Chapter 17

EXT. - THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING

It felt like déjà vu to stand over a body in the filthy alley behind the Starlet Lounge. Even more so to see the multiple stab wounds in the woman's chest, the pool of blood stirring Gerri's hunger. Worse, the familiar face, staring up at her with milky eyes behind violet contact lenses, giant blonde hair spread out around her.

Roxy looked almost peaceful lying there, arms up, legs turned sideways, her micro mini showing her short legs, the tattoo of a butterfly on her left thigh. Gerri took a step back and a deep breath, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach and sudden urge for a fresh steak as Ray took her place, the snap of her gloves loud in Gerri's ears.

Only two nights later, but the same crowd gathered, a mimic of the first time she'd been here. Gerri's attempt to call Kinsey went to voicemail, though it didn't matter much. She had a feeling the biker gang they'd identified were the culprits. That Ray's missing body and info was tied to some federal investigation, something maybe the FBI was looking to cover up. She'd seen it before, been stonewalled in the past. The one case she'd been unable to solve. Or, hadn't been allowed to solve.

She wouldn't think about little Missy Spence or her weeping mother. She didn't have time for tears of her own.

Gerri just wished she'd gotten to Roxy first. But the night she'd spent hunting down the queen ended with a phone call and her last stop, here in the alley behind the Starlet.

Ray looked up at her, the flash of a camera lighting her eyes as she did. The press finally came out to play, though the unis were holding them back. Gerri skimmed the crowd with her gaze, looking for more familiarity, and found it. The preacher and his female companion. The same queens from the other night. And, this time, Salvador himself stood by the tape, hands clasped before him, lips a thin line, moisture on his cheeks. Gerri returned her attention to Ray when she spoke, only half listening.

"Looks like the same weapon and attack pattern," the medical examiner said. She wanted to comfort Ray, to tell her what she suspected. All this paranormal mumbo jumbo she and Kinsey bantered around gave Gerri the creeps. So did the memory of scales and fangs the night Joe died, but she'd shoved that so far down under the story of the drug dealer who cut up and disposed of her partner in the lake, she barely registered it as a flicker of irritation. "I'll have to take her back to the morgue to check her heart." Gerri looked away at the not-so-subtle tone in Ray's voice. Whatever. Clearly the X-Ray had been developed wrong. No one was born without a heart. And Ray's stress must have messed her up when she did the autopsy.

Because a trained and experienced medical examiner like her would miss such an important detail. Gerri tried to shake off her nervous mind's whisper by focusing again on the crowd. She really needed a look at the shots the unis took from the first scene. There would be time to compare them to the second.

Maybe she didn't need to. She spotted tall, tattooed and bald before he noticed she was watching, taking in the heavy leather jacket, the big boots. He even wore those tacky half gloves, with his inked fingers showing. When he met Gerri's eyes, his widened and he backed off, slipping into the crowd behind him. Time to have a little chat with the Divinities.

She was almost to the tape when Jackson appeared out of nowhere, stepping into her line of sight and stopping her in her tracks. She tried to dodge around him, cursing softly for his interference, but too late. Her prey was gone, out of sight, and the distant rumble of a motorcycle engine told her chasing him down on foot wasn't an option. She had his pic. That was all Gerri needed for the hunt.

"What?" She glared up the three inches Jackson had on her, in no mood for his shit.

"Somebody's in bitch mode," he shot back.

"You just got in the way, dipshit," she said.

Jackson grumbled something before jerking his head toward the side of the building, where the preacher held what looked like a prayer meeting with some of the queens. "That dude," Jackson snarled, "is getting on my nerves." He stepped back, hands wide. "You're welcome to him."

Gerri shrugged and stifled a sigh, waved Jackson off. Let him be a slacker. Besides, she'd been meaning to track the preacher down, since hate crimes came up empty. Gerri watched Jackson go, still wishing she could get away with shooting him right then and there. Would be a public service, in her estimation. She was sure the young uniform he chose to hit on-the same one from the other night-instead of doing his damned job agreed with her. She could have gone to the woman's rescue, but didn't. As sad as it was, being a woman and a cop, she had to learn to take care of herself, just like Gerri did. Turning her back, the detective headed for the preacher and his flock.

Time he answered to a higher power. Gerri crossed under the police tape line, covering ground quickly, reaching the small group just as he finished up the last of the sermon.

"-and he shall bring light and love upon you," the man said, silver hair shining in the streetlights, benevolent smile reminding her of an aging soap star with his charisma still intact. "And when you accept his salvation, he will welcome you home, forevermore."

Gerri clapped with slow, cynical enthusiasm. The preacher turned around, startled, the woman next to him in her plain brown cardigan and comfortable shoes staring with eyes wide and mousy face tense. The queens scattered, whether grateful for the distraction so they could escape or afraid of a cop, Gerri didn't know. Or care. The tall, handsome minister with the clear hazel eyes and actor perfect smile was the focus of her attention.

Her gut told her he wasn't guilty of murder. But he was damned well guilty of something.

