The security at the police department was worryingly lax. Thanks to the refresher I got with my guided tour through intake three days ago, I had no problem getting straight to Roush’s floor. Plenty of people recognized me, but when they saw my confident posture and my surly expression, they figured I was supposed to be there. They also figured they were better off keeping out of my way. How right they were.

Some of the more experienced detectives in the bullpen outside Roush’s office got shifty when they saw me cutting through to the Captain’s office. Detective Boggs had been making jokes between glugs of his afternoon coffee. He saw me mid-sip, and his mouth fell open, dribbling some back into his cup.

He got out of his chair, but with his size it was a whole poorly choreographed dance. By the time he got his cheeks squeezed through the spindles of his chair’s back and shook the seat off, I was already at the threshold of Roush’s office.

I entered without knocking and closed the door behind me. The click of the handle catching spooked Roush, who was on the phone. He looked up but caught his gasp so he didn’t pass the alarm off to the person on the other end. His scowl spoke for him as I sauntered across the room and sat in the chair across from him.

“Yes, Commissioner,” Roush said into the phone. “I got the paperwork this morning, but I’m still waiting on a few more signatures. No, Sergeant Diaz isn’t in until eight. I’ll have her sign it then. I can’t. It will be on your desk tomorrow morning, I promise.”

Roush leaned away when the Commissioner’s voice came blasting out of the speaker. He scrunched up his face, guarding against the spittle he expected to come out of the handset.

I scanned the room while the Commissioner gave Roush an earful. It wasn’t as sparsely decorated as I had thought before. The walls were festooned with awards and personal commendations that blended in with all the department’s plaques and portraits. Roush’s parents would have been proud if they were still around.

“Yes, I know about the election,” Roush said when he finally got a word in edgewise. “Yes. Well, try to enjoy yourself. Say congratulations to Regis for me. Right. I won’t leave tonight without getting those forms sent over, even if I have to work the fax machine myself.”

The commissioner’s distorted voice trumpeted out again. Roush’s ears switched back, but he bared the tempest with a determined clench of his jaw. “Yes, sir. I’m taking care of it. Good night.”

Roush put a little muscle into hanging up the phone, making damned sure it got all the way down in case gravity was on a smoke break. He rubbed his face and let out a long, tired breath as the bell inside the assaulted device rattled.

“Paperwork…” My wistful musing zapped Roush to attention. He had forgotten I was there. “If the corruption and graft hadn’t pushed me out, the paperwork would have eventually.”

“Right. Very droll,” Roush said. “Look, Howl, I was hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you, but I wish you would have called first.”

“Saved us both the trouble.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes. You’re making us look bad.”

“Damn, you’ll have to forgive my tears.”

“You’re making me look bad, Howl.” Roush showed a flash of the inner strength that had made him Captain in the way his voice raised. “First there was the arrest—the illegal salvage, the expired license, the trespassing. Now I’m hearing rumors you assaulted an officer. Please tell me Wilhelm is exaggerating.”

“He the jackal? The one with a soft windpipe?”

Roush buried his head in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Howl.”

“It needed to be done, and I didn’t see anyone else stepping up to do it. Now, we might not have much time. I need your—”

“I can’t keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Defending you,” Roush said. “You played a part in making me who I am today and I’m grateful, but the person you made me into is the type who stands up and says, ‘Enough is enough.’”

“But I’m close. I talked to Peter—”

“We already talked to Peter. He had nothing to do with Ethan’s disappearance.”

“I know, he didn’t. But he told me—”

“Howl! Stop. You have to grow up and quit playing police. We’re doing everything we can to find Ethan already. Now, with Virginia missing…”

“She isn’t missing!” I said, grateful for something to cling to so I didn’t have to unpack his comment about me growing up. “She ran away.”

Roush shook his head sadly. “Why would she do that? Just abandon her son and leave. I don’t think she’s that weak.”

