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Chapter Seven
Master Chief Snyder? I m Kam Wagner. Nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to look at more
photos, the man said, flashing an ID card and a bright smile as they briefly shook hands. Kam
gestured for Cliff to follow him through the electronically secured door, and they walked along the
fluorescent-lighted bowels of the thirty-year-old San Diego Police Headquarters building.
Kam moved with quiet confidence, his strides long, each step rolling him up on his toes so he
almost bounced as they passed through the long hallway. When they entered an open bullpen of desks
and detectives, several pairs of eyes followed their progress. He exchanged a look with Detective
Kingston the man who d interviewed him on his previous visit to the SDPD. The detective s mouth
twisted into a mockery of a smile as he glanced from Cliff to Kam and back again. Huh. Wonder what
that s about?
Ignoring the looks, Kam led the way to one of several glass-fronted offices that lined the back wall
and gestured unsmilingly for Cliff to step inside. The impersonal space was a step up from the
interrogation room with the two-way glass where Kingston had taken him to look at the mug books
shortly after the shootings.
Closing the door, probably to give a small illusion of privacy, Kam looked up at Cliff. Sorry
about that. Nothing like taking you through a parade of gawkers to put you at your ease, huh?
Wagner s voice held a hint of sarcasm, and he figured this was the round of good cop, since
Kingston s homophobic attitude had clearly put him on the side of bad cop and not in a good way.
Several notebooks were stacked on one end of the oval conference table, so without waiting to be
asked, Cliff squeezed his way around Kam and rested his hand on the tall-back office chair. He gazed
out through the windows at the sea of desks, catching more curious gazes. After a moment he turned to
study Detective Wagner. Probably standing at five-ten in his boots, the man s face was smooth,
unlined, with no trace of a beard. His dark brown hair was worn long, the loose curls just touching
his shoulders. The sleeves of his olive green Henley were pushed up to reveal smooth forearms, his
jeans were worn long enough to fray where they caught on the heel of his heavy boots.
Jesus, Cliff blurted. Are you even old enough to drink?
My mommy even let me stay up to watch the game with all the grown-ups last night, Kam said.
His grin said he appreciated rather than resented the comment. I m blessed with some good genes.
This he pointed to his face allowed me to work undercover with youth gangs a helluva long
time. I m just a little too long in the tooth for that now, but I don t mind. It gets pretty fucking old
hanging out with a bunch of delinquent teenagers.
Gangs, huh? Someone is finally admitting it s a gang-involved crime now? I tried to tell that to
Kingston last week.
Have a seat, Master Chief, Kam invited as he moved around the table to take a chair next to
Cliff, so they could both sit with their backs to a wall.
Call me Cliff. No need for titles. I m on terminal leave, waiting until my retirement becomes
official at the end of the month.
Kam s eyes narrowed and he looked Cliff full in the face. The younger man s scrutiny made him
hyper-aware of how he must look. With his salt-and-pepper hair, two-day beard, and bags under his
eyes the size of plums from too little sleep followed by a five-hour drive, he probably looked a
decade older than his forty years.
I ll call you by your name if you like, but my dad retired from the Navy, and taught me a lot about
respect. As he used to say before he passed, once a chief, always a chief. You made it to the top of the
enlisted ranks, and as one of the elite, so don t let this his gaze dropped to the books, then swept
the outer office where most of the detectives had gone back to minding their own duties single
incident diminish your accomplishments.
Definitely the good cop.
You didn t answer my question, Cliff said, rather than responding to the pep-talk, as he sat and
rested his forearms on the table. So it s confirmed? The shooting and robbery were gang-related?
That s the working theory. Look, let s get this out of the way first. I m familiar with the reports, I
saw the crime scene photos, I know what Hard Labour was, and I don t give a shit. Can we be clear
on that, before we do anything else?
If you say so. Where do you want me to start?
With an ill-disguised snort of amusement, Kam pointed to the book on the top. For the next thirty
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