called?”

“Yes. Okay if I leave you in charge. I need to speak with the RP.”

“Sure, but before you do, I finished the work-up on Sadie Brennan.”

“Oh? Anything?”

Mitchell shook her head, flinging her red ponytail back and forth. “The report is on your desk but it won’t make for interesting reading. DNA swabs were negative and we found the victim’s DNA under her fingernails.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll read it if I can’t get to sleep.”

She grinned. “That’s what I do with your reports.”

He smirked. “Touché. I’ll be back in a bit.”

More officers had arrived and the search had expanded to both sides of the river. Isaac found Officer Sharp standing by her cruiser and talking to dispatch. He waited until she was done.

“Sharp out.” She placed the radio back on her belt. “Search hasn’t turned up anything yet, Detective.”

“Okay. Where is the reporting party?”

Sharp pointed toward the far end of the search area, northeast of where they stood. “He’s with his news vehicle over there.”

“He’s a reporter?”

“Yeah. Uh, let’s see…” She took out her notepad. “Name’s Fraser Mason. He’s with The Kansan.”

Isaac’s mind flashed back to the press conference and his interaction with Mason. “No kidding. He say how he came to find the body?”

“Said he was setting up to do a report and smelled something.”

“Interesting. Okay, thanks. I’m gonna go talk to him. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Isaac trudged along the gravel bank until he reached the yellow tape stretched across his path. He ducked under it and stared across the river. Sadie Brennan had been found directly across from there.

Mason evidently saw him coming because he stepped out of his car. “Detective Green.” The tall, carefully groomed newsman smiled, as if greeting an old friend. “We meet again.”

Mason had been the one at the press conference who asked about suspects before any bodies had even been found. His voice grated on Isaac’s last nerve. “I understand you found the body.”

“That’s right. Called 911 immediately.”

Isaac glanced back toward where Riley Hamilton lay. “Long way off to notice a body.”

“I didn’t notice her, I smelled her. At first, I assumed the odor came from the wastewater plant but I’ve smelled decomp before, so decided to check anyway.”

“What were you doing down here?”

“Setting up a shot.”

“A shot?”

Mason pointed across the river. “An area photo of where the first body was discovered.”

Isaac found the reference to first body odd. First implied a second, which suggested a connection. “Don’t you mean the other body?”

Mason stared at him. “I guess. I assumed the two were connected since their close together.”

“We haven’t determined that yet. It may just be one or the other was dumped somewhere along the Missouri and ended up here. It’s not uncommon.”

“What about cause of death? Any connection there?”

Isaac didn’t take the bait. “Haven’t determined that yet. Takes time and we don’t usually report that anyway.”

Mason met his gaze and for a moment there was silence.

“Detective!”

Isaac looked back to see Sharp waving at him. He gave a thumbs up, then turned and pointed at the yellow tape. “Don’t cross that, understood?”

“Sure.”

He left the reporter standing there and went to meet the officer. As he plodded back down the bank, other news vehicles showed up. Emily’s was not one of them. Apparently, if she knows about the body, she didn’t learn it from him.

Sharp met him about twenty yards from Hamilton’s body, still lying on the bank. “One of the searchers found a wire.”

Isaac’s adrenaline surged. “Show me.”

Sharp led him farther down the bank, past the body, to where the river began to bend southward. Claire Mitchell was taking a photo of a yellow crime scene marker and something next to it on the ground. Isaac’s hopes soared when he saw the braided wire lying on the gravel.

Mitchell took out a baggie and placed the wire inside. She sealed the bag, then held it out to Isaac. “At least it’s dry.”

Isaac examined it. “Any sign of blood?”

“Not that I saw, but I’ll have to swab it properly back at the lab.”

He glanced around him. The wire lay just ten or so feet from a walking path that led away from the river bank. If the wire had been dropped rather than washed up, he might even have his killer’s DNA.

He handed the bag back and turned to Sharp. “Where’s that path lead?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

With the officer in tow, Isaac picked his way between the overhanging bushes until he came out on a clearing. Immediately to his left ran a set of train tracks. He followed those roughly 300 yards to a dusty access road. The killer could have parked there, taken Riley down the path, and killed her by the river.

He turned to Sharp. “Do you know where this road goes?”

“I believe it comes off of Martin Avenue.”

“Okay. Cordon this off and we’ll search from the bank up the path and along the tracks to here.”

“Copy that.”

“If you need more officers, let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sharp headed back along the path.

Isaac stared down the access road. Was this the route to your death, Riley?

He sighed and turned back to the trail. His next task was one every detective dreaded.

Home of Charlotte Connelly

5803 Woodland Ave

Blue Hills Neighborhood

South Kansas City

5:30 p.m.

Charlotte stared at the mirror and sighed. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll on her and she looked like someone who hadn’t slept in two days, which was in fact, the truth. Ever since Detective Green had left on Tuesday, she’d been pacing the floor.

Until she’d heard about the dead girl found near the Blue River. She’d sunk to the floor, tears rolling down her face, sure it was Riley. But Detective Green had called and reassured her it wasn’t her granddaughter.

“I’m still looking for her, Mrs. Connelly.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“You hang in there.”

“I’ll try.”

She’d hung up and resumed her pacing―until a few minutes ago. Detective Green had called again.

The doorbell jarred her away from the mirror. Dreading the next few minutes, she moved slowly to the door, stalling against what she now felt certain was the news to come.

When she opened the door, the detective nodded, his expression grim. “May I come in, ma’am?”

“Of course.” She swung the door wide, then retreated to the living room. From the sofa, she watched him take the seat across from her, his gaze cast toward the floor. When he finally looked up, he seemed lost for words.

“You found her, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“Near the Blue River.”

“Like the other girl.”

“Yes.”

“Is the same animal who killed my granddaughter also responsible for that other poor girl?”

“We…we believe so.”

The devastation she suffered when learning about the first girl had somehow shielded her from the same reaction at the news of Riley’s death. Somehow, she’d instinctively known her granddaughter was gone, even though the first body wasn’t Riley’s.

“Did she suffer?”

The big detective shrugged. “I’m sorry. I wanted…” His eyes moistened.

“I know, Detective. I have no doubt you did all you could.”

“I wish―” His voice cracked. “I wish it had been more.”

“What’s done is done.” Tears finally came to her and she grabbed for a tissue. Wiping her eyes, she did her best to stay composed. “Find him. That’s what matters now. Find him and make sure he never does this to anyone again.”

“I will, but there’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“You may hear on the news reports what Miss Hamilton was doing when she was killed.”

She knit her eyebrows together and did her best to quell the fear rising inside her. “What do you mean?”

“Riley worked…” It seemed to stick in his throat.

She leaned forward. “It’s okay, Detective. You can tell me.”

“Riley worked as a prostitute.”

She stared at him, mouth agape. His words didn’t make sense. “You must be mistaken. Riley worked as a nurse.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I hate to make your loss worse, but I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.”

She sat back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

Riley? A prostitute? It didn’t seem possible. But then again, it might explain some things―little nagging things―that she’d done her best to ignore. No boyfriends, changing jobs often, never being reachable at work, always working the night shift. She had a sudden urge to throw up. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded.

“If there isn’t anything else, I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He rose and trudged heavily to the door.

“Detective?”

“Ma’am?”

“Let me know when you catch him.”

“You’ll be my first call.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and left. When the door shut, she reached over and picked up the photo taken in front of the Truman Library. She touched the smiling face of Riley and let the tears flow.

Apartment of

Sadie Brennan & Axel Reese

2900 East 29th Street

Santa Fe Neighborhood

Southeast Kansas City

7:00 p.m.

Isaac pulled up at the Arinki Apartments well after dark. After speaking with Charlotte Connelly, he had taken some time to compose himself before heading over to the home of his main person of interest―or was it prime suspect?

He hadn’t wanted to tell Mrs. Connelly what Riley had been doing that led to her death, but it would have been far worse if she found out from the news. He felt it his responsibility to tell her and not let that happen. All notifications are hard, but some are worse than others. Knowing Riley Hamilton was the only family Mrs. Connelly had left made it particularly difficult.

Out of habit, he shook his head to refocus and pushed open the car door. The air had turned crisp and Winter seemed to be just days away―but maybe his cold determination to catch a killer produced the chill.

Most of the apartment building’s windows were lit up, the majority of people at home. Reese’s apartment was an exception, but he decided to knock anyway. After several moments, a groggy Axel Reese opened the door. “Yeah?” His fog cleared. “Oh, Detective. Why are you here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Now? I was asleep.”

“Well wake up. Or I’ll take you downtown for our chat.”

“Fine.” Reese let the door swing open and turned on an overhead light.

Isaac followed him in.

Reese went to the fridge and took out a beer. “You want one?”

“No thank you.” Reese’s probation from a controlled substance conviction almost certainly contained a no-alcohol provision. Worth remembering if he needs to put him on ice for a while.

They both sat in the same chairs as the last time and Reese sipped his beer while attempting to look bored. But also like the last time, his jaw muscles were tighter than guitar strings.

Isaac leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Riley Hamilton is dead.”

The beer bottle stopped on its way to Reese’s lips. “Seriously?”

“Found in the same area as Miss Brennan.”

The bottle resumed its ascent to Reese’s mouth and he took a long sip. When he pulled it away from his face, his expression had gone flat. “That’s sad.”

“Especially for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your source of income is gone. Both your girls are dead.”

Reese remained surprisingly aloof―no effort to object, no outrage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you, I ain’t no pimp.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Here.”

“Anyone verify that?”

“No. I slept from five on.”

“Your number was the last one on Riley Hamilton’s phone records. That makes you the last one to speak with her that I know of. Did she suspect you killed Sadie? Did you get rid of her so she didn’t rat you out for the murder?”

Reese sipped his beer and remained smug. “You’re making that stuff up. There’s no proof any of it happened. It’s just you guessing.”

Isaac wasn’t just guessing, but as solid as his theory was, it remained purely hypothetical.

“Then tell me who killed the two women closest to you?”

“I don’t know! That’s your job to find out.”

Reese needed an attitude adjustment. “Your parole allow you to drink?”

A flash of fear raced through Reese’s eyes.

Isaac stood. “That’s what I thought.” He pulled his cuffs out. “Stand up.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Stand up!”

Reese complied, even turning around and allowing himself to be cuffed. “I didn’t kill Sadie or Riles. I swear.”

“I hear you. We’ll discuss more downtown.”

He steered Reese out of the apartment and down to the car. Maybe a night behind bars will loosen his tongue. If he didn’t kill the girls, he might know who did.

The West Bottoms

Liberty Street

West Kansas City

10:45 p.m.

After depositing Axel Reese in city jail for his parole violation, Isaac headed back down to The West Bottoms armed with a photo of Kurt Dorsey and his truck. He hoped one of the girls on the street could ID Dorsey as the one who picked up Riley Hamilton.

He parked in the same lot as the first night he was there, but when he walked to the gravel area, he found it nearly deserted. Evidently, word about Riley and Sadie had gotten around.

A lone dark-haired female, in a red mini-skirt and black see-through blouse, leaned against the graffiti-covered wall where Riley was last seen. She had nothing else on against the chill. He approached with his badge out. “Hi.”

“Hey”

He hadn’t spoken to her the other night. “I’m Detective―”

“I know who you are.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Riles and Sadie.”

He scanned the area around them. “You here alone?”

“Couple other girls been working, but they’re busy right now.”

“I see. What’s your name?”

“Pearl.”

“So Pearl, I’m looking for Wendy.”

“She ain’t here.”

“Where can I find her?”

She looked away, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t know.”

He produced the photos. “You recognize this man or this truck?”

She stared at the photos without touching them. “Seen a hundred of them trucks.”

“What about the man?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Can’t say for sure.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She leveled her gaze at him. “Can’t.”

“Fair enough.” He put them away. “So, Wendy saw the truck, and I need her to look at the photos. I’m not going to cause her trouble.”

She regarded him with tired eyes, but behind them, he saw something else―fear. He didn’t blame her. “I just need her help to catch the guy who killed your friends.”

“Check over by The Ship.”

“Thank you. I will.” He turned to go, but stopped. “If you can, get off the street until we find this guy. You could be next.”

She held his gaze. “I’ll think about it.”

He nodded and left her alone.

The Corner of Union Avenue and Mulberry Street

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

11:25 p.m.

In contrast to Liberty Street where he’d spoken with Pearl, the corner near The Ship appeared to be grand central for prostitutes. Each corner had three or more girls. Evidently, the phrase safety in numbers applied on the street as well.

With her red hair and one-piece spandex suit, he easily spotted Carly. She apparently saw him too, because she left the corner and walked over to him. “Hi, Detective.”

“Hey, Carly. It’s crowded down here tonight.”

“Girls are all scared. We figure he won’t pick us up if there’s a bunch to see him.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” He gave her the pictures. “You recognize him or the truck from the night Riley Hamilton went missing?”

She stared hard through the heavy blue eyeshadow. “The truck could be the same, but I can’t be sure. I don’t remember the man well enough to say.”

“I understand. What about Wendy? She around?”

“Haven’t seen her tonight.”

“Okay. Thanks for the help.”

“Sure. Is that a photo of the guy who killed our girls?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Just a person of interest.”

“I hope you find him soon. We all do.”

“I’m doing my best. You be careful.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Always.”

He watched her walk back to the corner. Most of the women out there were decent people in bad circumstances, and Carly certainly seemed to fit the description. He worried for all of them.

He took up a position farther from the corner and watched. After almost two hours, Wendy hadn’t shown up and many of the girls had left. He started the car and went home.

Friday, September 13

Jackson County Medical Examiner

950 East 21st Street

East of Downtown Kansas City

9:02 a.m.

An autopsy wasn’t Isaac’s idea of the perfect way to start Friday the thirteenth, but then again, it wasn’t a place he wanted to start any day. Big-O had called early to let him know the autopsy would be first thing and Isaac had reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. He’d rather go to the dentist for a root canal.

The day had dawned bright but chilly. He pulled his jacket closed as he crossed the parking lot and entered the building. He found Big-O in Autopsy Suite 2, tapped on the door, and was waved in.

“Morning, Doc.”

“Good morning to you. I’m just getting started.”

“Oh, goody.”

The big M.E. smiled, but it quickly disappeared as he adjusted the microphone over the table closer to his mouth. “Post-Mortem 20240913-1, subject is Riley Hamilton, age twenty. Exterior exam reveals a deep narrow cut around the neck resulting in significant blood loss. No other signs of trauma are obvious.”

Riley’s naked body lay exposed on the cold stainless steel table and the starkness of it chilled Isaac. Everything about murder is hot-blooded―anger, emotions, irrational thought―but everything to do with death is the opposite―cold, barren, solitary, final.

Big-O continued, going through the various steps involved in every post-mortem. Bodily fluids were collected, swabs taken, fingernails secured, organs weighed, and exacting observations recorded. In the end, Isaac was left with little new evidence―except for one thing.

Big-O switched off the mic. “You going over to the lab?”

“I planned on it.”

He handed him several sealed baggies. “You want to deliver these to Claire Mitchell?”

“Sure.”

Big-O stripped off his gloves and went into his office, where he dropped heavily into his chair.

Isaac followed him. “What’s your opinion? Same perp?”

“No doubt in my mind―and with the same efficiency.”

“Would they have to be strong?”

The M.E. squinted as he considered the question. “Strangulation in most cases requires considerable force for a relatively extended time, say ten seconds or more to result in unconsciousness, and longer to bring on death. This method of garroting uses the victim’s own weight to do most of the work. The leverage allows for less effort.”

“So I’m not necessarily looking for a big, strong offender?”

“Afraid not. Garroting could be carried out by a small woman if she knew how to do it.”

“What about someone with a bad leg?”

“Bad meaning what?”

“A pronounced limp.”

He shrugged. “Same story. It’s about leverage and one good leg might be enough.”

Isaac sighed. “You know, I’m gonna stop coming down to visit if you can’t give me a way to narrow my suspect list.”

Big-O smiled broadly and his laugh boomed throughout the lab. “You’d come and visit me anyway, admit it.”

Isaac smirked. “I cannot confirm nor deny your statement.”

“As usual.”

“Have a good Friday the thirteenth.”

“You too, my friend. You too.”

Kansas City Police Forensic Lab

2645 Brooklyn Avenue

Wendell Phillips Neighborhood

Southeast Kansas City

10:44 a.m.