“Someone wants her out of the picture, and she has another kid to look out for. She’s got good reason to think Ethan is safe. If I’m right, Ethan is still alive, but that could change in a hurry if the person who took him decides it’s too much trouble to keep him that way.”

“Who do you think has him?”

“The kid’s biological father.” I let it hang in the air for a minute. Roush picked up his jaw from the desk and blinked away the daze. I waited until it looked like he was going to talk, then jumped out ahead of him.

“I know what you’re going to ask, and I don’t know who the father is yet. I just know there is one. Peter confessed to as much last night.”

“Please, dear God, tell me you didn’t do to him what you did to Officer Wilhelm?”

“Nah. Your man needed a dash of vinegar, but a few drops of honey in Peter’s rye loosened his tongue.”

“But he didn’t tell you who Ethan’s alleged father is?”

“Peter doesn’t know. I’ve got almost enough clues to start making guesses, but I need the police force’s help.” I went on before Roush could remind me I wasn’t entitled to their support. “There’s a party at the Sanders’s penthouse in the Morales Building to celebrate the election. I need some officers to give me an escort, make sure nobody leaves.”

Roush was speechless. “You think Ethan is at Regis’s victory party?”

“No. But I know his biological father is. Just get me up there and give me a few minutes with them, and I’m damned sure I can get it figured out.”

“Listen to yourself, Howl,” Roush said, exasperated past the point of trying to soften his words. “Our resources will be swamped quelling the riots and domestic violence sure to spawn when the election results are announced. You want us to mobilize all units to harass the city’s—nay, the country’s—most important people. All on a hunch given to you by a drunk and desperate father.”

“I know he’s going to be there.” My voice was quiet, but it sounded petulant ringing inside my head.

“You think he’s going to be there. Besides, according to your own theory, the father will release the kid as long as he doesn’t feel threatened. You said it’s why Virginia took flight. Why risk Ethan’s safety if he’s going to be let out anyway?”

“Because if we don’t find out who the father is before Ethan’s free, we may never know. He might get away with everything. Not just the kidnapping, but Al McCarthy’s murder, and Virginia’s stalking, too.”

“We have no reason to think the person responsible for all three wasn’t the wildebeest stuffed in a drawer down at the city morgue with six of your bullets in him.”

“Right. But we need to know who he’s working for. We can do more than just get Ethan back. We can get justice.”

Roush thought about it. His eyes flicked to where he hid his bourbon, and he worked his jaw, loosening his tongue. He wanted to help—to get justice and save the kid—but he didn’t have the backbone. As the youngest captain in the department’s history, all eyes were on him. People scrutinized everything he did.

“You don’t want to risk helping me? Fine. Let me talk to the Commissioner.” I leaned over the desk and slid Roush’s phone toward me, picking up the handset. “I’m sure if I—”

Roush’s hand snapped out and slapped mine back down. The bell inside the device made a ding, quiet, but slow to fade as Roush stared at me. “No. Leave the Commissioner alone. Get out of my office and get some goddamn sleep. You look terrible.”

“But I—”

“But you aren’t on the payroll. You aren’t even supposed to be up here. Unless you can give me a name and some fucking good evidence to support your claim, I can’t do anything.”

I glowered, and he glowered back, unrelenting. I was almost proud I couldn’t push him around.

My mind churned through the same facts it had been gnawing on all day. Steel Polaris’s upscale clientele, the timeline of Ethan’s conception, the father whose life would be ruined if the public knew he had sired a kid with a porn star, the seemingly arbitrary date in the letter I’d received with the fake story about missing jewelery, the kinds of people who were invited to a party thrown by the Sanders family. In one clarifying moment, I knew who the father was with absolute certainty.

Roush saw the dawning realization on my face as I stood up. “Shit, Howl. What are you thinking? Don’t do anything stupid now, okay?”

I couldn’t tell Roush what I was thinking. He’d never believe me, no matter how I cut it. No one would. It was hopeless.