"You must be the detective on the case." He offered one big hand which she accepted, his grip firm but warm. He looked trim in his suit coat, if casual enough in his jacket and jeans. Not a priest, but definitely a preacher of some kind. She could tell he'd likely have luck with some of the less confident LGBTQ, if only because he exuded charisma. "Such a tragedy, losing both Adam and Thomas like this. They were both on their path to return to the fold. I just can't believe they're gone."

Gerri doubted very much if either the queen or the transsexual were remotely interested in this man and his church, but let it go. "Detective Geraldine Meyers," she said. "You are?"

"Forgive my rudeness, my grief, you understand." He fished in his pocket, pulled out a rectangle of black and white cardboard. She glanced down at the plain writing as he went on. "Reverend Russell Sterling, Collective of All Souls. I live in the area and minister to the community here."

Gerri tucked the card into her front pocket, observing him with her gut as well as her detective's eye. While she still worried using her weird ability made her a freak, as long as she only tapped in when investigating a case, she could live with it. He didn't seem nervous or stressed, not even particularly upset by the deaths. But that didn't mean he killed anyone.

The woman next to him, on the other hand... she carried guilt with her, but not for the dead women. The way she hung her head, stayed behind Sterling, told Gerri her guilt was older, more ingrained and highly personal. She didn't need her gut to tell her that, just good police work and observation. For some reason, that made her feel better. So the woman had old sins she needed to atone for. It had nothing to do with Gerri.

She shifted her attention back to Sterling as the man went on. "Horrible, simply horrible." His small smile oddly didn't feel out of place with the compassion brimming in his eyes. "I've worried ever since I took over this community something terrible might happen. These men put themselves at great risk of attack, by denying their true nature." What the hell did he know about their true nature? Gerri bristled slightly, but stayed focused on how he was speaking, not what he was saying. The way people acted was more telling than the words they spoke. "If only they would learn to reject the demons inside them, to embrace the true teachings of the Collective." He sighed with great dramatic effect while Gerri did her best not to roll her eyes. There was nothing here. He was just a pompous ass with old-world ideologies she wished would take a hike and die. Dude sounded like her grandfather.

"What are you doing here?" Salvador pushed his way past Gerri, tiny body vibrating as he glared up at Sterling in obvious rage. "Get away from my girls, you sick bastard!"

Gerri lunged forward, grabbing Salvador before the club owner could strike Sterling. The preacher stared down at the old cross dresser with sympathy and his little smile. Gerri was really starting to dislike the guy, even more so when Salvador sagged, broken, in her grip.

"You're looking for the murderer," Salvador choked, "look no further than this man and his hate."

Gerri released Salvador, but kept a close eye on him when she refocused on Sterling. "Maybe it would be better if you left."

"This is a free city," Sterling said, disapproving. Did he really just chastise her like she was a bad little girl? Gerri grinned, tight and dangerous, leaning close to the preacher whose smile faded as he backed away.

"Sure is," she said. "Until I tell you to leave." He just stared at her. Didn't get it yet. Gerri loved teaching others how things went. "I'm not asking."

Sterling and his female companion turned and retreated to the end of the alley, but they didn't leave completely. Fine with Gerri. She'd be talking to them again, anyway. Not that she really believed Salvador's accusation. But because Sterling pissed her off. She now had plans to make his life miserable, to uncover what it was he hid from her behind his smile and his minister's compassion.

She'd make it her mission.

She turned back to find the young bartender holding Salvador. Curtis's eyes were so full of his own hurt, Gerri flinched from his pain, but she had a job to do. "I take it no one saw anything this time, either?"

Salvador shook his head, sighing out his sadness before patting Curtis's muscular arm in thanks. He visibly pulled himself together, jabbing one sharp nail at Gerri.

"Mark my words," he said, "that man and his hateful congregation were involved. I know it." He pounded his chest with one fist. "I can feel it. In here."

"The state of California needs more than your heart's word for it," Gerri said, though gently, even while squirming in discomfort over her use of her own instincts. She solved crimes with science and investigative skills. So what if she got a little help from something she didn't quite understand?

Totally different situation. She just had to keep telling herself that.

Gerri reached out and caught Curtis's sleeve, pulling him back when he moved to leave with Salvador. "Anything," she said, softly, for his ears only. Did he know something? But all she got back from him was grief.

He shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes, before following his boss back into the club. She tried to go after him. There was something... but what?

"Leave him alone." A pretty woman with a nose too long and thin for her face cut Gerri off. Two others crowded behind her, keeping her from pursuing Curtis.

"These are our friends." The first queen crossed her arms over her chest, hot-chocolate skin covered in glitter. Her companions muttered agreement, a few more joining them. They were still dressed for the stage, Gerri guessed, a rainbow of angry show queens in towering heels and feathers and sequins. "You're looking up the wrong skirt if you think anyone here would hurt a hair on Roxy's head. Or Aisling's for that matter."

Gerri sighed, held up both hands. "You want the murderer caught, don't you?"

They all nodded, a sea of bobbing hairdos and fluttering, overlong lashes.

"Then let me do my job." Gerri pushed past them, heading for Ray and the body while her detective's gut told her she was still missing pieces of the puzzle.

***