The police department forensic lab sat in the far southeast corner of the Wendell Phillips Neighborhood, not far from where the old Municipal Stadium once stood. Municipal was famous for having seen players like Jackie Robinson and Ernie Banks. The old stadium also saw the last game of Lou Gehrig in a Yankees uniform and the longest game in NFL history. In the last Chiefs game ever played at the stadium, the Miami Dolphins beat the Kansas City Chiefs in double-overtime. Isaac had heard the stories of those days, many of them proud moments for African-Americans, but he wasn’t born in time to witness them.

The forensic lab inhabited a low-slung, single-story brick building that stretched nearly two city blocks and shared a campus with the KCPD’s East Patrol Division Headquarters.

Isaac parked in the public lot out front and entered through the double glass doors. At the desk, he produced his badge. “Claire Mitchell in?”

The desk clerk nodded. “She should be in her office.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to his left and went through another set of glass doors leading into a long carpeted hallway. He stopped at the far end and tapped on the open door.

Claire Mitchell looked up from her desk and beamed. “Isaac! What a nice surprise.”

Even though she had every reason to expect him, she never failed to make him feel like he was the best thing to happen to her that day. “Hi, Claire. How’s your Friday the thirteenth going?”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, I don’t pay attention to that stuff. Every day is a good day.”

He laughed. “It’s a happy world you live in, isn’t it?”

“Why not? The sun is out, the leaves are turning…”

“True enough. Do the good feelings carry over into my crime scene evidence?”

She made a pouty face. “Oh, I’m afraid not. So far nothing has produced results.”

“What about the wire?”

“Not your weapon. No blood and no DNA. Also, I sent a photo over to Doc Little and he said it was too thick to be the wire used.”

Isaac grimaced. “That’s unfortunate, to say the least.” He held out the collection of evidence baggies. “Big-O sent these over. They’re from Riley Hamilton’s autopsy.”

She placed them on her desk, then handed him a file folder. “Here’s your copy of the on-scene report.”

He took it and leafed through the papers inside. As Claire had said, nothing seemed promising.

He let out a long sigh. “Okay. Let me know if you find anything on the new stuff?”

“Be glad to.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Isaac left the office and went back out to his vehicle. As he started the car, his phone rang.

“Detective Green.”

“Good morning, Isaac.”

A smile creased his face instantly as he recognized the voice on the other end. “Good morning to you.”

“How’s your Friday the thirteenth going?”

“Well, it started at the morgue. Does that tell you anything?”

Emily let out a sympathetic groan. “I’m sorry.”

“But things are looking up now that I’m speaking to you.”

“You’re so sweet. I had a nice time at lunch.”

“Me, too. By the way, I didn’t notice you at the crime scene yesterday afternoon.”

“I was there, but you had left already.”

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly lunch time but his appetite hadn’t recovered from the autopsy. “Look, I don’t know what the day holds, but if I can get away for dinner, should I call?”

“You most definitely should.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t consider it a date―I never know where I’ll be for sure―but maybe a theoretical date?”

“I can settle for theoretical, for now.”

He could sense her smile through the phone. “Good. Talk later.”

“Bye.”

He hung up. His Friday the thirteenth just took a turn for the better.

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

12:05 p.m.

The positive vibes of his Friday the thirteenth lasted until he got to the precinct where he found Sutton waiting for him with a scowl. “Bad news, Isaac.”

“How bad?”

“Just got a call from dispatch. A body has been found along the Missouri River, right near where it meets the Blue.”

He just stared at his boss and waited.

“Female, approximately mid-twenties, suspected prostitute.”

He sighed. “Forensics notified?”

“Yes, and the coroner.”

“What makes them think it’s a prostitute?”

“The officer who called it in said the scene looks like the others.”

“Who called it in?”

Sutton looked down a piece of paper. “Officer Sharp.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Sharp was the responding officer again?”

Sutton handed the note to him. “That’s what it says. Why?”

“Just strikes me as odd. She found Sadie Brennan’s body and arrived first on the Riley Hamilton scene.”

“It is her patrol area.”

“Yeah, but even so, not many officers find three bodies, especially in so small a window of time.”

Sutton locked eyes with him for a long moment. “Go where the evidence takes you, but be careful.”

“I understand.”

Sutton nodded gravely, then walked back to his office without another word.

He looked down at the note. The body had been located at the confluence of the Blue and Missouri Rivers, east of the Evergy power plant. He was familiar with the area because of a vehicle tow lot near there.

As he went to his car, he dared hope the victim had died of something other than a wire garrotte―otherwise, the pressure to solve this case was going hit 9.5 on the Richter scale.

Riverfront Road

East of Evergy Power Plant

Mouth of the Blue River

12:55 p.m.

Like the Riley Hamilton scene, Isaac had to pass through a security gate manned 24 hours a day. At the Hamilton scene, he’d discovered a pathway that could have been used to access the crime scene without going through the checkpoint. He wondered if a similar back entry existed here.

The guard lifted the bar and waved him on. A massive field of solar panels flanked the left side of the road and to his right stood the huge red and white striped smokestack of the power plant. He followed the road around until he intersected with Riverfront Road and turned south.

The Missouri River flowed to his left as he moved along until he reached a small access road toward the river’s bank. An officer leaning against a patrol car, its red and blues flashing, came up to his window as he pulled up. “Restricted access sir.”

Isaac held up his badge.

The female officer nodded, “Afternoon, Detective. Follow this gravel road down. Sergeant McMann is on scene.”

“Thank you.”

The gravel crunched loudly beneath his tires as he inched his way along the access road. At the bank, the road opened up into a small parking area, where Police vehicles filled the space. Isaac backed up and pulled off to the side. He got out, irritation rising within him quickly, and went back to the officer standing guard at the entrance to the access road.

“What’s your name?”

“Officer Harris.”

“Okay Harris, when all these patrol cars are removed from the parking lot, I want only the forensic van and coroner given access to this road. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Isaac turned to see Fraser Mason coming from his small news sedan.

“Any comments, Detective?”

So far, he was the only member of the press to arrive―too quickly for Isaac’s liking. “None.”

“Have you identified the body?”

“What body?”

“The girl by the water.”

Isaac’s gaze intensified as he studied the reporter. “How do you know about a body?”

“Sources.”

“What sources?”

“Can’t say.”

This reporter had a knack for knowing too much, too soon. He looked back at Officer Harris. “No press beyond here.”

“Copy that.”

Isaac turned on his heels and marched back down the road to where he found Sergeant McMann approaching him. “Hey, Detective.”

Isaac ignored the greeting. “Where’s the body?”

“Just beyond those cars.”

“Then why are all these vehicles here? Has this lot been searched?”

“Uh, well…not yet.”

“I want all these cars off this lot now! Have them park back at Riverfront Road. And then get this area taped off.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Officer Sharp?”

“Over by the body.”

“Have her come see me after she’s moved her car.”

“Will do.” The sergeant moved swiftly away to comply with his requests.

Isaac moved around the perimeter of the lot until he got to the shore and found the group of officers scattering to remove their cars. Behind them, he found a naked, half-submerged body being rocked back and forth by the Missouri River current.

He knelt next to her. She’d been left face up with her lower half in the water. Blood trailed from a circular pattern around her neck. She appeared to be of Oriental descent and the initial reported age of mid-twenties seemed accurate.

He stood and surveyed the scene. From where he stood, he could see the mouth of the Blue River just 400 yards or so to his right. Any hope the case wasn’t connected to Riley and Sadie had been extinguished―he had a serial killer on his hands―an active one.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

He turned to find the lanky Officer Sharp standing behind him. She stood as tall as him, with short black hair and no make-up. “What’s your first name, Officer?”

“Sharon.”

“You’ve had some week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you discover this scene?”

“I was cruising Riverfront Road as part of my regular routine when a worker flagged me down.”

“A worker?”

“Yes, sir.” She took out her notepad. “Darren Carter. He came down here to have lunch and saw the body. I happened to be going by when he stepped out from the access road.”

“I see. Where is he now?”

“He seemed pretty shook up. I told him he could finish his lunch at the plant but not to speak to anyone about what he saw and not to go home.”

“So I can interview him there?”

“Yes sir, or I can have him brought to you.”

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to go.

“Officer?”

“Sir?”

“I came through a security gate. Do you know if there’s another way to access Riverfront Road?”

“There is. About a quarter mile south of here, Riverfront bends westward and turns into Levee Road. It eventually connects with Gardner and leads over to Rochester.”

“Isn’t that by the wastewater plant?”

“It is.”

Another connection between Riley Hamilton’s scene and this one―which Officer Sharon Sharp seemed very familiar with. “Thank you, Officer. Let me know when you have Mr. Carter back here.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her walk off, his suspicions heightened. He had no reason to suspect an officer, especially a female one, but the coincidences were bothersome. And besides, Big-O said a woman would have the capability to use the garrotte. He desperately hoped he was wrong.

Officer Sharp stepped aside to let the forensic van pass by her on the road. Yellow tape blocked its path into the parking area, so it stopped short. He went over to see who had shown up this time.

Claire Mitchell stepped out of the van. “We have to stop meeting like this, Isaac. People will begin to talk.”

“Yeah they will. They’ll start calling us the black cloud team. Where there’s death, you’ll find Mitchell and Green!”

She grinned. “As long as it’s after the murder and not before, we should be okay.”

“True that.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Body is by the water’s edge.”

Her smile disappeared as she grabbed her equipment bag. “Lead the way.”

They walked in silence, the crunching gravel beneath their feet mixing with the flowing water to give an odd natural sound to a very unnatural scene. A cool breeze blew down the river from the north, chilling Isaac as he stopped next to the unidentified woman. “Scene matches the other two.”

“You have an ID?”

“Not yet.”

Mitchell opened her bag and extracted a digital camera. For several minutes, she shot photos capturing the entire area. When finished, she looked back at Isaac. “Let’s get her out of the water.”

For the second time in less than 24 hours, they worked together to lift a body out of the river. Once fully on shore, they laid her back down and Mitchell took out paper bags for the girl’s hands.

“Detective!”

He turned to see Officer Sharp standing by the yellow tape with a man in an Evergy work vest. “Excuse me for a minute, Claire.”

“Take your time. Coroner called?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Isaac trudged back across the lot and ducked under the tape.

Sharp introduced the man. “Detective Green, this Darren is Carter. He flagged me down.”

Isaac and Carter shook hands. Isaac tipped his head back toward the water. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Carter, who stood several inches taller than Isaac and was built like a sledgehammer, appeared to have regained some of his composure. He kept his long wavy blond hair under control by smashing a white Evergy helmet down on his head. “I freaked out. Not what I expected to see at lunch.”

“I don’t imagine. You come down here often?”

“Sure, when the weather is nice.”

“Were there any other people here?”

He shook his head, sending blond hair billowing back and forth. “I was the only one.”

“So no other vehicles either?”

“Not that I saw. My buddy was supposed to meet me down here, but I stopped him up at the road.”

“And exactly what time did you get here? Do you remember?”

“Would’ve been Eleven-forty or so. I clocked out at eleven-thirty.”

“I don’t suppose you recognized her?”

Carter looked over Isaac’s shoulder toward the water’s edge. “No, but I didn’t hang around to take a close look either.”

“Sure. I can understand. Thanks for coming back down.”

“You bet.”

Both Sharp and Carter walked back up the trail just as the coroner’s van arrived. Big-O got out, which at this point, did not surprise. Considering the circumstances, the top of every department was going to be involved. In fact, Isaac expected the Jackson County District Attorney to be calling at any time.

Big-O dragged the gurney down the road and under the yellow tape. “Hey again, Isaac.”

“Hey yourself.”

He led the doc on the same walk across the parking lot as he and Mitchell had just completed minutes before. The forensic chief was finishing up her work around the body. She looked up at them approaching. “Is a search of the area underway?”

Isaac shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll get it started.”

He left the two at the bank and went in search of Sergeant McMann. After giving the sergeant instructions for the search including to watch for wire, he returned to the River. “You have a rough estimate as to time of death, Doc?”

“Twelve hours ago, give or take. I’ll try to narrow it down at the post-mortem.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s get her on the gurney.”

The three worked together to lift the woman into a body bag and onto the gurney. As they finished, Isaac noticed Sergeant McCann flagging him from up by the entrance to the access road. Isaac ducked under the tape and went to meet him.

At Riverfront Road, McCann tipped his head toward a crowd of reporters. “They’re asking for a statement.”

By that time, every news organization within a hundred miles had sent someone to cover the story. A third body found in a little over two days will cause that. He spotted Emily among the group. “Okay.”

He walked over to where the reporters had huddled together and the questions began flying toward him. He held up his hands and waited. Eventually, they stopped and listened.

He lowered his hands. “I’ll make a brief statement, but I can’t take questions at this time.”

They waited, pens and recorders at the ready.

“We have found a female deceased by the edge of the water.” He locked eyes with Emily for just a moment and she bobbed her head slightly. He resisted the urge to react.

“At this time, her identity is not known, and the cause of death has not been determined. We won’t have further details until after the autopsy, which as yet, has not been scheduled.”

Fraser Mason yelled from just off to the side. “Is her death connected to the Riley Hamilton and Sadie Brennan homicides?”

“As I said―just a statement.” He turned and walked back to the access road. Questions hurled from behind landed all around him like grenades tossed by an enemy. He ignored them. The story had a life of its own now, and everyone tasked with finding the killer would begin to feel the pressure.

Isaac’s phone rang. “Detective Green.”

“Hello, Detective. This is Charlotte Connelly”

“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to let you know Riley’s funeral is tomorrow.”

“Where are you having it?”

“Golden Gate Funeral Home. Do you know where it is?”

“I do. What time?”

“One o’clock. I was hoping you could make it.” She hesitated. “Riley doesn’t…didn’t have a lot of people…”

“I will do everything I can to be there.”

“Thank you. I won’t be any more trouble.”

His heart broke. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad you called.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.” He hung up, his spirit heavy. It never makes sense when bad things happen to good people―and sometimes it’s just wrong.

Big-O was just pulling away and the search for evidence was underway. He checked his watch. No dinner with Emily tonight.

The Corner of Union Avenue and Mulberry Street

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

10:45 p.m.

The number of girls working the street in the Bottoms had dwindled considerably. Not a surprise to Isaac, but it meant he had fewer to talk with and get help from on identifying the latest victim.

One of the girls he did find was Pearl, who had been over on Liberty Street the night before. She had on the same red mini-skirt and black see-through blouse. He smiled as he approached. “Not many girls out tonight.”

“Can’t blame them after what happened to Lee.”

“Lee?”

“Yeah. The girl they found today.”

“You know her?”

“Sure. She worked over on Liberty. Lee Park.”

Isaac took out his notepad. “Do you know how old she was?”

“Twenty-six, I think.”

“What about where she lived?”

“With her parents over in Beacon Hill. I don’t know the address, though.”

“Did you see her last night?”

“Yeah.”

“When did you last see her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know…ten-thirty, maybe.”

“What was she doing?”

“Talking to a John.”

Isaac’s adrenaline surged. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“Nah. Wish I had.”

“Could you tell if it was a white or black male?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t even say for sure it was a man. Didn’t see a face or nothin’.”

Isaac’s shoulder sagged. “Okay. Who would know where Lee Park lived?”

“Tanisha might.”

“Tanisha? How do you spell that?”

He wrote it down as she spelled it out. “What’s her last name?”

“Swanson.”

“Where can I find her?”

“She’s usually over on St. Louis near the Ball Foods Warehouse.”

“Thanks. You should be like many of the other girls and get off the street. It’s too dangerous right now.”

She cocked her head to one side. “It’s always dangerous out here.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Be careful.”

St. Louis Avenue

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

11:20 p.m.

Ball Foods distribution plant had multiple semi trucks backed up to its loading doors, but Isaac noticed very little activity from inside the plant. Across the street, three women huddled against the chill in the doorway of a shuttered building.

He pulled along front and rolled down his window. “I’m looking for Tanisha.”

A tall, thin African-American female with a round afro and penetrating eyes stepped forward. “I’m Tanisha, Honey. What you lookin’ for?”

“Get in and I’ll tell you.”

“I’d be glad to get in, but first you gotta tell me what you want.”

“I just want to talk.”

She smirked, revealing a surprising number of perfect white teeth. “They all say that, Honey.”

“Just get in please.”

“There’s a killer around, Honey. Girl’s got to be careful.”

Isaac held out his badge. “Now will you get in?”

Tanisha’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no! I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“I’m not here to arrest you. Pearl sent me over.”

“This about Lee?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and opened the door. “You not bustin’ me, right?”

“I promise.”

She climbed in and he rolled her window up. After pulling down the block, he stopped and turned on the inside light. “I’m told you knew Lee Park.”

“Yeah. We roomed together for a little bit.”

“You know where she lived lately?”

“With her folks over in Beacon Hill.”

