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but a bloody saint would have put up with your sorry ass for that long!”
    Jim had the grace to look sheepishly at his partner of sixteen years. “Can’t argue there. I know how luck—” Jim swung his head sharply to the right. “There, Harry! There’s Willie now.” He sat up straight and pointed to a thin, dark man leaning against a street lamp.
    Harry hit the siren. “I’ll get the cherry top,” he said to Jim. “Make us more official.” He quickly reached out the car window and attached the flashing signal light to the roof of the car.
    Willie Rodriguez started to run, his stiff leg swinging out awkwardly in the attempt.
    Jim jumped from the still-moving car and yelled after him. “Hold it, Willie, or I’ll shoot.”
    Harry swerved the car into the curb, exiting the vehicle just as Willie came walking back, arms high in the air and speaking rapidly. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot, man!”
    â€œYou know the routine,” Jim said. “On the hood!” He grabbed Willie by the shirt and pushed.
    Willie quickly placed his hands on the hood of the police car and spread his legs. “Shit, guys. You don’t have to make it look that damn real, do you?”
    â€œDidn’t want to blow your cover, Willie me boy!” Jim smiled wryly at the skinny Mexican. “What have you got for us?”
    Willie stole a quick look around. “You wanted something on Randal Clark? The one they call the Kansas City Butcher?”
    â€œYes,” Harry answered impatiently. “What do you have?”
    Willie sniffed, running a bony finger back and forth under his nose.
    â€œWord on the street is he ain’t the one.”
    â€œAh, shit!” Harry had to control himself not to yell. Willie was one of their best informants. He had really counted on a solid lead when Chief Caswell had told him Willie had called and wanted to see Jim about Clark. “What are you talking about? We have him nailed every way but Sunday. His apartment even had body parts in it!”
    â€œI don’t know, man. I’m only tellin’ you what I hear. They say some guy stayed at Clark’s pad once in a while. They say maybe he done it.”
    â€œ They, who are they? ” Jim barked. “Just who is feeding you this line of horseshit, Willie?”
    Willie shrugged, knowing Jim didn’t mean anything by his remark, and knowing the detective trusted him completely. “Everyone, man. Hit a few of the other boys. They’ll tell you the same, Jim, I swear. And another thing, this guy, he ain’t got no prints.” Willie held up his fingers. “Burned off, so they say. Smooth as a baby’s bottom!”

Chapter Three
    Suzanne walked over and sat beside Jessie on the cluttered couch. “We need to talk.”
    It was a statement, not a question, so Jessie popped the last of the bologna sandwich into her mouth, took a long draw on the can of Diet Coke her hostess had provided, and looked expectantly at Suzanne. Her father had phoned less than an hour ago, grudgingly giving his approval to her staying with Suzanne for a few days. The two newborn calves were doing fine, thanks to Jake’s arriving when he did, and even Sally had pulled through the ordeal. The miracle of it had not been lost on Jake. When he talked to Jessie, she had heard the hope in his voice when he gave his permission for her to stay. “All right, baby. I suppose if there is a chance that lady can find Amy, we have to take it. But you be careful, you hear me?”
    Once the decision to stay had been made, there seemed to develop a certain reserve between the woman and the girl. Suzanne had tried to figure out a hot meal she could actually prepare for Jessie, but had to admit defeat. When Jessie emerged from the shower, Suzanne had thrust the sandwich at her, apologetically. Now they sat on the couch, an awkward silence between them.
    Suzanne reached