“I have to go,” I mumbled. “It’s been nice catching up.”

“Howl?” Roush called. I opened the door without looking back. He stood up behind his desk and yelled after me, “Howl!”

Every head in the bullpen turned my direction. I waded through their stares to the elevator.

I went down to the main lobby where the average citizen came to interface with the police department, make reports, and drop off found objects. As soon as the elevator door opened, the shrill squawking of one such citizen echoed down the tiled hall and rung in my ear.

When I recognized the voice as Marcella’s, I wanted to turn back, but the small crowd of officers and clerical staff pushed me out. Another flock flowed in behind me, filling the elevator. I stood my collar up, tilted my head down to cover my face with my hat, and shuffled toward the door.

“I’m telling you, he’s gone missing. He isn’t at his apartment and hasn’t been by his office all day,” Marcella said.

The officer working the desk said something cold and dry, in a voice too constrained by boredom to rise out of the murmur of the lobby.

“What does he look like?” Marcella echoed. “What does Jonathan O’Howell, Delinquency Dog, look like? Maybe you haven’t been reading the paper, but you must have at least walked past a TV some time in the last decade.”

The officer droned some half-hearted placation, but it riled Marcella up more. “No, he’s not my boyfriend! He’s just up shit creek, and I’m worried someone got hold of his paddle. If you don’t have Howl, the only way you’ll find Ethan Calhoun is if he walks in through that door—”

She had more air in her lungs, built up to keep her shout going, but when she swung around to gesture at the door, it all hissed out at once. I winced and kept my head down, but I stuck out like a sore thumb among the officers and smartly attired staff. My coat and hat were the same ones I had worn for all the television and print ads. They had weathered and picked up a dark patina of grime over the years, but it only made them stand out more.

“Thanks for all your help,” Marcella yelled back to the officer as she stomped after me in a huff. “Detective O’Howell! Hey, I saw you. Wait up!”

Half of Hot Type City had business at the police department that day, and they all had waited until the last minute to get it done, clogging up the entrance. I squeezed through the horde like pasta dough through a form, slowing me down. By the time I made it to the sidewalk, Marcella was next to me.

She grabbed my arm and twirled me around in a brusque ballroom swing. “What the hell, Howl? You said you’d call.”

“I’m not sure if I…”

“I thought they got you, God damn it.” I shrugged out of Marcella’s grip and walked on, but she stayed glued to my hip. “What the fuck was that at Virginia’s house? Is she really missing?”

“Sure. That’s the story. Just like Ethan.”

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Everything will work itself out in a few days. Ethan will be back, and Virginia will show up to welcome him home. A real fairytale ending.”

“Jesus, Howl, you’re freaking me out. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“The person who sent Guy will be free, living it up while the rest of us try to pick up the pieces. We’ll get our resolution, but we’ll never get justice. It will all be pinned on Guy and everything will blow over.”

Marcella grabbed me again, this time squeezing hard enough to bruise my modest bicep. I stopped and faced her. Her eyes were black searchlights, her ears tufted radio dishes pointed right at me.

“You’ve been busy. What did you learn? Come on, you owe me after ditching me to go to Virginia’s—although after what happened there, I’ll admit I’m not too broken up about it.”

“All I learned was gossip and smut. At least, that’s what Roush would say. Can’t blame him if I’m honest.”

“So let me get this right,” Marcella said, taking off her reporter’s hat and putting on the stiff collar and conservative skirt of a strict schoolteacher, “you think you’ve got a solve on the case—a scandalous one—and you brought it to the police.”

I rocked my head. She was on the right track.

“And they wouldn’t bite? They’re too embarrassed to pursue it.”

“Or too lazy. Hard to say.”

“Right, so now you’re going to take matters into your own hand.” A smile crept across Marcella’s face, putting the tiny daggers of her pearly whites out front and center.