“You know the address?”

“Nah, but her dad owns Park’s Chinatown food market over on Grand Boulevard.”

Isaac knew exactly where she meant. Park’s was one of the largest Asian grocery’s in the city and located in the popular River Market area. “I want you to take a look at a couple photos for me.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

Isaac handed her pictures of Dorsey’s truck and his driver’s license. “You recognize this guy or the truck?”

“Sure. That’s Kurt.”

Isaac’s heart rate doubled. “Has he ever picked you up?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“He said he only picks up girls because he is trying to talk them into leaving the streets.”

She scoffed. “That’s a load of crap. He’s no different than the others.”

The revelation came as no surprise, but it put Dorsey in a whole new light―he was lying. “What about the truck?”

“Looks like his, but can’t say for sure.”

“Has he ever gotten rough with you? Maybe scared you?”

“Nah. Not me, anyway. Why? You think he hurt Lee?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He handed her a card. “If you see him again, let me know.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for your time.”

She reached for the door handle. “Sure.”

“Oh, one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Did Axel Reese know Lee Park?”

She met his gaze and her face muscles tightened. “Why?”

“Just a question.”

“I don’t have nothin’ to do with him.”

“He a bad guy?”

“Let’s say he’s not my type.”

“Was he pimping Riley and Sadie?”

She just stared at him.

“What about Lee?”

“Man, you’re gonna get me killed. I don’t want to say nothin’, get it?”

Isaac considered whether to push her, but the value of a street source trumped his need for a direct answer. Besides, her reaction said a lot.

“Thanks for talking to me.”

She nodded, pushed the door open, and walked away without another word. He hoped she’d still be alive if he came looking for her again. He hoped they all would.

Home of

Michael and Nora Park

2800 The Paseo

Beacon Hill Neighborhood

Central Kansas City

11:57 p.m.

With the information that Lee Park’s parents owned Park’s Chinatown market, it was easy to find their home address in the police records. The Park home sat on The Paseo, named after the Paseo de la Reforma in Mexico City and also known as Paseo Boulevard. It was the first major north-south artery ever developed through the center of the city.

Their beautifully restored home sat on a large corner lot directly across from Troost Lake Park and featured sweeping views of Troost Lake with its two fountains and large population of Canadian Geese.

Isaac parked in the short driveway and got out. The home was dark except for an ornate porch light, but when he reached the front door, a dog sounded the alarm with a rather vicious-sounding bark and growl.

Isaac pushed the doorbell and the sound of an oriental chime came through the door. The dog did its best to drown it out with his barking.

After several moments, the hallway light came on and the door opened just enough for a man to peer out. “Yes?”

“Michael Park?”

“Yes.”

Isaac held up his badge to the light. “Detective Green, Kansas City Police Department. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour but it’s very important.”

“Something happen at the market? My security company did not call me.”

“No sir. It’s about your daughter.”

Michael Park’s eyes widened. “Lee? Is she okay?”

“May I come in, sir?”

“Let me put the dog up.”

The door closed, but just moments later, it swung wide. “Come in, Detective.”

Behind him stood a petite woman in a robe, her eyes already filled with panic. She turned and walked to the living room while Mr. Park closed the door, then pointed after her. “Please.”

Park followed his wife with Isaac in tow and turned on the overhead light as he entered the room. They sat together on a loveseat while Isaac took the offered chair across from them.

Decorated with stylish antiques and oriental art, the immaculate room managed to be both exquisite and comfortable. Mr. Park took the petite woman’s hand. “This is my wife, Nora.”

Nora Park’s delicate face wore an expression of worry, and both parents stared at him with fear in their eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Again, I’m sorry to wake you.”

Mr. Park shook his head. “It is no trouble.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news about Lee…” He hesitated, stalling. The inevitable silence hung heavy in the air as they waited for what they no doubt sensed coming but were praying wasn’t. “She was found dead this evening.”

Mrs. Park covered her mouth with her hand and stifled an agonizing cry. Michael Park put his arm around her. “Are you sure it is our daughter Lee?”

“I have a photo.”

“Please.”

Isaac held an 8 x 10 headshot out for Mr. Park to see. He stared at it briefly, nodded, then closed his eyes. His wife never looked at it, but rocked slowly back and forth with pain, a low moan emanating from somewhere deep inside her.

Isaac stared at the floor and waited. There was nothing to say.

After what seemed like an hour but probably less than ten minutes, Michael Park looked up. “What happened?”

Isaac had spent most of the drive over to the Park home wondering if the Park’s were aware of what their daughter was doing at night. Telling loved ones about a death was bad enough, revealing how they were killed could sometimes be worse than the news itself. “Do you know where your daughter was tonight?”

Mr. Park met his gaze without flinching. “We know the choice our daughter had made.”

“I see. Then you’ll understand when I say someone picked her up and murdered her.”

Park nodded. “We did not approve of what our daughter was doing, and it causes us great shame, but she was our only child. We were doing our best to get her to stop, even letting her move back home, but the drugs had too much control.”

The familiarity of the story made it no less painful. “I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you. Do you know who did this?”

“Not yet, but we believe she’s not the only one who fell victim to the same killer.”

“Do you think you can find him?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to do just that.”

“Then we thank you for your efforts and wish you blessings in that task.”

Isaac found himself overwhelmed by the beleaguered man’s grace and composure. Since he doubted the couple could shed much light on their daughter’s street life, he opted to leave any questions for later. He placed a business card on the table. “I will be in touch soon, but if you need anything, just call.”

Mr. Park nodded. “Very well.”

“Good night. And again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Park turned to his wife as Isaac stood and moved toward the door. Staying as quiet as he could, he let himself out. Back in his car, he leaned his head back against the seat and let out a long sigh.

Sometimes I hate my job.

He looked at his phone and noticed a voicemail left earlier in the evening by Emily. He hit play.

“Hey, Isaac. It’s me. I guess you’re going to cop out on dinner tonight. Just kidding. I didn’t expect you would be free. Call me in the morning if you have time. Bye.”

He looked at his watch. While he wanted to call her then, the late hour suggested it might be a bad idea. He took the suggestion.

Saturday, September 14

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

10:35 a.m.

Isaac overslept and was running behind on the bright and chilly Saturday morning. Despite being in a hurry, he called Emily on the way.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Lady.”

“Good morning to you, sir. How was your night?”

He groaned. “Long and late.”

“So I figured.”

“Sorry about missing dinner last night.”

“Don’t mention it. I understand the demands of your job.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Well, that’s because most people don’t have a detective for a father.”

“Your dad was a detective?” He had a hard time hiding the surprise in his voice. “I had no idea.”

“Thirteen years at the Little Rock PD. I figured you’d already done a background check on me.”

He grinned into the phone. “Why? You been checking up on me?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that suggestion.”

He laughed at hearing his own words thrown back at him. “Touché.”

“Dad never worked homicide though. He said it wasn’t for him.”

“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, that’s for sure.” He arrived at the station. “Want to re-try for dinner tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Gotta run. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He hung up the phone. Funny how just a few minutes talking with her could brighten his day. And she hadn’t asked anything about the murders―something he remained concerned about.

Being Saturday, the parking lot was less than half full and he parked up near the entrance. Bypassing the elevator and taking two steps at a time, he soon emerged on the squad room floor and went directly to Sutton’s office. When he tapped on the door frame, his boss looked up at him from behind a laptop. “Hey, Isaac. Come in.”

“Glad I’m not the only one working Saturday.”

Sutton scoffed, rolling his eyes for emphasis. “Oh, please. I’m here on weekends way more than you are.”

“What are you doing?”

Ray shook his head. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“Come around and watch this.”

Isaac stepped in behind his boss and stared at the screen. Across the bottom ran a small banner declaring the video an exclusive of The Kansan. Ray tapped the space bar on the laptop and the video rolled.

Staring at the camera was none other than Fraser Mason. “We are here in Kansas City tonight speaking with women who make their living in the sex trade and have chosen to be out here even though the Blue River Killer is still at large.”

Isaac groaned. “He’s named him?”

Ray nodded.

Mason turned to a petite Asian woman in a blue top and black shorts―Lee Park. “Tell me ma’am, are you aware of the Blue River Killer?”

Lee nodded. “Sure. All the girls know about what’s happened?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the danger?”

“Of course. But danger isn’t something new to us. We deal with it every day.”

“Why don’t you stop then?”

“It’s not that simple.” She turned a sad gaze toward the camera. “It’s just not…”

She walked away.

Mason trailed her. “Do you want to explain? It might help our viewers understand.”

She shook her head and picked up her pace.

Mason had to return to the camera. “Perhaps none of us can understand what leads someone to this life, but since the Blue River Killer has shown up, it has never been more dangerous to be on the streets. Fraser Mason reporting from downtown Kansas City.”

The Kansan logo came up on the screen.

Isaac leaned back against the bookshelf. “Wow! When was this?”

“Thursday night.”

“That’s our latest victim.”

“You get an ID?”

“Yeah. Her name is Lee Park. What are the odds Mason happened to interview the same girl who ends up dead a few hours later?”

Ray grunted. “That’s a very good question.”

“The Kansan is an online newspaper, correct?”

“Yes.”

“This only adds to my suspicion of Mr. Fraser Mason.”

“I feel the same way. I’m going to bring this video with us to our meeting this afternoon.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Meeting?”

“It seems District Attorney Hudson also works on Saturdays. He wants an update.”

“Pressure’s starting to reach above our heads.”

Ray nodded. “You knew it would.”

“Indeed.”

His boss pointed at a chair in front of the desk. “So, fill me in.”

Isaac went around, sat down, and took out his notepad. “As I said, the latest victim is Lee Park, age twenty-six. I spoke with a couple girls who knew her. One of them, Tanisha Swanson, told me Miss Park was the daughter of Michael Park and his wife, the owners of the Park’s Chinatown Market.”

“I know the place. Have they been notified?”

“I did it last night.”

“Did they know what she did for a living?”

He nodded. “They were trying to help her stop.”

“I can’t imagine the pain.” Sutton sighed, then furrowed his brow. “Tanisha. That name sounds familiar.”

“She identified Kurt Dorsey as someone who had picked her up in the past.”

Sutton snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Dorsey said he was trying to get her off the street. He mentioned her and another name―Madison, if memory serves me.”

“Swanson said that’s a crock. Claims he’s like any other John.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit. But why did he lie about it?”

“Because he’s guilty of murder―or he’s afraid of looking like he’s guilty of murder.”

“Makes sense, but which?”

“Right now, I’m leaning toward option one.”

Sutton nodded. “Okay. What else?”

“The attack mirrored the others, with the primary wound being to the neck.”

“What about the other two? Any evidence developed on either?”

He shook his head. “We found a wire at the Riley Hamilton scene but it turned out not to be connected.”

“Ha! Not connected.”

Isaac groaned. “Pun not intentional.”

“So I gather. Anyway, our meeting with the D.A. is scheduled for one-thirty.”

“Where?”

“His office.”

“I can’t make it.”

Sutton grinned. “Very funny.”

“No, seriously. I promised Charlotte Connelly I would attend her granddaughter’s funeral at one.”

“Who is her granddaughter?”

“Riley Hamilton.”

Sutton paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You think there might be some investigative value to attending?”

Isaac didn’t miss the inference. “Very well could be.”

“I’ll contact D.A. Hudson and arrange the meeting for three. I’ll meet you at his office.”

“That works. Thanks.”

“Give my best to Mrs. Connelly.”

“I will do that.”

Golden Gate Funeral Home

2800 East 18th Street

Central Kansas City

1:20 p.m.

Golden Gate Funeral Home is in the 18th & Vine District, an area of downtown that was home to the Negro Leagues Baseball Hall of Fame and the American Jazz Museum. The somber business going on daily at Golden Gate stood in stark contrast to the buzz created by the vibrant nightlife not far from its doors.

The tan, brick building had a black fabric awning that stretched completely around the entire structure. With few windows and almost zero landscaping, it gave off a very industrial vibe. That sense disappeared when Isaac parked and went inside.

The lobby had light-colored tan carpet and multiple gray leather chairs. An employee in a black suit attended a doorway leading off of the lobby. He nodded at Isaac while directing him down the hallway.

The foyer outside the chapel contained a round, honey-colored oak side table flanked by matching chairs. A sign-in book sat on the table and Isaac had to wait for his turn. When it came, he took a quick moment to look over the names of mourners who’d registered before him. Charlotte Connelly had said her granddaughter didn’t have many friends, but there were at least thirty names ahead of his. One name in particular caught his interest―Kurt Dorsey.

Isaac moved over to the chapel and entered through the double doors. The tan carpet from the lobby carried forward into the chapel and matched the tan walls. An arched ceiling with concealed lights gave it an odd bingo hall vibe, but the room was spacious, with roughly fifty chairs neatly laid out in rows and covered in black fabric.

Isaac slipped into the last row. A closed casket at the front had a spray of pink and blue flowers on it. To one side, on an easel, sat a blown-up copy of the fountain photo from Charlotte Connelly’s mantel. It forced a lump into his throat.

As he studied the people in the rows ahead of him, he began to recognize faces. Tanisha, Carly, Gwen, Wendy―none of which were dressed in their usual outfits. In fact, if he hadn’t spoken with them recently, he might not have recognized them at all. It only reaffirmed what he already knew―they all had a life before prostitution―and still had outside what they did at night.

Charlotte Connelly sat solo in the front row and it seemed wrong she should be alone. He rose from his seat and went along the side wall until he got up to her. She managed a smile when she saw him. “Detective Green. Thank you so much for coming.”

He sat down next to her. “I’m glad I could be here.”

Charlotte reached over and took Isaac’s hand, much like his mother used to at a solemn moment in church when he was a boy. He didn’t attempt to withdraw it, instead covering hers with his other hand. She gave him a quick smile, then turned her attention to the front. A man moved to the podium and tapped the mic.

He didn’t catch much of the eulogy given by who turned out to be Charlotte’s pastor. Instead, Isaac’s emotions swung wildly from sadness for Charlotte to anger at the one who had caused the tragic scene before him. He resolved the best thing he could do for Charlotte, besides holding her hand at that moment, was to find her granddaughter’s killer, then make sure she knew he could never do it to anyone else.

Amazing Grace played over the chapel’s hidden speakers as people rose to come forward, each pausing for a moment to say a word to Charlotte. Isaac said he would check on her later, then slipped away in search of Kurt Dorsey, but spotted someone else first―Fraser Mason.

The reporter lurked at the back of the room, probably waiting for an opportunity to ask a few questions of Charlotte Connelly.

Isaac walked directly up to him. “I didn’t see your name in the guest book.”

“I’m here in an official capacity, not personal.”

“You want to ask Mrs. Connelly a few questions.”

“If she has a moment.”

Isaac locked eyes with the reporter. “She doesn’t.”

Mason didn’t flinch. “Are you her personal representative?”

“I’m a friend, and I won’t have you poking around in her moment of grief. She doesn’t know everything about her daughter’s life and I won’t have someone like you telling her.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

“If I see you anywhere within shouting distance of her, I’ll personally pick you up and take you downtown.”

Mason scoffed. “You can’t do that. I know my rights.”

“Oh. I can―and I will.”

“Based on what charge?”

“You found one body and showed up at the two other crime scenes faster than anyone else. I find that to be suspicious. In fact, as a person of interest, I’m inclined to take you downtown for questioning.”

Mason cocked his head to one side and glared at him. “You’re serious?”

“You bet I am. You leave that poor woman alone, am I clear?”

Mason answered by putting away his notebook and leaving the funeral home. Perhaps a little easier than Isaac expected, which only heightened his suspicion.

He turned to look for Kurt Dorsey, but the man had vanished. Still, it gave him pause. Tanisha Swanson claimed Dorsey was like any other client, but maybe he actually tried to help Riley Hamilton. It wasn’t common for a John to go to a hooker’s funeral. Then again, it was common for a killer to go to his victim’s funeral.

He didn’t regret chasing Mason off, but he wished he could have cornered Dorsey. He would have to visit him at home.

He checked his watch. He had just enough time to be at the District Attorney’s office for the three o’clock meeting.

Office of

District Attorney Paul Hudson

1315 Locust Street

Community Justice Complex

3:05 p.m.

The three-story, red-brick office building known as the Riederer Community Justice Center served as the main hub for the Jackson County legal system. Sitting adjacent to the Justice Center was the similarly appearing Jackson County Corrections facility. The jail’s twelve stories and narrow windows dwarfed its sister complex and hung ominously over the Justice Center.

