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Guard Armory on Sixth Street between Jenks and Grace.
    Built a few years before the war, it had served as a temporary headquarters for Tyndall Field, but was now home to the Rationing Board.
    We were across the street, watching both the traffic passing by on Sixth and the people going in and out of the armory. As usual during the war years, downtown was congested, big gray buses adding to the mix of cars, cabs, trucks, and trailers.
    “Jimmy,” Delton said as he walked up.
    “Delt.”
    “How ya been?”
    “Been better,” I said. “Not gonna lie. You?”
    “Sorry as hell to hear about—well, everything.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You look like you’re in a hell of a lot of pain.”
    We were standing next to a Packard parked on the corner of Jenks, the smoke curling up from our hands and out of our mouths quickly swept up and carried away into the hazy day by the brisk breeze. The Packard was a green convertible with the top down, the interior of which appeared to have been rained in a time or two.
    Clip, who thought Delton might be setting me up and half expected an ambush at any moment, continually scanned the area, pacing around to see from all sides.
    “He always this jumpy?” Delt asked.
    “Cops make him nervous,” I said. “What can I do for you, Delt?”
    “Well, first I guess I wanted to shake the hand of the man who killed a legend.”
    Ray had earned his status as legend—early in his career as a Chicago cop, then as a Pinkerton, and finally as a private detective with his own agency. Everyone respected him. Most people feared him. Even the cops.
    He extended his hand—his right one at first, then realized his mistake and switched to his left. I didn’t shake it.
    “Come on, fella. Don’t be sore. We’re all impressed as hell. How’d you do it? Was it in the back?”
    “I oughta shoot your dumb ass in the back right now,” Clip said.
    “Sorry, soldier,” he said, ignoring Clip as if he didn’t exist. “It’s just … you got one arm. And it ain’t even the one attached to your shooting hand. How the hell did you kill Ray Parker?”
    “Where’s Pete?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
    “He’s missing. I have no idea. Was hoping you knew something.”
    “
Me
?”
    “He was working them murders you was involved with, then he just vanished. Poof. Gone.”
    “You saying he didn’t make any arrests in the case?”
    “No. Why?”
    “I gave him the goods on Howell, Rainer, Cliff Walton, and Ann Everett right before I left town. He was going to bring them in.
    That’s the last time I spoke to him—and that was on the phone.”
    “He never brought anybody in. Least not as I know of. Certainly never made any arrests.”
    “So I’m still a suspect for the murders in
that
case. I thought I was just wanted for what happened with Ray.”
    “What did happen with Ray?”
    “If Howell wasn’t arrested, how is Harry Lewis mayor already?”
    “He won the election. Howell dropped out. Left town I think. No scandal or anything. Put out a statement about his health being bad or something. Mr. Lewis took office as soon as he was elected.”
    I shook my head.
    “You sayin’ you didn’t kill any of those people—not even Ray?”
    “I’m saying I didn’t kill any of those people
except
for Ray.”
    We were quiet a moment as he seemed to ponder what I’d said.
    “Why’re you reaching out to me, Delt? Telling me all this?”
    “I’m worried about Pete. Thought you might help me find him.”
    “What about you boys taking care of your own?”
    “Far as I’m concerned,
you’re
one of us,” he said. “And things ain’t right at the station. Lots of new faces. Don’t know who to trust. And no one seems to be trying all that hard to find Pete. It’s like those girls they found is the only case that matters.”
    “What can you tell me about them?”
    “Just that we got some honest-to-god sex killer here in our little town. The things he does to them … We all want to catch him. But