I rocked my head again, and the burgeoning grin faltered.

“You’re not going after the bad guy yourself?”

“Figured I’d take what dignity and pocket change I had left and flush them down the drain with a bottle of scotch. If the police don’t care, I don’t see why I should.”

I started walking again, leaving Marcella stunned behind me. She yelped and ran to catch up. “Hold on. You’re angry the police won’t investigate? Aren’t your type usually mad about them getting in the way and gumming up the works? Sounds to me like they’re giving you carte blanche.”

“Yeah, we don’t get along much, but sometimes I need a partner.” We reached where I’d crash-landed Dolores into a parking spot. Instead of shutting up and walking around to the driver’s seat, I leaned against the back wheel-well, adding a bit of rust from the rear quarter panel to the cast-iron seasoning of my coat. “Now, after all our bickering, the prom’s here, I’m dressed up, and I’ve got no one to dance with.”

“That’s downright silly and you know it,” Marcella said. “There are plenty of girls who’d love to go with you.”

I let my eyes linger on her coy smile and fluttering eyes. Her tail swished behind her like a cat preparing to pounce.

If I were twenty years younger, she was just the kind of girl I’d go crazy chasing around. Her personality got on my nerves, but only because she was so determined, so fiery. She spoke her mind and didn’t give a damn what others thought.

“So? What do you say? Want me to pin a boutonniere on you, or what?”

“Pin a—” I said, startled until my mind caught up with the metaphor. “You think you have what it takes? Don’t exactly have the firepower I was going to the police for.”

Marcella flapped her hand at me dismissively. “I hear The Beast stuff’s its bra. I’ve been in more than a few scrapes over the years, and I’ve always wriggled out of them. Just try me.”

The fact that I considered it for a whole second spoke volumes for Marcella’s charisma, and for her ability to wheedle in under my skin.

“No. It’s bullshit,” I said after shaking the idea from my mind. “We shouldn’t have to fight the system just to get justice.”

“Well, somebody’s got to do it,” Marcella said, gaining energy. “It might as well be us. Besides, whatever happens will make a hell of a story.”

“If there’s anyone around to tell it.” I had to be extra mopey to make up for her delirious high spirits.

“What’re you mumbling about now?” she asked, leaning in.

“Where are you parked?”

“Around the corner. Why?”

“They already know to look out for my car.” I gestured at Dolores as if pointing to a body with a knife jabbed in its chest. Even if I hadn’t been snooping around where I shouldn’t have been, Dolores would have stuck out among the expensive luxury cars the guys at Steel Polaris drove.

“You’ll let me come with you?” Marcella said. Her arms fluttered toward her chest. She wanted to hop up and down like an excited schoolgirl.

“I’ll let you drive.” I opened Dolores’s trunk with my thumbnail. It didn’t spring up the way it had when Boggs opened it. Wally had come by and stolen his ill-gotten wad of copper back. Luckily, his hands had been too full to take away what I was really after: the lopping shears he’d used as bolt cutters.

“Something happen to your gun?”

“I’m not going to use these on anyone. Not unless I have to.” I looked at myself in the muddled, warped, reflection of Dolores’s rear bumper as I slammed the trunk lid. Anyone who saw me wandering around in my filthy trench coat with a pair of gardening shears would think I was a mental patient. I needed to get changed, work out the kinks in my plan.

It would be better if I waited until later in the night anyway. Things would be easier after dark, once the party-goers had got a few drinks in them.

“You think you could scrounge up a hard hat and reflective vest? The kind workmen wear?”

Marcella’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly.

“Good. Go get those and meet me at my office. We’ll take your car from there.”

“Where are you going?”

“Didn’t I tell you I rented a tux? Damn shame I hadn’t thought to order a limousine. Seems they’re all booked up now.”

I smirked, but Marcella’s eyes narrowed further.

“Never mind. You’ll think it’s funny once I tell you the full story.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”