District Attorney Paul Hudson and Ray were already in the conference room when Isaac arrived on the third floor. Ray spotted Isaac and waved him in. The two men sat across from each other at a long oak table with padded leather chairs and a phone in the center. The room had a set of large windows along one wall, but they had the shades closed against the afternoon sun. At the far end of the room, a dry-erase board was mounted on the wall.

Isaac pulled out a chair next to Ray. “Sorry I’m late.”

Ray shrugged. “No problem. We were just discussing the Chief’s home opener coming up. Learn anything at the funeral?”

“Not really. Was a little surprised at some of the guests, but that’s it.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Isaac, have you met D.A. Hudson?”

Isaac raised himself back out of his chair. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”

Hudson, a round man with a receding hairline, stood and shook with Isaac. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

“Likewise, sir.”

“Oh, do away with that sir stuff. Paul will do.”

Isaac regained his seat and studied the man across from him. His voice was friendly, almost fatherly, and his soft features could easily have you confusing him for your daughter’s high school softball coach. But despite the appearance, by reputation, Hudson was known in the police department circles as a no-nonsense, get-it-done type. He didn’t make any excuses for himself, and he didn’t like others who made them.

Hudson locked eyes with Isaac. “I’ve heard from the Mayor, the Governor, and multiple business interests. I’ve also been in touch with Chief Timmins, who was going to be here but got called away. Seems your case is making everyone nervous.”

Isaac took out his notepad. “So far, only prostitutes have been targeted. I don’t think the public is at risk, so general panic isn’t necessary.”

“I see.” Hudson’s mood turned dark. “Let me explain something. As Ray just mentioned, the Chief’s home opener is coming up. That game is part of a nationally televised triple-header that opens the new NFL season. In addition, the Royals are going to make the American League Playoffs, which start soon. Both of these, along with the fall festivals all around the area, are going to bring a lot of attention to our city. The Mayor and Governor are concerned a serial killer will cause folks to think twice about coming to town―regardless of who the victims are.”

The focus on monetary concerns made Isaac want to vomit. Women were dying, but the impact on the economy mattered more. But he wasn’t naïve, the dollar reigns in Kansas City and every other place like it. “I understand.”

“So, I’ve been asked to oversee the investigation and make sure all available resources are channeled toward helping you solve this case.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, can I get you to go to the board and lay out what you have on the victims?”

“Of course.”

Isaac rose and went to the dry-erase board. Using the available marker, he wrote all three names, one above the other. Then off to the right, he added their age and the date of their death.

Once finished, he turned back to look at Hudson. “The first victim discovered was Sadie Brennan. She was found under the I-435 underpass. She was naked and partially submerged in the Blue River.”

“The second victim discovered―”

Hudson held up a hand. “You’re saying discovered. Why?”

“The second victim found was Riley Hamilton. She had been reported missing by her grandmother, who said she hadn’t seen her granddaughter in three days. Sadie Brennan was also reported missing, but on the day after she disappeared. She was found on the day she was reported MIA.”

Hudson nodded and made some notes. “Go ahead.”

“The third victim was Lee Park―”

“The Park’s Chinatown Market folks.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve already heard from some of the business owners down in that area. Did she also pop as a missing person?”

“Negative. Her parents were aware what she was doing, but they did not keep tabs on her.”

Hudson shook his head. “A crying shame.”

Sutton sat observing but didn’t interrupt. He did make some notes of his own.

Isaac placed the marker on the ledge. “The autopsies have been done on the first two, but I haven’t heard when the latest victim’s post-mortem is scheduled for.”

Hudson picked up a digital recorder and spoke into it. “Check on autopsy for victim 3, make sure being done soon.” He clicked it off as Isaac headed back to his seat. “Evidence. Would you put that up there too?”

Isaac turned back to the board. “Not much, I’m afraid.” He picked up the marker and used it as a pointer, lightly tapping the names as he spoke. “Both Miss Hamilton and Miss Brennan were located along the Blue River, both with their lower body in the water.”

“Trying to wash out DNA?”

“Presumably, but neither showed any signs of rape. It would be impossible to know if the perpetrator even had sex with them. As I said, Miss Park’s autopsy hasn’t been done.”

Isaac paused, but Hudson just stared at him, waiting. He continued. “Only the victim’s DNA has been found in the fingernail scrapings, and a weapon has not been found at any of the scenes.”

“Clothing?”

“None. I’m assuming the killer is taking it as a precaution.”

“How were the women killed?”

“The medical examiner thinks a wire garrotte had been used in all three cases. The wounds on Miss Park matched the others, at least at first glance.”

“A garrotte? That’s an unusual weapon of choice.”

“It is, and the M.E. thinks the person is very experienced with it.”

Hudson nodded. “Anything else?”

“We’ve identified a pick-up that may have been used by the killer, but it’s a generic description that will probably only help when we have a solid suspect. In addition, we’ve only been able to tie it to one of the killings, so we don’t know if the same vehicle was used in the other two cases.”

Hudson looked over at Ray. “Get me a photo of each of the girls?”

“Sure.”

Hudson looked back at Isaac. “Okay. Suspects. Any?”

“Actually, yes. Though no one would be considered anything more than a person of interest at this time.”

The D.A. gestured toward the board. “If you would please.”

Isaac uncapped the marker and moved to the right side. “First person I’m looking at is Kurt Dorsey, age fifty-one. He responded to our call for information during the news conference. He claimed to have had contact with both Riley Hamilton and Sadie Brennan.”

“Claimed?”

Sutton sighed. “His story is that he picked up both women at different times. His reason, he claimed, was to try and get them off the street.”

Hudson looked incredulous. “Do you believe him?”

“It seems unlikely, but for the time being, we can’t disprove it.”

The D.A. grunted. “I’d say it’s more than just unlikely.” He looked back at Isaac. “Continue.”

“Second is Axel Reese, age thirty-four. He reported Sadie Brennan missing on the day she was found. He lived with her and reported to be her pimp.”

Isaac had the D.A.’s full attention now. Hudson made numerous notes while listening intently.

“Third is Fraser Mason. I’m not sure of his age but he’s a reporter for The Kansan. He actually discovered Riley Hamilton’s body and showed up at the Sadie Brennan scene long before anyone else.”

Hudson looked up from his notes. “Discovering a body always raises red flags, but other than that, what ties him to the crime? Seems he was just doing his job.”

Sutton cleared his throat. “So, at the news conference, Mason asked an unusual question. He wanted to know if we had any suspects. At that time, all we had was two missing women. Combined with the things mentioned by Isaac, we felt he was worth keeping an eye on.”

“Okay.”

“And then, there’s the video.”

Hudson looked from the lieutenant to Isaac and back again. “The video?”

Ray opened his laptop and loaded the interview between Lee Park and Fraser Mason. He turned it toward Hudson and hit play. The D.A. watched intently. When the interview ended, he sat back in his chair and looked at Isaac. “Who’s the girl?”

“Lee Park.”

“Our third victim?”

Isaac nodded.

“That sheds a whole new light on Mr. Mason. I agree, we need to vet him further. Send me a copy of this, Ray?”

“Will do.”

Isaac re-capped the marker and put it back on the ledge. “There is one other person I have considered.” He glanced at his boss. Ray nodded. “So, all three scenes were responded to first by a single police officer…”

Hudson’s head rotated to look at Sutton, then back at Isaac. “One of our own?”

“Yes. She actually discovered the body of Sadie Brennan.”

“She?”

“Yes.”

“Is it her patrol area?”

“It is.”

“Then why the suspicion?”

Isaac sighed. “I don’t like coincidences―”

“None of us do.”

“Right, well being first on the scene of three bodies in as many days seems to be a big one. I did street patrol for seven years and only responded to four murder scenes in the entire time.”

Hudson seemed to weigh the answer for a long time and Isaac sensed the D.A.’s inner turmoil. No one in law enforcement ever likes to suspect one of their own, especially if it turns out to be unfounded suspicion. “Who’s the officer?”

“Her name is Sharon Sharp.”

“What’s her background?”

Isaac swallowed hard. “I haven’t had time to do it yet.”

“What about the reporter? What’s his history?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten to it yet, either.”

Hudson’s eyes flared and he appeared ready to explode. Isaac retreated to his seat and waited.

Hudson scanned his notes. “The wire garrotte. That is the medical examiner’s belief?”

Isaac nodded. “It is.”

“My knowledge of the weapon is limited, but from what I remember, it takes some skill to use it effectively, correct?”

“That is what I understand, as well.”

“So, maybe someone with military training?”

“Possibly.”

“So who among your persons of interest has a military background?”

Isaac knew the answer, but he consulted his notepad just to break from the D.A.’s stare. “So far, I have confirmed just Kurt Dorsey as having been in the military.”

Hudson made a note. “DNA?”

“As I mentioned, no sources have been found on the first two victims.”

“I realize that.” Impatience leaked into his voice. “I’m referring to the suspects.”

“I…” Isaac dreaded the next words out of his mouth. “I haven’t secured any yet.”

Hudson let out a disgusted sigh. “Look, Detective. I know things have been moving quickly, but this is elementary stuff. Do we need to assign a different detective to the case?”

Isaac didn’t blame Hudson for the sentiment, but he wasn’t going to accept being shoved off the investigation either. “My knowledge of the case so far would be difficult to transfer effectively to a new detective. I will have the backgrounds done today.”

“Let me save you some work.” Hudson pulled a laptop from a briefcase on the floor and set it on the table. After less than a minute, he spun the laptop around for Isaac and Ray to see. “Sharon Sharp. Three commendations, no disciplinary actions. Served four years as an army MP.”

A long moment of silence hung over the room. Hudson had made his point. He pulled the laptop back and closed it. “Okay. Going forward, this is how we’re handling the situation. Chief Timmins has already approved and arranged for increased patrols in The West Bottoms. The department is determined to have maximum visibility in the affected zone. In addition, there will be undercover officers working the area.”

He returned his laptop to its briefcase. “Secondly, the military keeps the DNA profiles on record for all soldiers. I’ll go through the proper channels to get both Dorsey’s and Sharp’s.”

He turned his glare on Ray. “Get him some help. Have someone do the backgrounds, and especially check to see if anyone else has military experience. If so, I need that info ASAP. Understood?”

“Clearly.”

“And find a way to get the reporter’s―what’s his name?”

“Fraser Mason.”

“Find a way to get Mr. Mason’s DNA.”

“Okay.”

“Isaac.”

“Sir?” He wasn’t about to call the angry D.A. Paul.

“Let’s get another interview done with the three men, and don’t be gentle. I want to know if they’re gonna move from person of interest to suspect, or be cleared altogether.”

“Yes, sir. What about Sharp?”

“I’ve got contacts in the patrol division. Let me handle her for the time being.”

“Very well.”

“Also, get on the DMV records. Find out if any of the other three people you mentioned have access to a pick-up.” Hudson stood. “Ray, you and I will confer tomorrow by ten a.m.” He grabbed his briefcase. “If nothing changes, we’ll have a press conference at one, but I don’t want it announced yet.”

Ray nodded. “Got it.”

“Thank you, Gentlemen.” Hudson headed for the door. “Let’s get to work.”

Isaac nor Ray moved until Hudson had left the room.

Finally, Ray smiled. “That was fun.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “I’d rather attend an autopsy.”

“You hate those.”

“My point exactly.”

Ray pushed away from the table. “Well, you heard the man―let’s get to work.”

City Jail – 8th Floor

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

5:15 p.m.

Isaac’s first stop after leaving the D.A.’s office was back to the station and his own desk. He wanted to get on the Department of Motor Vehicles database to check if Mason, Sharp, or Reese had access to a pick-up. Being caught with his pants down by Hudson wasn’t going to happen again.

His first search was on Axel Reese, and he immediately hit paydirt. Reese had a silver 2010 Chevrolet Silverado registered to him. While it wouldn’t classify as an old model, it was a truck.

Next on the list, Fraser Mason. He had a new BMW, but no pick-up, at least in his name. Finally, he ran Officer Sharp. She was listed on two vehicles. A Chrysler Pacifica minivan and a 2004 Dodge Ram 1500. The truck, presumably the primary vehicle of her husband, was gray.

Though the truck had only been witnessed at one scene, the possibility that three of the four suspects could have used a pick-up made for a troubling coincidence, to say the least. He finished his notes and shut down the computer.

One job done.

His next task was to lean on Axel Reese and he knew just where to find him. He took the elevator to the top story of the building.

He approached the on-duty officer and showed his badge. “I’d like to speak with Axel Reese. Can you have him brought to interview room three?”

The male officer typed in the name and stared at the monitor. “No can do, Detective. He posted bond Thursday evening.”

Isaac wondered where Reese got the funds. “What time?”

“Ten p.m.”

“Thanks.”

That meant, if Big-O’s rough timeline was correct, Reese had been loose when Lee Park was killed. Isaac turned and made a beeline for the elevator. While riding to the ground floor, he dialed Reese’s cell phone.

“Yo, it’s Axel. Leave a message.”

“Mr. Reese, this is Detective Green. Please call me as soon as you get this.”

The elevator doors opened and he went directly to his car. He didn’t expect Reese to call him back, so he needed to get over to his apartment.

He had warned Reese about going dark and the consequences if he decided to make himself scarce, but Isaac had an ominous sense Reese wasn’t going to be easy to find―and if another woman died―well, he didn’t want to think about the fallout.

Isaac’s car was equipped with a siren and he carried a magnetic blue light. He fastened the light to the roof and raced out of the parking lot.

The distance was only four and half miles, the normal travel time―eight minutes. Isaac pulled up in less than five. Trotting around to the back, he knocked on Reese’s door.

When he got no answer, he banged harder.

Still no response.

He tried the doorknob. Locked.

“He ain’t home.”

Isaac turned to see a woman in her thirties with an overflowing laundry basket. “Do you know when he left?”

Her messy blond hair blew into her eyes, so she set the basket down to push it back. “Before lunch. Maybe ten-thirty.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Nope. Don’t expect I will for a bit.”

“Are you the landlord?”

“Nah. I live in the apartment across the hall from him.”

“What’s your name?”

“Carol Cooke.”

“Did you speak with Mr. Reese often?”

“Hardly ever.”

“Why do you think you won’t see him for a while?”

“Cuz I’ve seen him bug out before, then show up a few weeks later.”

Isaac’s anxiety level tripled. “What do you mean by bug out?”

“He threw a bunch of stuff in his truck and left in a hurry.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“I don’t have a clue.” She crossed her arms over her ample chest and cocked her head to one side. “Ain’t my business to pry.”

He suspected that was exactly her business. “So no idea?”

“If I were to guess, I’d say the same place as before, probably.”

“But you don’t know where that is?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, it ain’t my business.”

He took out a card and gave it to her. “If you see him, would you call me?”

She studied it. “There some kinda reward or somethin’ for callin’?”

“No, but you might save a girl’s life.”

She looked up, alarm in her eyes. “Sadie’s?”

“You knew Miss Brennan?”

“Sure. Sweet girl. Don’t know why she messed with the likes of Reese.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but Miss Brennan is dead.”

“Ah, no.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Did Reese do somethin’ to her?”

“I don’t know at this time. Did you ever witness him hurting her?”

“Nah, but they argued a lot.”

“Did she ever say anything about him hitting her, that sort of thing?”

“Not to me.”

Isaac glanced at his watch. He had other places to be. “I appreciate you talking with me. If you see Mr. Reese, please call―and don’t let him know you are.”

“I will, I promise. For Sadie.”

“Have a good night.”

She tucked the card in her back pocket and reached for her laundry basket. “You, too.”

Back in his car, he considered whether he might get a search warrant for the apartment, but couldn’t come up with a justifiable probable cause. Reese being a person of interest in a homicide would not make a judge sign off on such a request―and definitely wouldn’t approve of getting DNA during a search. He would have to come up with another way if Reese remained unreachable.

His stomach grumbled. Dinner would have to be drive-thru―he had somewhere else to be.

Home of Kurt Dorsey

1902 Laurel Avenue

Blue Summit Unincorporated Area

East of Kansas City

7:12 p.m.

The Dorsey home sat mostly dark when Isaac’s car crept down the dirt road leading to the trailer. A glow in a back window from what could be a TV was the only sign of life. The white pick-up was gone but a red Mazda 626 sat in the driveway.

Isaac parked on the road and picked his way through the darkness to the front porch. He rapped on the side of the trailer with his knuckles and waited. The sound of movement came from the other side before the overhead light came on, briefly blinding him. He shielded his eyes as the door opened.

“Can I help you?”

Isaac produced his badge. “I’m Detective Green. Are you Jared?”

“Yeah.”

“We spoke on the phone the other day.”

“I remember.” The young man stepped out onto the porch. “Dad’s not here, though.”

