Chapter 15

INT. - 9th PRECINCT BULLPEN - NIGHT

Gerri jerked her chair out from her desk and tossed her jacket to the surface, slamming her body into the seat. The old springs complained, but did their job, bouncing her softly as she wheeled herself close. The bullpen was quiet, though far from empty, a few other detectives hunched over their own work. The captain's office door was closed, darkness behind it. Just as well. She'd rather not run into anyone she cared to keep on her good side at the moment.

Just let Jackson show his damned face. She was wound up enough, therapist or no therapist, Gerri wouldn't be responsible for the outcome.

Her luck, he remained absent, leaving Gerri to turn on her desk lamp and pour over the photos from the first crime scene. Jackson had labeled each photo with a post-it note, scribbled with details he thought relevant. And while she didn't think much of him as a person, he was efficient.

Most of the crowd had been other dancers, a few people from the area come to see the show. The only odd faces out had been the bald bruiser with the tats-as yet unidentified-and the preacher, also nameless. She made a note to track them both down in the morning before turning to her computer.

Jackson had included background information on most of the people he identified from the crowd, but Gerri liked to do her own digging. After emailing a copy of the bald dude's face to Vice and the assumed preacher's to hate crimes, just in case, she turned her attention to the club's regulars. Salvador was first. The owner of the Starlet Lounge had an eventful life, as things turned out. One of the supporters of Harvey Milk, he spent most of the 70's in San Francisco, relocating to Silver City shortly after Milk was assassinated in '78. An activist until the late 80's, Salvador gave up his political ways after an attack that was never solved. He started the Starlet Lounge in '96 and had kept his nose clean since.

Gerri marked him off her list, as well as any political motivations. He'd been out of the protest scene long enough, she doubted very much if Aisling was connected to Salvador's past. She'd chase it down if all other leads proved fruitless, but Gerri's gut whispered to her the bar owner had nothing to do with Aisling's death so she moved on.

Next up, the bartender. But Curtis Alexander's past was as bland and pasty as Salvador's was colorful. Born to a salesman father and a stay-at-home mother, an only child, he attended private school until his father's death when Curtis was ten. Never went to college, not even a traffic ticket. Clean as a whistle. His mother worked for some charity here in the city. That was it. Gerri sat back with a frown. She hated it when suspects were so sparkly. It always made her think they were hiding something. But there was nothing here to go on, so she abandoned Curtis in favor of Roxy.

She had a temper, her record showed that. In and out of juvie, passed around from foster home to foster home, the orphan turned queen was barely twenty three. Gerri shook her head over the report. Gay, parents dead, living on the wrong side of town... she was surprised Roxy wasn't dead or hadn't killed someone before now.

And yet, Gerri's gut, ever present and nagging, told her Roxy wasn't guilty of Aisling's murder. The evidence might say otherwise, and, despite the different knife, the change in the attack, any DA worth their salt would likely get a conviction just on circumstantial evidence. If Gerri was willing to let this go, Roxy could easily go down for both murders.

She stared at the block-letter writing on the post it stuck to the front of Roxy's file. GUILTY. Jackson had already made his decision. Gerri needed more to make hers.

The phone was cold on her cheek as she picked up the receiver on her desk and dialed the desk sergeant. Time to drag Roxy out of holding and ask her some more questions.

"Sorry, detective," the rough voice on the other end said after leaving her hanging for five minutes. "Looks like your suspect was released a half hour ago."

"What?" Gerri lunged to her feet, drawing curious looks from the handful of detectives still working. "You let a murder suspect walk?"

"Paperwork mix up." Of course he sounded defensive, the jackass. "Out of my hands."

And then, had the nerve to hang up on her. She glared at the buzzing receiver before slamming it back into its cradle.

Guess who chose to show his pretty face, with perfect timing? Gerri's anger switched from the desk sergeant to her grinning partner.

"Problem?"

He was about to have one. It was lucky for him he stood, with his hands in his pockets, T-shirt tight across his wide chest, smirk pulling his full lips to the right.

"Roxy." Gerri ground the name out between her aching teeth. "Was released."

Why didn't he look pissed? Jackson shrugged, still grinning, like this was her fault and he was just waiting to see her crash and burn. Oh, that's why he wasn't mad. Asshole.

"Go pick her up again," he said. Like it was no big deal.

Gerri's hand grasped her coat, even as she imagined her fingers tightening around Jackson's neck. She wanted to leap over desk at him, to stop him from smirking at her with her fist in his face. The strength of her need cooled her down as fast as a bucket of ice water to her face. He was a total and utter jerk, yes. But she really needed to get a handle on her temper.

Jackson waved at her with casual nonchalance as she left, her partner letting her go it alone.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

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