Cooked Goose

done.”
    As he stared pointedly at her chest, drool practically oozing down his chin, Savannah wondered—not for the first time—why it was always the most repulsive members of the masculine gender who blatantly pursued women. Nice, good-looking guys who showered regularly and held steady jobs never invited you to: sit on their face and spin, or treat yourself to the culinary pleasure of blowing them.
    Such invitations were almost always issued by some scuz-bucket you wouldn’t share a sidewalk with, let alone an intimate encounter.
    “Come on, Savannah .” He leaned across the desk and she was overcome with the pungent fumes of his cheap cologne. “Let’s get together, get naked and horizonal. What do you think?”
    “The only way I want to see you horizonal, Bates, is on Dr. Liu’s autopsy table.”
    He lit up. “We could do that! She’s going to be gone for a few hours tomorrow afternoon and we could—”
    “No, you don’t understand. This fantasy of mine isn’t sexual in nature. In my scenario, your chest is splayed open, the top of your head has been sawed off and your face peeled down. Got the picture?”
    He giggled and wagged one eyebrow at her. “There’s no use in trying to hide it. I know what you think of me.”
    “You know that I consider you a festering boil on the hairy rump of humanity? And you still hit on me? Does that make you stupid or what, Bates? Think about it.”
    She left him sitting there, looking only moderately insulted—a disappointment, when she had been hoping to leave him outraged.
    Oh well, maybe the baseball bat visitation wasn’t such a bad idea even here in civilized Southern California .
    She filed the thought away for future consideration and hurried down the hall to the squad room to find Dirk. The photo was burning a hole in her purse, and she couldn’t wait to show it to him.
    The bullpen hadn’t changed much in the last three years since she had been off the force. A few more computer screens, fewer girlie pictures on walls behind desks... and definitely fewer chairs filled. Municipal cuts had slashed deep into the department budget.
    Several years ago, there would have been a bevy of detectives working on a case as prominent as the Santa Rapist and the missing cops. But at a quarter to five, Dirk was the only one sitting at his desk, his face stained green by the light of his computer screen. He was staring at the thing, so bleary-eyed that she was glad she had taken a moment to drive past the donut shop window.
    “Need a bear claw?” she asked, dropping the white sack on the desk in front of him. “I’ll trade you for a cup of coffee.” Instantly, he was alert. “Deal.” He fished a Styrofoam cup from between the stacks of files cluttering his desktop and handed it to her. She took a sip; it was bitter and cold.
    “You don’t mind if I get a cup of my own?” she asked, walking to the table in the corner where the industrial-sized pot held a day’s worth of brew. Fresh was too much to hope for, but at least it was hot. She poured herself a cup and another one for him.
    By the time she returned to his desk a minute and a half later, the bear claw had been already been dispatched to donut heaven. In Dirk’s presence, food seldom enjoyed a long shelf life.
    She pulled a chair up to his and sat down, nearly squirming with excitement.
    “You’re looking pretty frisky,” he said, studying her as he licked the sugar crumbs from the corners of his mouth. “What’s up?”
    “I got somethin’.”
    “Obviously. Me, too.”
    He did look a mite frisky himself, she noted. “What have you got?”
    “You first.”
    “Mine’s the best.”
    “Don’t be so sure.”
    “It is. Wait’ll you see this.”
    She opened her purse and pulled out the snapshot. “I was visiting Christy Melleby... sort of paying my respects... and I saw this. I asked her if I could borrow it, gave her some song and dance about needing it for a missing poster shot.”
    He took the photo from her and glanced at it briefly.
    “So?”
    “Look closer.”
    He did. “So?”
    “Don’t you see it?”
    “See what? They’re at an air show. Probably the one at Point Morro, right?”
    “Right. But that’s not important. Look... right there.” She pointed to Titus’s hand, draped over Christy’s shoulder.
    “His ring,” she said. “He’s wearing a big ring with a star on it.”
    Dirk squinted and nodded thoughtfully. “He is.”
    Losing her patience, she socked him on