The younger Dorsey had his father’s brown hair and green eyes but didn’t share his father’s build. Dorsey seemed to spend time working out. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I don’t. Since my mom left, he just disappears occasionally. I think he goes out for a few beers.”

The word disappears echoed in Isaac’s brain. “And you’re sure he hadn’t done that on the nights I asked you about?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You work over at Bally’s, right?”

“Yes.”

“Does your dad go there maybe?”

“I don’t know. I work days, so he could. But no one ever mentioned it to me.”

“What about a local bar? He have a favorite?”

“Well, mom and him used to go over to Teri’s.”

“Teri’s?”

“Yeah, it’s a little place over on Saint John’s Avenue. Teri’s Bigger Jigger.”

Isaac smiled. “Some name.”

“Sure. Probably explains why it’s so popular.”

“Okay. Let your dad know I was looking for him, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Isaac returned to his car as the porch light went off. A quick Google search gave him the address of Teri’s bar. He was about to visit the Bigger Jigger for the first time.

Teri’s Bigger Jigger

6120 Saint John Avenue

North Indian Mound Neighborhood

East Kansas City

8:07 p.m.

Isaac found Teri’s easily enough, in fact, the small pub was hard to miss with its huge sign hanging off the corner of the building―a jigger surrounded by the words BIGGER JIGGER in capital letters.

He parked in the small lot off to the side of the building and got out. A quick scan did not reveal Dorsey’s pick-up. He went in the back entrance.

Being a Saturday night, the bar was not surprisingly, packed. Conversation and laughter filled the room with sound, and if the volume was up on the Multiple TVs around the room, he couldn’t hear them. Most showed the Royals game with closed caption running across the bottom, though one had a replay of the Chief’s last Super Bowl victory going.

Pool tables stood off to one side, and the bar ran down the wall to his left. Pub tables were lined up along the front window. The walls were completely covered with the classic neon beer signs and assorted sports memorabilia―most of it dedicated to the Chiefs.

He squeezed up to the near end of the bar and waited. A petite woman with black hair and olive skin approached. “What can I get you?”

“I’m looking for Teri.”

“Well, you’ve found her. What do you need?”

Rather than flashing a badge, he slid a business card across the bar. She glanced down at it but left it untouched. “Problem?”

“No. I’m looking for Kurt Dorsey. Do you know him?”

“Sure, but I haven’t seen him tonight.”

“Does he come here often?”

“He used to. Not so much after he and his wife split.”

“What about her? She here?”

“Haven’t seen her since the divorce. I think she may have left town.”

Isaac tapped the card. “Can I get you to call me if you see either of them?”

She scooped the card up and tucked it in her front pocket. “Be glad to.” She looked over her shoulder. “That all?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.”

“No problem. Gotta get back to work, though.”

She wandered off to the other end as Isaac made his retreat to the outside. Loud sports bars weren’t his thing anymore―maybe he was just getting old―but he preferred a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant.

Back at the car, he checked his phone and found he had a voicemail.

“Hi, Isaac. It’s Emily. I’d been thinking about you, so I took a chance and see if you were available. As you can tell, it didn’t pay off. Call if you have time. Bye.”

He dialed her number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Emily. It’s Isaac.”

She laughed. “So I gathered.”

“What gave it away?”

“The raspy, exhausted voice.”

“It’s been a long day. I don’t have anywhere to be at the moment, you busy?”

She sighed. “I wish you had called a little earlier. I’m already in my jammies for the night. Besides, you sound like you could use some rest.”

“While I’m disappointed not to see you, I won’t deny you’re right.”

“Get some shut-eye. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He hung up and started the car. As he made his way home, he marveled at how much he enjoyed talking with her. However, in the back of his mind, he had to wonder why she never even breached the story about the murders. Was she that self-controlled as to not even ask if he had any news?

He wouldn’t give her anything that would compromise the investigation, but even he had been tempted to talk about the pressure building on him. Did she just not want to talk about the case? If so, why not? She is a reporter.

As he reached his place, he found it bothered him more than it should. She did come to town right before the killings started, but that was just a coincidence, right?

He sighed as he unlocked his front door and went inside.

You’re way too tired, buddy. You’re just being paranoid.

Emily being a killer definitely did not make any logical sense―in fact, it was ridiculous. He was clutching at straws.

You’ve lost it, Isaac. Get a grip.

He fell into bed and was out before his head hit the pillow.

Sunday, September 15

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

9:10 a.m.

Sunday or not, when you’re working a homicide case, you don’t get to sleep in. Isaac had been awoken by an early phone call.

“Hello?”

“Isaac, it’s Orlando.”

“Hey.”

“You asleep still?”

He smiled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that suggestion.”

“Uh, huh. That’s what I thought. You best be glad I called you and not Sutton.”

He swung his feet off the bed and onto the floor. “True that. What’s up?”

“Autopsy on Lee Park is scheduled for noon today.”

“I can’t make it. At least, not unless plans change. I’m supposed to be in a news conference at one.”

“Too bad. In my book, an autopsy is preferable.”

“Believe it or not, I might agree with you, but I don’t have a choice.”

“You can call me after the news conference or I’ll send you my report as soon as it’s done. Whatever works for you.”

“Copy that. Bye.”

He hung up and pushed himself to a standing position. His grogginess from the night before had been replaced by a sinus headache. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, then shot some decongestant up his nose. After a few moments, his sinus passages began to clear―as did his thoughts.

He started his coffee pot, showered, then bolted for the station. Along the way, he grabbed a drive-thru breakfast and his third egg burrito filled his mouth as he arrived on the squad room floor.

“Hey, Isaac.”

He mumbled a response.

Sutton squinted at him. “What?”

Isaac pointed at his mouth and held up the burrito wrapper.

“Well finish that and come into my office.”

Isaac nodded and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

While his boss retreated to his office, Isaac took his coffee cup over to the machine and filled it. With fresh caffeine in hand, he rapped on Sutton’s door frame and went in. “Morning.”

“Morning. I just spoke with D. A. Hudson. He’s moved the press conference up to eleven this morning.”

“Okay.”

“How was your night? Make any progress?”

“No. Reese made bail, and according to his neighbor lady, has made himself scarce.”

“So no DNA.”

“No. Unless you can come up with something, I don’t have enough to get a warrant for his apartment.”

“What about Kurt Dorsey? Get a chance to lean on him?”

“He wasn’t home and I couldn’t find him at his favorite bar, either.”

“That’s zero for two.”

“It was not a good night. I haven’t been able to re-interview anyone.”

“Well, Hudson had better luck. He sent over the DNA profiles of both Dorsey and Sharp. Forensics has them and will compare profiles we get on crime scene evidence―if we get some. What about the reporter―Mason?”

“I figured I could corner him after the news conference without alerting his editors. I don’t want his boss yelling about freedom of the press just because I want to ask a few questions.”

“Sounds like a solid idea.” Sutton tossed a Manila folder on the desk. “That is the background file on Mr. Mason. Jack Conroy worked it up last night.”

Isaac reached out and slid it toward him. When he flipped it open, an 8 x 10 headshot of Fraser Mason smiled back at him. “He find anything interesting?”

“One thing. Mason didn’t serve in the military, but he was embedded with the Army’s 4th Infantry Division during the Iraq War.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “You think he might have learned about a garrotte then?”

“It’s at least a possibility.”

Isaac stood. “Anything else?”

Sutton shook his head. “Not from me. Just be ready at eleven.”

“Copy that.”

Isaac returned to his desk and opened the folder on Fraser Mason. They needed to get his DNA, but how? They could tail him, but there was no telling how long it would take to get a DNA sample from something he discarded―and it ran the risk of tipping the man off. There needed to be some sort of ruse or set-up. Like free drinks at the press conference or―he snapped his fingers. “The press conference!”

He glanced at his watch. They had less than two hours to set it up.

Going back into Sutton’s office without knocking, he sat back down. Sutton looked up from his paperwork. “What?”

“I need you to call the D.A.”

“Why?”

Isaac laid it out. Without saying another word, Sutton picked up his phone and dialed.

Police Headquarters

Meeting Room

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

10:45 a.m.

Isaac peered out from a side door at the crowd gathered for the press briefing. Where the last news conference just five days before had a handful of mostly local journalists, the meeting room on this morning was packed. Reporters had come in from the Associated Press, USA Today, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and many others Isaac had never seen before. TV cameras lined the back wall and a myriad of microphones had been pressed together at the podium.

Before closing the door, he scanned once more for Emily but didn’t see her. He did spot Fraser Mason near the far wall. He looked at Ray. “I hope you don’t get stage fright.”

His friend and boss grimaced. “A full house, that’s for sure.”

District Attorney Hudson came down the hallway. “Is it all set up?”

Sutton nodded. “Yes, sir. The initial wipe-down has already been done. Detective Conroy is ready for the signal.”

“Perfect. I got the company’s cooperation. They didn’t want a reporter of theirs under any suspicion. They assured me I was nuts, but signed the affidavit anyway.” He turned to Isaac. “Green, you know what to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sutton glanced at his watch. “I invited the chief and the mayor to attend. The mayor had another obligation but the chief should be here soon.”

As if on cue, Chief of Police Bernard Timmins came up behind them. “Are we ready to do this?”

Three heads bobbed in the affirmative.

“Good.” Timmins, a tall man with broad shoulders and the kind of presence that made everyone around him feel small, locked eyes with Sutton. “I’ll say a few words, then introduce you, Ray.”

Sutton nodded.

“After you finish your statement, we’ll take questions.” He looked at the D.A. “If something comes up you don’t want answered, step in.”

“Understood.”

“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s do this.”

Isaac swallowed hard and followed the rest of the group out into the meeting room. Timmins moved to the podium while Isaac, Hudson, and Sutton took up positions behind and to the right. Off to the left, a large video screen had been pulled down from the ceiling.

The furor of conversation died in an instant as Chief Timmins looked out from behind the podium. All eyes focused on the big man as pens and digital recorders sat poised to take down anything and everything said.

“Good morning. As most of you may know, I’m Chief Timmins. Behind me are District Attorney Hudson, Lieutenant Sutton, and Detective Green. These three men are heading up the task force assigned to find the person or persons guilty of killing three local women.”

The reference to a task force was new to Isaac. Up to this point, everything had been geared at keeping this a low-profile case. Perhaps the chief recognized there was no reason to pretend they had anything other than a crisis on their hands.

Timmins, extremely comfortable in such situations, continued. “To date, all three deaths have been tied to the same killer. These women have one main thing in common―they were engaged in prostitution. Let me say right now, if the person or persons doing these killings thinks for one minute that we at the Kansas City Police Department don’t value these lives―they are sorely mistaken.” He hesitated and stared directly at the wall of cameras. “We will find you and get justice for all three.”

He scanned the rapt group of reporters, then nodded at the video tech off to the right. Three pictures came up on the screen―Riley Hamilton, Sadie Brennan, and Lee Park.

“These three women were all found near the Blue River and all were taken from the West Bottoms area. We are asking that anyone who recognizes them and thinks they might have information, to call the Crime Stoppers hotline or our department. No tip is considered too small. And let me say this, we are not interested in anything to do with interactions you may or may not have had with them. We only want to find who killed them.”

A hand went up in the crowd.

Timmins shook his head. “Not yet. I want to bring in Lieutenant Sutton, first.” He turned and stepped away from the podium.

Ray nodded at his boss, then took his place. “Good morning.” He fumbled with the microphone, lowering it from where the chief had been comfortable. “First of all, I want to reiterate what Chief Timmins said. We will find the responsible party parties for these killings, and we are working tirelessly to do so. My detectives and the District Attorney have been putting in long hours, making it our mission to put a stop to the killings.”

He cleared his throat. “That said, in addition to asking the public for help, we want to put out an appeal to the women of our city. For the time being, we encourage those involved in the sex trade to stay off the streets if at all possible. You are in extreme danger until we catch the killer or killers.”

He looked back at the pictures on the screen. “While these three went missing from the West Bottoms, we have no reason to assume he won’t take someone from another area. In addition, because he has targeted prostitutes to this point, we do not know for certain that will remain the case. Therefore, we are encouraging all women to be extremely cautious when they are out at night. We do not want to see any further loss of life if it can be avoided.”

Ray looked over at the tech and nodded. A new photo came on the screen.

“This is a photo of someone we would like to talk to. His name is Axel Reese. I want to stress that Mr. Reese is not a suspect at this time. He is considered a person of interest, and we wish only to speak with him. We appreciate anyone who can give us information that helps us find him. If Mr. Reese is watching, we encourage him to call us. It would be in your best interest to do so.”

Ray looked back at the three men behind him. “Anything you want to add?”

Three heads shook in the negative.

Ray looked back at the press corps. “We will take questions now.”

The intense silence broke with an avalanche of hurled questions. Ray held up his hands. “One at time, folks.” He pointed off to one side. “Yes.”

A female reporter stood. “You have tied the cases together, you mentioned by location, but is there anything else you have that brings you to that conclusion?”

“The method of killing also connects them.”

“What is that method?”

D.A. Hudson started shaking his head, but Ray didn’t need to see it. “That is not information we’re willing to release at this time.”

A male reporter stood, not waiting to be called on. “Do you have DNA connecting them?”

“Again, that is not something I can reveal now.”

Ray pointed at a reporter near the back. “Yes?”

Fraser Mason stood. “Is Mr. Reese your only suspect?”

Calling on Mason had been part of their pre-conference game plan. Isaac watched Mason intently as Ray’s jaw tightened. Mason had a knack for getting on people’s nerves.

“Mr. Reese is not, I repeat not, a suspect. He is someone we want to talk to, and that is as far as it goes.”

Mason appeared unphased at the reprimand. “Do you have any actual suspects for the Blue River Killer?”

Ray answered through gritted teeth. “We have multiple persons of interest. At this time, we do not wish to reveal if we plan to move any of them beyond that status.”

Ray quickly chose another reporter.

She stood and glanced at her notes. “You have asked women who make their living in the sex trade to stay home. What if that is not an option for them?”

Chief Timmins stepped forward to the mic. “We understand the request may prove a hardship for some, and because of that, I have authorized increased patrols and extra overtime pay in order to provide some form of protection. But I stress―the danger is still very great and what the patrols provide is not in any way a guarantee of safety.”

He stepped back.

D.A. Hudson cleared his throat. Ray got the message. “Thank you all for coming. We will have further briefings as they are warranted.”

More questions rained down as the four men exited back through the door they had come in. Before the door had closed behind him, Isaac was on the move.

Taking a side exit, he stood where he couldn’t be seen and surveyed the parking lot. After nearly twenty minutes, many of the press vehicles had left. One of the last people out was Emily, and he suspected she had lagged behind to see him. He resisted the urge to step out. He would call her later.

Also late to leave, Fraser Mason finally came out into the parking lot. He crossed to his white sedan with the bold blue lettering The Kansan. News you can trust.

Isaac waited for Mason to unlock the vehicle and get into the driver’s seat before trotting out from his hiding place. “Mason!”

The reporter yanked the car door closed.

“Mason!”

Isaac approached the front of the sedan, waving.

Mason rolled down his window. “You calling me?”

“Yeah. I need to speak with you.”

“What about?”

“I fear you and the department got off on the wrong foot. Can you give me a minute? I’d like to explain.”

Mason glanced at his watch. “I need to get my story put in.”

“I understand. It will only take a minute.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Isaac looked around as if checking for spies. “Come with me. We’ll talk inside.”

Mason did his best to look annoyed. “Fine.”

He got out of his car and locked it. Isaac led him back to the exit door, opening it and letting them both into a small hallway. “So, Fraser…Can I call you Fraser?”

“Sure.”

“Good. So anyway, the main thing I wanted to say is we appreciate you being there to cover our conferences and any help you can give finding people.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“Right, but there’s one thing.”

Mason just stared.

“When you call someone a suspect who isn’t, it creates an issue for us.”

“What sort of issue?”

“Well, suppose someone decides that Reese for instance, is a suspect and they deem him guilty. They might take justice into their own hands.”

“Like a vigilante?”

“Exactly.”

Mason scoffed. “That’s extremely unlikely, Detective.”

Isaac didn’t take the bait. “Still, if someone did, you can see the position it could put both us and you in.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

“But the department is not.”

“That’s the department’s problem, isn’t it.”

Isaac shrugged. “I guess so. I just wanted to explain why you might have felt we were being harsh with you.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m used to it.”

Isaac didn’t doubt that for a minute. “Okay. Well, I said my piece. Thanks for listening.”

“Sure.”

Mason stepped back out into the daylight and marched to his car. Isaac watched as Detective Conroy and Mason crossed paths. Conroy nodded politely, a smile on his face.

When the detective got up to where Isaac stood, he held up a small vial. “Got it.”

“Think his DNA is on it?”

“Claire Mitchell is the one who will tell us.”

Isaac accepted the vial. “I’ll get it to her now.”

“Good luck.”

Kansas City Police Forensic Lab

2645 Brooklyn Avenue

Wendell Phillips Neighborhood

Southeast Kansas City

12:44 p.m.

Isaac had approached Sutton and D.A. Hudson with the suggestion of using the press conference as an opportunity to get Fraser Mason’s DNA without tipping the reporter off.

Sutton had been skeptical. “I don’t think it will fly in court. If the judge throws it out, the reporter’s DNA would never be admissible.”

But Hudson loved the idea. “You let me handle that. As long as Mason shows up in his press sedan, go ahead with the plan.”

So Isaac had watched intently for Mason to arrive and fist-pumped Conroy when they saw the white news vehicle. Since The Kansan press service owned the vehicle, D.A. Hudson was able to get their permission to do the swab.

If the swab provided a usable profile, then Axel Reese would be the only one they didn’t have on file to compare against. Isaac needed to find him, but that was only half the battle. He doubted Reese would give his sample voluntarily, so another ruse would be needed.

One step at a time.

He pulled into the lab parking lot and fast-walked the sample inside. After showing his badge to the security detail, he’d beelined it for Claire Mitchell’s office―no need to ask if she was in―her being ready had been part of the set-up.

He found her sitting at her desk. When she saw him, she stood. “Get it?”

He held out the vial. “Went perfectly.”

She smiled as she took it. “Let’s hope I can say the same about the sample.”

“How long?”

“Using Rapid DNA processing, a couple hours. But we don’t have anything to compare it against.”

“I know, but I want it ready if we do get something.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Since when?”

“Okay, in reality, it’s Hudson’s wish.”

He laughed. “That’s what I figured.”

“By the way, Doc Little sent the swabs and fingernails over from Lee Park’s autopsy. I’ve already got them being worked up by one of my techs.”

“Great. I need to give him a call. Let me know how the processing goes?”

“You’ll be the second to know.”

“That works.”

He left her to the task and went back out to his car. When he checked his phone, there were two voicemails. The first was from Big-O.

“Lee Park died from ligature strangulation matching the other victims. Samples have been sent over to Mitchell. TOD is roughly midnight to two a.m. on the morning of her discovery.”

Isaac started the second message.

“Hey. I hung around after the news conference but didn’t see you. Give me a call if you have time.”

He dialed her number.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Sorry I missed you at the press conference.”

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“I promise I’m not. Just a lot going on.”

“Of course. Perhaps we should wait until after you catch this guy to meet up again.”

He glanced at his watch. “I haven’t had lunch. Grab a quick bite?”

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a barbeque place on Brooklyn Avenue called Bryant’s. Every good southern girl likes barbeque, right?”

“I don’t know about that, but I sure do. What time?”

“I’m just a few minutes away.”

“I’ll find it and meet you there.”

He grinned into the phone. “Great. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

He hung up and started the car. Even during a murder investigation, a guy has to eat, right? He nodded to himself. Right!

Arthur Bryant’s Barbeque

1727 Brooklyn Avenue

18th & Vine District

Southeast Kansas City

1:20 p.m.

Isaac waited outside until he saw Emily get out of her car. She held her tan skirt against the chilly breeze and pulled a black leather jacket tight to her chest. He stepped out of his car. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.”

He held the restaurant door open for her. “After you.”

“Thank you, sir.” She grinned at him. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughed. “Gentleman, maybe. Scholar, definitely not.”

They joined the line waiting at the order window. Four rows of square wooden tables with beige formica tops, each attended by a set of red vinyl chairs, ran from the front of the small restaurant to the rear. Being late on a Sunday, the lunch crowd was smaller than usual.

The menu board hung over a long stainless steel counter where people waited for their food after ordering. An aroma of extremely well-made barbeque filled the room as they moved closer to the front.

Emily stared up at the menu. “I’d ask for recommendations, but I already see what I want.”

“I wouldn’t know what to suggest anyway. Everything is fantastic.”

Her eyes widened in anticipation. “I can’t resist baby back ribs.”

He smiled. “Yeah well, Colonel Sanders stole the phrase finger lickin’ good from this place’s ribs!”

“Really?”

“No. But he could have.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “I suppose they stole your momma’s potato casserole recipe too.”

“Nope. My momma didn’t cook. Dad was the chef.”

“Same with my family. Did you take after your dad?”

“No, again. When it comes to the kitchen, I took after my mom.”

She laughed. “Remind me not to come to your place for dinner.”

“Will do.”

“Lucky for you, I took after my father. I love to cook.”

Their turn came at the window. She ordered her ribs and casserole. He wanted the brisket sandwich and onion rings. Just a few moments later, they had found a table and were digging in.

Eventually, they had both finished. Isaac pointed at her chin. “You have sauce on you.”

“Oh, well I’m doing good then. Usually, I have it all over my face.”

“You need a to-go box?”

She tipped her plate upwards. “You see anything uneaten on this plate?”

He laughed. “No, no I do not.”

She sipped her drink and stared at him. Her gaze was both beautiful and penetrating, making him a little self-conscious.

“I see they’ve named your perp the Blue River Killer.” She set her cup down. “How’s the case going?”

Being the first time she’d ever asked, it struck him as odd by how surprised he was to hear it. He’d even entertained the idea she might be involved, though he considered it ridiculous. But now he had to wonder if she was prying for a story or if something else was her motive.

He stalled, chastising himself for thinking something so absurd.

She waved a hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s okay. I just―”

“No, seriously. I’m sorry I asked. It only puts you in an awkward situation.”

“It’s fine, really―”

“No, it’s not. The last thing I want to do is give you a reason to start avoiding me.”

He locked eyes with her for a long moment, then let a shy smile curl his lips. “That’s the last thing I want too.”

“Good.” She smiled and reached out to touch his hand. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

He changed the subject by checking his watch. “I need to get going.”

“No problem. Thanks for the great food.”

“Thank you for the even better company.”

Home of Kurt Dorsey

1902 Laurel Avenue

Blue Summit Unincorporated Area

East of Kansas City

4:00 p.m.

Isaac still needed to corner Kurt Dorsey and get some hard answers, so he was relieved to see the white pick-up in the driveway. He parked on the dead-end road and went to the front door.

Dorsey was just coming out. “Oh! Detective Green. You startled me.”

“Sorry. It wasn’t intentional, I assure you.”

“What brings you around?”

“I have some more questions for you. Mind if I come in?”

“Sure, but I don’t have long.”

“It’ll just take a few minutes.”

Dorsey held the door wide and Isaac followed him inside the trailer. The interior had all the signs of two men living there. Leftover food wrappers littered the coffee table, shoes were strewn in the middle of the living room, and the kitchen sink was full of dishes. The lone trash can, the large outdoor variety, overflowed onto the blue linoleum floor.

Dorsey sat on a tattered couch while Isaac opted to sit in the only chair not taken up by clothing. He took out his notepad. “I came by yesterday evening. Did your son tell you?”

“No. He’d gone to work before I got up this morning.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out. Why?”

“Just trying to get a timeline on everybody tied to the case.”

“Teri’s bar.”

“The Bigger Jigger?”

Surprise painted Dorsey’s face. “Uh…yeah.”

“Funny thing is, I went by there and Teri said she hadn’t seen you in a while.”

He swallowed hard. “Well, that’s right. She never saw me last night. It was busy.”

“I see. In that case, I’ll have to check her video cameras.”

“What about Thursday night?”

“If you must know, I visited my ex-wife.”

“Oh? For what purpose?”

Dorsey sighed. “I’ve been…I’ve been trying to convince her to give me another chance.”

“Can she verify that?”

“Of course.”

“What’s her name?”

“Shauna Dorsey.”

“What’s her number?”

Dorsey rattled it off, irritation growing in his voice.

“And where does she live?”

“Joplin.”

Joplin was roughly two and a half hours south of the Dorsey home. “So you were out of town Thursday night?”

“That’s right.”

“Why did the two of you split, if I may ask.”

“It’s personal. I’d rather not go into it.”

“Okay. Where were you on Friday night?”

“Here all night.”

“Your son with you?”

“Yes. Are we done? I need to get going.”

“Can I ask where you’re headed?”

“No. It’s none of your business.”

Isaac forced a smile. “I suppose you’re right.” He stood. “Thanks for your time.”

“Sure.”

Dorsey picked up his cell phone while Isaac let himself out. He would have loved to listen in on who Dorsey called, but the door closed behind him.

Taking out his own phone, he dialed the number of Dorsey’s ex-wife, then started his car and pulled away.

“Hello?”

“Shauna Dorsey?”

“That’s right? Who’s this?”

“My name is Detective Green. I’m with the Kansas City Missouri Police Department.”

“Oh, I see. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You were married to Kurt Dorsey, correct?”

“Yes. What’s he done?”

“Nothing specific, but he did tell me he visited you Thursday evening. Is that correct?”

“Yes and no.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He visited Thursday, but he was gone before six.”

“Six p.m.?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember exactly what time he left?”

“Five-thirty, maybe.”

That meant Dorsey was likely back in town before Lee Park was killed. “May I ask why you and your husband divorced?”

“I got tired of him seeing hookers.” There was no embarrassment in her tone. “I told him to stop but he wouldn’t.”

“Mr. Dorsey told me he was trying to get them off the street.”

She snorted. “He told me the same thing. I didn’t buy it then, and if you ask me, you shouldn’t buy it now.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dorsey.”

“Just call me Shauna―Please.”

“Goodbye, Shauna.”

He hung up and turned the car around. There was a hole a mile wide in Dorsey’s alibi and Isaac needed to know why. When he got back to the trailer, he found an empty driveway.

He dialed Kurt Dorsey’s number but it went to voicemail.

“Mr. Dorsey, this is Detective Green. Please call me when you get this. Thank you.”

He hung up, his frustration mounting.

He called Sutton.

“Major Crimes. Lieutenant Sutton speaking.”

“It’s Isaac. Any leads on Axel Reese.”

“Not one.”

“Just great.” Isaac sighed heavily. “It turns out Kurt Dorsey’s whereabouts can’t be verified for the time frame when Lee Park was killed.”

“I take it you have spoken with him.”

“Yes, but I need to re-interview again and he’s gone.”

“Well, I have two pieces of new information. One, no suspect DNA was found from the Lee Park samples.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am disappointed.”

“On the bright side, Hudson called and I have news about your press conference ruse.”

“Did it work?”

“It did. They got a solid profile on Fraser Mason.”

“That is good news! Now, if we can get something to match it to before someone else dies, that would be even better.”

“Agreed. What’s your plan now?”

“I think I’ll hang in here for a while. Maybe Dorsey won’t be gone all night.”

“Copy that. Bye.”

“Bye.” Isaac hung up and moved back to a spot where he could watch the trailer but not be seen himself. Then he slumped down in his seat and waited. And waited.

Finally, around nine p.m., a set of lights came down the road and turned into the Dorsey drive. Isaac recognized the red Mazda as the one belonging to Jared Dorsey.

He weighed his options. He could go up and ask Jared if he knew where his dad was, he more than likely would say no. Then he’d let his dad know the house was probably being watched.

Another option was to stay and wait longer, though his patience had worn thin. The third choice was to check the Bigger Jigger for Dorsey. He opted for number three and had just started his car when his phone rang.

“Detective Green.”

“Isaac, it’s Ray. We’ve got another one.”

Isaac’s heart dropped. “Where?”

“Across from GFL Environmental, under the East Truman Bridge.”

“Are we sure it’s tied to the others?”

“Not positive. The reporting officer said there were a few differences. The victim is still clothed and she is not in the river.”

“What’s the connection?”

“The officer said the throat bruising matches the other scenes.”

“Who’s the responding officer?”

“Sharon Sharp.”

Beneath the East Truman Road Bridge

Bank of Blue River

Northeast Kansas City

9:45 p.m.

Isaac had to access a side road known as Manchester Trafficway to get to the site. A row of bright green sanitation trucks signified the entrance to GFL’s property, and across from that, he found a gravel path that led toward the Blue River.

In the darkness, his headlights bounced crazily along the path. He reached the river and made a hard right toward the Truman overpass. Ahead, multiple police cruisers had lit up the scene with their headlights. Fortunately, this time they had the sense to stay a good distance back from the area where the body was located. Isaac parked about a hundred yards away and walked up to where the yellow tape had already been stretched out. The river gurgled noisily in the darkness to his left, providing an eerie backdrop to the swirling red and blue lights.

At the yellow crime tape, Sergeant McMann stood waiting. “Hey again, Detective.”

“Hey. What have we got?”

McMann lifted the tape. “Caucasian Female, late twenties or early thirties. Her neck shows signs of wire strangulation.”

“Where’s Sharp?”

McMann raised an eyebrow. “In her cruiser. Why?”

“I want to talk with her.”

“Don’t you want to see the body before you talk to her?”

“She found it, right?”

“Yes. In fact, she seems pretty shaken up by finding another one.”

“I want to talk to her first.”

He scrunched his forehead but didn’t question further. “Follow me.”

McMann led Isaac over to the patrol car parked directly under the overpass. The door was open and the inside light on. Sharp sat with her head back against the seat and her eyes closed.

“Sharp?”

Her eyes flashed open. “Yeah, Sarge?”

“Detective Green wants a word.”

“Sure.” She started to get out. “I was just―”

“Stay seated officer.” Isaac held out a palm. “You’re fine.”

She sunk back into the seat. “Okay.”

“Tell me how you found the body?”

She drew in a long breath. “So, I had parked over in front of C&H Salvage to fill out some paperwork when I heard someone screaming. At first, I couldn’t make out where it came from, but it sounded like down here by the water.”

Isaac had his notepad out. “Where is C & H?”

She pointed back up Manchester Trafficway to the east. “Back there about two hundred yards.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Anyway, the yelling stopped but I came up here anyway. I didn’t see anyone, so I used my vehicle searchlight to scan the whole area. That’s when I found her.”

“Was she still alive?”

Sharp shook her head. “She was still warm but I didn’t get a pulse. I called it in and did CPR until the ambulance arrived, but they said she was gone.”

Isaac had come in from the other end of Manchester Trafficway, so he knew the killer may have escaped without passing her―if there was anyone there in the first place. “And you never saw anyone?”

“No.”

He noted blood on Sharp’s hands. “That’s from doing CPR, I suppose?”

She nodded weakly. “And checking for a pulse.”

Her actions and tone matched someone who had seen too much trauma in too short a time, but he couldn’t allow that to determine whether she should be suspected or not.

“Thank you. I may have more questions.”

“Okay.”

McMann, who had watched the exchange in silence, led Isaac over to where the body was.

The cruiser headlights made for a ghostly image. Parts of the victim were brightly illuminated while others were in shadows. It gave the whole thing a bad horror movie ambience.

Isaac knelt over her and let his flashlight play along the bruised circular pattern on her neck. Blood had leaked around the wound but was quickly drying. She was fully clothed, if it could be called that.

A bright pink top barely covered the top half of her long torso, while a black leather skirt covered even less of her bottom half. If she’d had a coat on at one time, it was gone. Her face lay facing the river, eyes open and bulging in a death stare. Her blonde hair was matted under her head and her black high heels lay a few feet away, no doubt kicked off during her struggle to survive.

When his flashlight lit up her hands, he noticed several of her long fingernails were missing. Was it possible she scratched the attacker? He stood and slowly rotated his flashlight around the body in an ever-widening circle. His heart rate tripled when he spotted a pink gleam.

Pulling on a latex glove, he reached down and picked it up. A fake fingernail. He looked back at McMann. “You have an evidence bag?”

“Sure. Be right back.”

While the sergeant went to his car, Isaac continued his search―and found two more. As he picked up the last one, he muttered to himself. “Please, please have DNA on you.”

McMann returned and Isaac dropped the three tiny pieces inside, then put the bag in his pocket. “Do we have an ID?”

“Negative. Didn’t find a purse nor anything on her.”

“Do you have a Kojak?”

“I do.”

“Let’s give it a try.”

McMann left again, this time trotting over to his car. When he returned, he opened a small black case and extracted a device about six inches square. He held it out but Isaac waved him off. “You’re experienced with it. You do the scan.”

“Yes, sir.”

He knelt next to the body, and with gloves on, lifted one of the girl’s hands delicately off the gravel. Placing her four fingers on the face of the device, it lit up and scanned. He repeated the process with her thumb.

Finally, he laid the hand back on the gravel where it had been and stood. “Should take under a minute if the prints pop.”

He set the portable fingerprint scanner in its case and loaded an app on his phone. While the gizmo did its connection and search thing, Isaac held his breath. After less than forty-five seconds, McMann’s phone lit up. “Found her! Madison Foster, age thirty-one. Three priors for solicitation.”

Isaac looked down at the motionless Madison. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place it. He made a mental note to find out why. “It give an address?”

“2801 Linwood Boulevard, Apartment four.”

Isaac wrote it down. “Thanks. Make sure the coroner gets the info.”

“Will do.”

Isaac noticed the forensic van pulling up just beyond the patrol cars. It would be equipped with floodlights to illuminate the scene better. By now, he had little doubt it would be Claire who would be on scene. She nodded gravely as she climbed out of the van. Now at their fourth murder site in less than a week, there was no joking. No light banter.

He lifted the yellow crime tape for her. “Hey, Claire. Can we get your lights on the scene?”

“My tech is getting them now.”

“We might have something to work with this time?”

“How so?”

“The victim is still clothed and she wasn’t put into the water. We believe the killer was interrupted before they could finish prepping the scene. I also noted broken fingernails on one of her hands, so I looked around.” He lifted the baggie out of his pocket. “Found these. Maybe she got a scratch on her attacker.”

“Let’s hope so.”

She stowed the evidence in her case, then trailed him over to the body and began her work. Isaac went and found McMann. “Let’s get a search started of the area. With the darkness, tell them to take their time.”

“Copy that.”

Isaac turned to check if Big-O had showed up. There was no sign of him, but it didn’t matter. The body wouldn’t be ready to move for a while. In the meantime, he had an address and a place to go.

Monday, September 16

Apartment of Madison Foster

2801 Linwood Boulevard

Santa Fe Neighborhood

Southeast Kansas City

12:55 a.m.

The Gotham Apartments sat just three blocks south of where Sadie Brennan and Axel Reese lived. The proximity wasn’t lost on Isaac and he wondered if Madison was another girl being pimped by Reese.

On the way over, Isaac recalled where he’d heard the name Madison―Ray had mentioned it.

“Tanisha. That name sounds familiar.”

“She identified Kurt Dorsey as someone who has picked her up.”

Sutton snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Said he was trying to get her off the street. He mentioned her and another name―Madison, if memory serves me.”

That gave two of their suspects a connection to the latest victim―assuming the Madison referred to by Kurt Dorsey was the same.

He parked in front of the brick building and got out. The wind had picked up out of the north and the temperature had dropped considerably, causing him to wish he’d brought a heavier coat. The chill in the air combined with the darkness of the old building made for an ominous feel as he knocked on the door of apartment #4.

His banging on the door echoed through the breezeway, reverberating to what felt like a crescendo. He waited. After more than two minutes, no sound had come from inside. He banged again.

This time, a door off to his left opened. “Can I help you?” Though the question was friendly enough, the tone definitely was not.

Isaac held up his badge in the dim light. “Detective Green, KCPD. I’m looking for Madison Foster.”

The man, wrapped in a plaid bathrobe, reminded Isaac of Tim ‘the tool man’ Taylor from Home Improvement. “You won’t find her there.”

Isaac had that information already. “Did you know her?”

“I’m the super, so I know everyone in the building.”

“This is her apartment, correct?”

“Nope. She hasn’t lived there in over six months.”

Isaac grimaced. “Do you know where she moved to?”

“I haven’t a clue. She left in the middle of the night owing two months rent.”

“Did she have a roommate?”

“Not that I knew of, though several people came and went.”

“And you haven’t seen her since.”

“No, and I don’t expect I ever will. That’s how these things work.”

“I understand. Is the unit rented now?”

“Yes, but the guy works nights. That’s why he didn’t answer your banging.”

“Okay. Sorry for waking you.”

“I’m going back to bed now.”

The door shut and Isaac went out to his car. If Tanisha Swanson had been mentioned in the same breath as Madison Foster, maybe she knows something about her. He headed for the West Bottoms.

St. Louis Avenue

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

3:20 a.m.

When Isaac arrived across from the Ball Foods distribution plant, he was both glad and disappointed to see Tanisha Swanson huddled against the wind in a door alcove. Glad because she was unhurt, but wished she and all the other girls would stay off the street.

He rolled up next to her and opened his window. “Hey, Tanisha.”

“Evening, Detective. This a business or social call?”

“Business. Come on, get out of the cold.”

This time, she didn’t hesitate. Going around to the passenger side, she got into the car. “It’s warm in here.”

“It’s warm at your home, too. You need to stay off the streets until we find the killer.”

“The rent don’t pay itself. If I ain’t working the streets, I’m gonna be livin’ on them.”

A hard truth that didn’t just apply to Tanisha. “I’m just worried about you.”

She met his gaze. “If you’re worried, then find the maniac.”

“I’m doing everything I can.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“I…I’ve got some bad news.”

Her eyes grew wide with fear. “Not another one?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Who?”

“Madison Foster.”

The name struck Tanisha with such force she actually rocked back against the car door. “Oh, no…no…no…” Her eyes welled up and she buried her face in her hands.

Isaac drove to a nearby 24-hour McDonald’s and ordered two large coffees at the drive-thru. When she had gathered herself, he handed one to Tanisha. She gave him a weak smile and sipped the hot caffeine.

Isaac pulled into a parking spot and turned on the overhead light. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “Madison was such a nice person. She’d been trying to get herself sober so she could get off the street.”

Isaac sipped his coffee and let her release the pain.

“She had a kid and wanted to get him back, you know, make a life for them.”

Isaac’s heart ached, but another thought tore at him. “There’s something else I need to share with you.”

Her top lip quivered. “What?”

“During our investigation, one of the people we’ve been looking into mentioned two girl’s names. One was Madison, the other―”

Her eyes flared. “Me?!”

He nodded.

“Who?” She swiveled in the seat to face him, spilling some of her coffee. “Who was it?”

Isaac now faced a dilemma. If he revealed Kurt Dorsey’s name to her, and he was the killer, it might compromise their investigation. But if Dorsey was innocent, and the women decided to take justice into their own hands, he would be responsible for whatever happened to the man.

Tanisha’s face twisted with anger. “You tell me!”

“I can’t, I wish I could, but I can’t. What I can do is take you home.”

Her eyes narrowed and he could see her trying to work it out. “Dorsey!”

“Tanisha, I’m not going to tell you. I can’t.”

“If it’s not Dorsey, then it has to be Reese! I said you were gonna get me killed!”

“Look, you can guess all you want, but I can’t tell you. Now, let me drive you home―just tonight. Okay?”

She slumped back in the seat and crossed her arms. “Fine. But don’t come back talkin’ to me no more. Not until Reese is off the street.”

He pulled back out of the parking spot and took her home. They didn’t speak again the entire way.

Police Headquarters

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

8:10 a.m.

Isaac had gone home for a few hours sleep before coming back to the station. He’d received a message saying the autopsy and testing of Madison Foster would be finished by first thing in the morning. It didn’t specify what time first thing was.

He found Ray sitting at his desk. “Morning. Any news from the lab?”

“Not yet. I hope it’ll come anytime now.”

The phone on his desk rang and the two exchanged nervous glances. Ray scooped up the receiver. “Major Crimes, Lieutenant Sutton.”

Ray’s eyes flared. “Hold on, Isaac is here with me. I’m putting you on speaker.” He hit the button. “Go ahead, Claire.”

“I got a DNA profile from both the broken fingernails and a couple of the ones still attached.”

Isaac’s adrenaline surged. “Get a match?”

“Yes and no.”

“Claire! You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

She laughed. “Sorry, not meaning to. The profile is a close match to Kurt Dorsey.”

Ray leaned forward. “A close match? How close?”

“Child.”

“The DNA under her fingernails is a child’s?”

“Yes, but more importantly, one of Kurt Dorsey’s children. Does he have any?”

Isaac’s eyes widened with sudden revelation and his voice cracked. “Jared―”

“Jared who?”

“Jared Dorsey!”

*******

After hanging up with Claire Mitchell, Ray had placed a call to District Attorney Hudson. He got his voicemail.

“This is Ray Sutton. We have a match to the DNA found on the latest victim. We need guidance. Please call me at the station.”

He’d hung up and stared at Isaac.

Isaac was busy flipping through his notes and looking at both of his interactions with the younger Dorsey. “He works at Bally’s during the day. That leaves him free at night. Also, he would have access to his father’s truck.”

Ray rubbed his chin. “What about motive?”

Isaac sighed. “I haven’t a clue. Could be anything.”

The phone on his desk rang. Ray pushed the speaker button. “Major Crimes, Lieutenant Sutton.”

“Ray, it’s Hudson.”

“Hi. Green is with me and you’re on speaker. We got a match to DNA found under the fingernails of Madison Foster.”

“Who is it?”

Ray nodded at Isaac.

Isaac tried his best to sound calm, but adrenaline surged through him. “Jared Dorsey.”

“The old man who was supposedly trying to help the girls get off the street?”

“No. His son.”

“No joke. Where did we get his DNA to compare to?”

“Well,” Isaac swallowed hard. “We didn’t match the DNA to Jared Dorsey, exactly.”

Impatience leaked into the D.A.’s tone. “Then what did you get―exactly?”

“The DNA sample from under the fingernails is from a child of Kurt Dorsey. The only child we know of is his son Jared, who lives with him.”

“That you know of?”

Ray held his hand to his ear in a telephone action. He mouthed the words Call now! Isaac scampered out of his chair and back to his desk. Ray was stalling behind him.

“Actually, Green is working on that. We hope a simple phone call will clear it up.”

“Then call me back after you know.”

“Will do.”

The line went dead.

Isaac dialed Kurt Dorsey’s number. It rang multiple times, each one building the anxiety already eating at him. Finally, a sleepy voice picked up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Dorsey?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Detective Green.”

“It’s early, Detective. Why are you calling me?”

It suddenly dawned on Isaac his next question could tip off Jared Dorsey. “You know what? It’s very early. Sorry for waking you. We’ll talk later.” He hung up before Dorsey could respond.

He got his notebook out and dialed a new number.

“Hello?”

“Shauna?”

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Green. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I’m on my way to work. What do you need, Detective.”

“Just a couple quick questions. How many children did you and Mr. Dorsey have?”

“Just one―Jared. Why?”

“Does Mr. Dorsey have any other children?”

She grunted. “Do you mean did he have an affair and she got pregnant?”

“Or had children before you got married?”

“Neither, at least, not as far as I know. Why are you asking me and not him.”

“I can’t say right now, but I need a favor.”

“What?”

“Keep this conversation between us. Can you do that?”

“I guess so.”

“Thank you. That’s all I need for now. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

He hung up and returned to Ray’s office. “Shauna Dorsey―Kurt’s ex―said they only had one child. She also says Kurt didn’t have any other children that she knows of.”

Ray punched Redial on his phone.

“District Attorney Hudson.”

“It’s Ray Sutton. We’ve confirmed the best we can that Kurt Dorsey only has one child―our suspect.”

“Okay. That’s enough probable cause for a judge to sign off on a warrant. Let me get it done. In the meantime, let’s find Jared Dorsey and get eyes on him. Do we know where he might be?”

Isaac nodded. “He’s a blackjack dealer at Bally’s Casino. He works days, so he should be there.”

“Good. The DNA only gives us a direct connection to victim number four, but the manner of homicide may be enough to connect all of them. The biggest thing is not to have a fifth victim, am I clear?”

Both men chimed together. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have the warrant.”

The line went dead.

Isaac stood. “I’m on my way.”

“Let me know if you need help.”

“I will.”

Bally’s Casino

1800 East Front Street

Downtown Kansas City

11:14 a.m.

Bally’s Casino was a riverboat that didn’t actually sit on a river. Rather, the boat floats on a small man-made lake next to the river, thereby satisfying the requirements to get a riverboat gambling license.

Isaac circled through the employee lot and spotted Jared Dorsey’s red Mazda 626. He parked in the row across from it and got out. Just because the car was there, it didn’t mean Dorsey was, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

The casino had lost its riverboat facade with a modern update done in the recent past and the inside was Las Vegas style all the way with a gold, black, and white swirl pattern on the carpet and multiple flashing machines spread across a large room. There was no suggestion of a riverboat history. The blackjack tables were off to his left as he entered.

Not wanting Dorsey to spot him, Isaac circled to the right and came along the back wall until he had a good view of the tables. The younger Dorsey sat dealing at the center table, the only one with any players that early in the morning.

Isaac retraced his steps and left the casino, returning to his car. That’s where he planned to sit until the warrant came through, then he would enlist casino security to help him with detaining Dorsey for transport to police headquarters.

*******

Three and a half hours passed before Isaac got the call.

“This is Detective Green.”

“It’s me, Isaac. Hudson got the warrant. Bring Dorsey in for testing. We can do a twenty-four-hour hold while we wait for results.”

Isaac’s adrenaline jumped. “On it.”

He hung up and headed back inside the casino, where he stopped at the concierge desk. “I need to speak with security.”

The young man in black tie appeared unconcerned. “Is there a problem I can help you with, sir?”

Isaac showed his badge. “Unless you’re head of security―no.”

“One moment.”

The attendant picked up a radio. “Security. You copy?”

“Go ahead.”

“Your presence is needed at the concierge desk.”

“On my way.”

Isaac smiled. “Thank you.”

Not a minute later, a gentleman in street clothes came up to the desk. “What is it, Colin?”

Colin tipped his head toward Isaac. “Detective needs a word.”

The security head turned to Issac. “Jack Pruitt, head of security. Problem?”

“Is there somewhere we can speak?”

“Sure. Can I see your badge?”

Isaac held it out.

“Thank you. Follow me.”

Isaac trailed the security chief along a winding path between slot machines until they reached the back wall where the cashier windows were. Pruitt swiped a badge and a door opened. Once they passed through and it was made secure, they moved down a hallway to another door, which Pruitt also accessed with his badge.

In there, Isaac got a look central security room lit up with multiple video screens keeping tabs on every movement on the floor. It seemed each grouping of slot machines had at least three cameras focused on it, and each gaming table had one over the dealer and another on the players.

Isaac let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a lot of cameras.”

“And each one can zoom in.” Pruitt, who wore just jeans and an orange polo shirt, smiled. “We can count your nose hairs if we have to.”

“Remind me to trim them before I come here again.”

Pruitt’s smile disappeared. “What can we do for you?”

“You familiar with Jared Dorsey?”

“Sure. Daytime dealer.”

“Right. I need to take him in for questioning and a DNA sample.”

“What for?”

“He’s a suspect in the homicide’s going on downtown.”

“The Blue River ones?”

“Yes.”

If Pruitt was surprised, he didn’t let on. “Do you have a warrant?”

“I can have a copy provided to you.”

“I’ll need it first.”

Isaac took out his phone and called D.A. Hudson. “District Attorney’s office.”

“This is Detective Green. I need to speak with D.A. Hudson.”

“Please hold.”

Isaac scanned the cameras looking for Dorsey. “Where’s he at?”

Pruitt pointed at one of the monitors. “He should be on table three.”

Hudson came on the line. “What’s up, Detective?”

“Casino security needs a copy of the warrant.”

“Tell them I will fax it immediately.”

“Copy that.”

The line went dead and Isaac hung up.

Pruitt had wandered over to speak with one of the security personnel watching the monitors. He returned to Isaac. “You get the warrant?”

“Yes. It’s being faxed to your security office.”

“Okay, that’ll work. We have another problem though.”

Isaac sensed bad news. “What sort of problem?”

“Well, when I didn’t see Dorsey at his table, I asked the pit boss where he was. Dorsey said he wasn’t feeling well and asked to go home.”

Panic surged through Isaac. “Do you have cameras on the parking lot?”

“Yes. They’re in the next room.”

“Show me the employee lot.”

Pruitt turned and went to a door at the end of the room, opening it and flipping on the lights. Several monitors showed the parking lot. “We don’t watch these constantly. They record for any issues that develop.”

Isaac spotted the employee lot on the far right monitor. A red car was just exiting the lot. Isaac turned and bolted from the room. Racing almost as fast as his heart, he arrived back at his car and pulled out of the lot.

He grabbed his radio. “Green to dispatch.”

“Go ahead. Detective.”

“I need an APB on a red Mazda 626. Last seen leaving Bally’s Casino. Driver is Jared Dorsey and there is a warrant to detain him.”

“Copy that. All units are being notified.”

“10-4. Can you punch me through to Lieutenant Sutton?”

“Stand by.”

Several moments passed before his boss came on the radio. “This is Sutton.”

“Ray, it’s me. Dorsey left before I could detain him.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so. He claimed to be ill.”

The gravity of the situation was reflected in Sutton’s tone. “Are you in pursuit?”

“Yes, but I don’t have eyes on him. I’m heading for Kurt Dorsey’s place on the assumption that’s where Jared is headed.”

“Has an APB been issued?”

“Yes, but can you get a car watching Dorsey’s trailer? I’m still at least ten minutes away.”

“I’ll do it. Does Hudson know?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll contact him too. Let me know when you get to Dorsey’s trailer or if you catch up to him.”

“10-4. Out.”

Isaac threw his radio down, roared onto I-29 headed south, and gunned the engine.

Home of Kurt Dorsey

1902 Laurel Avenue

Blue Summit Unincorporated Area

East of Kansas City

4:25 p.m.

Isaac arrived at the end of Kurt Dorsey’s road and immediately spotted the patrol car posted by Sutton. He cruised up next to it and rolled down his window. The male officer did the same. “Afternoon, Detective. No sign of the red Mazda yet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since about thirty seconds after I got the call. I’d been just around the corner.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’m going up to the house. Radio me if the Mazda shows up.”

“Copy that.”

Isaac rolled up his window and drove down to the front of the trailer. Rain began to fall and the wind picked up. Isaac’s first thought was of the girls working the streets. Maybe the weather will keep them in until we can find this guy.

The white pick-up sat in the driveway but the house appeared quiet.

Isaac got out and pulled his collar up against the rain. Going up the steps, he pounded hard on the side of the trailer. “Kurt! It’s Detective Green. Open up!”

The low rumble of footsteps indicated someone at home, and moments later, the door opened. “Detective? What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“Your son.”

“Jared?”

Isaac cast a backward glance at the skies. “Can I get in out of the rain?”

“Oh, sure. Come in.”

Isaac stepped inside and shook his arms to release some of the water. “Thanks.”

Kurt, who happened to be wearing a Bally’s t-shirt, closed the door before flipping the living room lights on. “Is Jared okay?”

Isaac met the man’s worried gaze. “Do you know where he is?”

“At work.”

“No, he’s not. He left work about a half hour ago.”

“Why?”

“Claimed he didn’t feel well. You haven’t heard from him?”

“No. What’s this about?”

Isaac weighed his options. Revealing what Jared was wanted for might cause his father to protect his son. Not telling him meant not revealing how serious finding Jared was. He opted to risk it.

“Your son is wanted in connection to the death of the prostitutes downtown.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s true. Suffice to say we are ninety-nine percent sure he is the killer, and we have to find him before he kills again.”

Dorsey stared at him with wide eyes, then collapsed backward onto the couch. “That can’t be.”

The elder Dorsey seemed to age right before Isaac’s eyes. Slowly, the man shook his head and muttered to himself. While his heart went out to the man, Jared was Isaac’s primary concern. “I don’t have a lot of time, Kurt. I need your help finding Jared. He didn’t come home, so where do I look for him?”

Dorsey looked up with a blank stare. “What?”

Isaac tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but his impatience was clear. “Where can I find your son?”

“I…I don’t―” As if some awful reality had dawned on him, Dorsey’s eyes welled up and he began to shake. “The only place I can think of is a storage locker he has. But it’s for his car.”

Isaac’s hopes surged. “His Mazda?”

“No. Jared has a classic Mustang he keeps there.”

“Does it run?”

“Sure.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

Dorsey shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s black, a ’68 I think.”

“Where’s the storage unit?”

“I’ve never been there myself―”

“Kurt! Where is it?”

Helplessness and despair filled the older Dorsey’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

Isaac got on his radio and called the officer at the end of the street. “I need you in the residence.”

“10-4.”

While he waited, Isaac googled storage facilities within the Kansas City metro area. His search came up with more than a dozen on the south side of the Missouri River alone. He dialed Sutton.

“Major Crimes. Lieutenant Sutton.”

“Ray, it’s me. Jared Dorsey rents a storage facility somewhere in the area but his father doesn’t know which one. Can you get some detectives calling around? We need to find it.”

“I’m on it.”

“Something else. The kid owns a black Ford Mustang, possibly a ’68. It didn’t show on his DMV record so it might not be registered. However, his dad says it runs. We need it added to the APB.”

“I can get that done. Anything else?”

“No. I’m gonna leave here and head for the Bottoms.”

“Copy that. I’ll let you know if we find the storage unit.”

“Good.” Isaac hung up as the officer came into the trailer. “Please keep Mr. Dorsey company. No phone calls and he doesn’t leave. If his son shows up, take Jared Dorsey into custody immediately.”

“Got it.”

Isaac bolted for his car. He knew just where he should be going.

St. Louis Avenue

The West Bottoms

West Kansas City

6:20 p.m.

Dark had settled over the city and a cold wind blew down the stretch of St. Louis Avenue near the Ball distribution plant. Tanisha huddled inside the overhang of a boarded-up building entrance and watched for the occasional car driving slower than normal.

A black Mustang pulled up in front of her and the driver reached over to roll down the window. “Hi.”

Tanisha left her cover and went over to the open window. “Nice car. What year?”

“Sixty-eight. Are you Tanisha?”

“Yeah. Do I know you?”

“My dad has been with you.”

“What’s his name?”

“Not important. You want to go for a ride?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Just a regular hook-up.”

“Hundred bucks.”

“Okay, fine.” He threw a hundred-dollar bill on the dash. “I have a warm place nearby.”

She smiled and opened the door. “Works for me.” She sat down and took the bill off the dash. Looks like it’s going to be a good night.

*******

Isaac zigzagged his way in and out of traffic as raced for the Bottoms. He blasted himself for not getting Tanisha’s phone number. How could you be so stupid?

The answer was rather simple though, it had only occurred to him while standing in front of Kurt Dorsey. All but Lee Park were names attached to the older Dorsey’s supposed efforts to get women off the street. It now seemed likely he’d done the same with Park but didn’t mention her to Sutton.

His radio crackled. “Sutton to Green. You copy?”

“Go for Green.”

“We got a hit. Jack Conroy found a storage locker rented to a J. Dorsey.”

Isaac’s adrenaline shot through the roof. “Where?”

“700 Woodswether. It’s in the northeast corner of the Bottoms, along the riverfront.”

“I know where that is. It’s just blocks from The Farmhouse Restaurant.”

“The unit number is twenty-four. I have officers responding.”

“Good. I’m just two minutes from there myself. Green out!” He tossed the radio down and floored the accelerator.

Public Storage

700 Woodswether Road

Unit #24

6:51 p.m.

The driver, a young man with brown hair and green eyes, seemed calmer than most she dealt with his age. They drove in silence until she tried some small talk. “What’s your name?”

“Jared.”

That was it.

The black Mustang slowed to a stop in front of the storage facility. Tanisha stared at the dark building. “Is this your warm spot?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Come on. I have a heater running in my unit.”

She shrugged. “Okay then.”

They got out and he went around to unlock unit 24. She stood back while he lifted the door revealing an empty unit with a small, construction site heater running in the corner. The heater gave off the only light, revealing a mattress on the floor in the opposite corner.

He stood back to let her in. “After you.”

She passed him and walked over by the bed. “You use this often?”

“I do.” He slid the door closed. “Several girls have been here.”

She stopped next to the mattress and began to remove her jacket when she noticed a large stain on the floor next to the bed. “What is―”

A wire dropped over her head and twisted tight around her throat. She felt herself being picked up off her feet as the blood trickled down her shirt. Pawing at the wire, she was unable to get it loose and her lungs burned. Riles, Sadie, Lee, Maddy―they all flashed through her mind before a darkness slowly consumed her.

*******

Isaac came flying around the corner and skidded to stop behind the black Mustang. He didn’t have time to radio his position. Jumping from the car while pulling his weapon, he raced over to unit 24 and threw up the door. Jared Dorsey stared at him, his face red and his hands holding two wooden handles. Tanisha lay on his back, her legs hanging limp.

Isaac leveled his gun at the man’s head. “Drop her, Dorsey! Now!”

A sick grin crept across the man’s face. “You’re too late, Detective.”

Isaac lunged forward and smashed the butt of his gun against Dorsey’s temple. Blood spattered the floor and Dorsey slumped to the ground, releasing Tanisha.

Isaac untangled the garrotte wire and checked her for a pulse. Nothing. He started CPR. Flashing lights lit up the storage unit as a patrol car slammed on its brakes. Two officers scrambled out of the vehicle. Isaac continued his rhythmic pumping of Tanisha’s chest. “Cuff him! And get EMT’s on the way!”

One officer pulled his cuffs and dropped next to Dorsey.

The other took out her radio. “Patrol 36 to dispatch.”

“Go for dispatch.”

“I have one in custody and one down. Need a 10-18 to our location.”

“Copy. EMS is being dispatched now.”

Dorsey stirred and the male officer lifted him to his feet, then steered him into the back of his patrol car.

Isaac watched Tanisha’s eyes for any sign of life as he put everything he had into keeping blood going to her brain.

Truman Medical Center

2301 Charlotte Street

Downtown Kansas City

10:17 p.m.

Isaac had checked on Tanisha’s condition in the Intensive Care unit. She was bruised and shaken from the experience, but alive. When she learned Jared Dorsey had been brought to the same hospital, she had pulled her oxygen mask off and tried to leave. Doctors had been forced to use sedation to keep her from bolting. As a result, any interview would have to wait until she was awake and calm.

Dorsey, on the other hand, was being kept in a private room with an officer inside and two others outside. In addition, Isaac had made sure the man had been cuffed to the hospital bed. Dorsey was never going to hurt anyone again, at least not if Isaac could prevent it.

Isaac went into Dorsey’s room and found him sitting up in bed, his head bandaged and a nasty shiner under one eye. He stared at the TV, enthralled by the report of his capture running on all the networks.

Isaac greeted the officer sitting beside the window in a chair. “You can take a break if you like.”

“Appreciate that.”

Isaac waited until he’d left, then moved up to Jared Dorsey’s side. “Mind if we talk?”

Dorsey ignored him.

Isaac reached over, snatched the remote, and shut the TV off.

“Hey!” Dorsey lunged for the remote but the cuffs rattled and stopped him. “I’m watching that!”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I asked if we could talk.” Isaac placed the remote out of reach. “Business first. I know you had your rights read to you, but that was on the way to the hospital. Therefore―You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I disagree. For instance, do you admit killing Sadie Brennan, Riley Hamilton, Lee Park, and Madison Foster?”

“I want a deal.”

“I can’t offer deals, and you’re not in a position to demand anything.”

Dorsey scowled. “They were just hookers! No one cares.”

Isaac leaned close, his voice dropping to an ominous hiss. “I care, and I’m going to be pushing for the death penalty. And when they stick that needle in your arm, I’m going to get me a front row seat.”

Dorsey swallowed hard. “They shouldn’t have done it.”

“Done what?”

“My dad was trying to help them, but they lured him into having sex with them instead.”

Isaac straightened. “Lured him? You believe that?”

“Mom and Dad would still be together if those hookers hadn’t come between them!”

Isaac’s brain threatened to explode. “Look at me, Jared.”

Dorsey stared out the window, pouting like a small child.

“Dorsey! Look at me!”

The startled man turned toward Isaac and the detective locked eyes with him. “I spoke to some of those women. Your dad was a regular customer. He never tried to help any of them get off the street. He just paid like anyone else.”

Doubt crept into Dorsey’s eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Did you ever ask your father about the women?”

“Of course. He told me all about each of them.”

Isaac shook his head. “He told you the same story he told your mother, but she didn’t believe it. You shouldn’t have either. You’re a killer and a fool.”

Perhaps because believing anything else would be too terrible, Dorsey remained defiant. “I don’t believe you.”

Isaac sighed. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Those women are dead at your hand, and for nothing.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Hey! Give me the remote.”

Isaac looked back. “I told you, you’re not in a position to demand anything anymore.”

Tuesday, September 17

Police Headquarters

Meeting Room

1125 Locust Street

East of the Financial District

11:30 a.m.

Isaac stood behind the Chief Timmins. Next to him on the stage were District Attorney Hudson, and Lieutenant Sutton. The Mayor had spoken first, then introduced the chief.

Timmins recounted the events leading to the capture of Jared Dorsey and updated everyone on the condition of Tanisha Swanson. Hudson followed him, pledging to seek complete justice for the victims, regardless of what they did for a living―including seeking the death penalty.

Isaac and Ray had already been told they wouldn’t need to speak, so Isaac had spent most of the jam-packed press conference looking for Emily among the crowd. He spotted Fraser Mason in his usual place, but not her.

Eventually, the conference wound up. The press had been told there wouldn’t be questions taken at this time, but more information would be forthcoming. When Hudson ended his time with Thank you for coming, the press corps made a beeline for the door, presumably in an effort to be the first on TV or in print with the report.

Isaac followed Ray into the side room and his boss turned to face him. “Nice work, Isaac.”

“Thanks. If you don’t need me, I think I’ll grab some shuteye and start the follow-up work tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“See you later.”

“Bye.”

Isaac slipped out the same side exit he’d used to watch Fraser Mason when they’d got his DNA. Trying not to attract attention, he kept his down as he wove his way through the parked cars toward his vehicle.

“Hey!”

He didn’t turn around.

“Hey, Detective Green!”

He wasn’t in the mood. He unlocked his car and got in.

“Isaac?”

It finally dawned on him the voice was a female―and familiar. “Emily?”

“I was late. I guess I missed the big reveal on how it all went down.”

He stepped back out of his car. Her smile made his world brighter, the previous few days less of a dark cloud. “I hope you don’t get in trouble.”

She waved his suggestion off. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve decided to move on.”

His heart sank. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Well, it turns out the Kansas City Police Department needs a new press liaison.”

His hopes rose. “So you’re not leaving town?”

She grinned at him. “No silly. I’m taking a new job. You’re looking at KCPD’s new press liaison.”

After all the sadness and tension of the last few days, he suddenly found himself smiling like a schoolboy. “Seriously?”

“That’s right. We’re on the same team now.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “So, I was hoping we might have dinner tonight. I’m cooking.”

His weariness scattered like leaves before a fall breeze. “Then I’m eating.”

“What do you like?”

He grinned mischievously. “I’m a Midwest farm boy. I’ll let you figure it out.”

“I accept the challenge.” She reached up and pecked him on the cheek. “Don’t be late.”

As she walked away, he called after her. “Hey. Where do you live?”

“You’re a detective. You figure it out?”

He laughed. “I accept the challenge.”

**************************************

LINKS:

jdalglish7@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/DetectiveJasonStrong

*************************************

Other Clean Fiction Books

By

John C. Dalglish

THE CITY MURDERS

BOSTON HOMICIDE - #1

MIAMI HOMICIDE - #2

CHICAGO HOMICIDE - #3

DALLAS HOMICIDE - #4

DENVER HOMICIDE - #5

SEATTLE HOMICIDE - #6

NEW ORLEANS HOMICIDE - #7

MEMPHIS HOMICIDE - #8

ATLANTA HOMICIDE - #9

PHOENIX HOMICIDE - #10

CHARLESTON HOMICIDE - #11

SANTA FE HOMICIDE - #12

STONE COUNTY JUSTICE

MURDER AROUND THE BEND - #1

MISSING ON THE RIVER - #2

DEAD END - #3

WITHOUT REMORSE - #4

ANNIE LOGAN MYSTERIES

DEADLY SECRETS - #1

BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE - #2

MURDER AMONG FRIENDS - #3

THE

DETECTIVE JASON STRONG

MYSTERIES

“WHERE’S MY SON?” - #1

BLOODSTAIN - #2

FOR MY BROTHER - #3

SILENT JUSTICE - #4

TIED TO MURDER - #5

ONE OF THEIR OWN - #6

DEATH STILL - #7

LETHAL INJECTION - #8

CRUEL DECEPTION - #9

LET’S PLAY - #10

HOSTAGE - #11

CIRCLE OF FEAR - #12

DEADLY OBSESSION - #13

DEAD OF NIGHT - #14

SHADOW OF DOUBT - #15

FATAL AFFAIR - #16

DRIVEN TO KILL - #17

BOUND BY BLOOD - #18

WEB OF DECEIT - #19

BURNING DOWN - #20

A TWISTED MIND - #21

DESPERATE MEASURES - #22

FINDING NICKY - #23

THE  CHASER CHRONICLES

CROSSOVER - #1

JOURNEY - #2

DESTINY - #3

INNER DEMONS - #4

DARK DAYS - #5

FAR FROM HOME - #6

OTHER WORKS

KEIKO’S WAR – Clean Historical Fiction