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had a fire within him, a passion for right and wrong, good versus evil.
    “What made you want to become a cop?” Hutch asked.
    “Family tradition. Both my dad and grandpa were cops.”
    “I think there is more to it than that.”
    “Uh-oh,” Byte muttered.
    Struk shot a glance at Byte. “Uh-oh?”
    “He’s trying to get inside your head,” Byte warned. “Run, save yourself. Once he gets in, he’ll know all your secrets.”
    Struk cut a panicked look at Hutch. Hutch waved it off. “He’s just fucking with you again.”
    Byte made a disgruntled sound, but he couldn’t hide his grin. Byte knew Hutch all too well. Of course he was trying to get inside Struk’s head; it was something he did with most people he met. Hutch loved discovering people’s deep-down dark secrets. It’s what made him a great investigator.
    “Is it a secret?” Hutch nudged.
    Struk stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “My dad was killed in the line of duty when I was twelve. At least that’s how they classified it. He was killed by a fellow officer, the murder covered up.”
    “Why?” Hutch inquired.
    Struk looked away, but not before Hutch caught a glimpse of the sadness in his eyes. “Secrets,” he muttered dismissively.
    Ah, the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. “Carson,” Hutch said gently. As soon as Struk turned and met his gaze, Hutch asked, “Was your dad gay?”
    Struk tried to look outraged as he stared at Hutch, but he couldn’t quite pull it off, the truth obvious in the sadness in his eyes. Hutch continued to stare at Struk, unflinching and without judgment, calmly waiting for him to respond. After a long, drawn-out moment, Struk took a heavy breath and nodded.
    The way Struk had flinched each time someone had made a crass or negative remark completely made sense now. The man he’d seen as a role model, whose shoes it was his goal to fill, had been killed because he was gay. It was the ultimate betrayal. For Struk, catching the killer when his colleagues refused to was personal. It was as if he had to relive the injustice of it all over again.
    Hutch glanced at Byte, who was looking at him with a questioning look. Hutch gave him a slight nod, and Byte turned his attention back to his computer, his fingers flying over the keys. Their main focus had to be the case they were currently working on. It would take every bit of it to stop the madman, and Byte knew that too. Hutch knew Byte as well as Byte knew him, though. Byte was no doubt already making notes and sending out feelers into the death of Struk’s father.
    “All right, back to the case at hand,” Hutch announced. “Refill?” he asked and held up the bottle.
    Struk looked relieved with the subject change but shook his head, declining the drink. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, smoothing it out before sliding it across the table to Hutch.
    “I made some notes on tips that came in through the tip line. Most of them didn’t seem credible, but a few looked worth investigating. I can’t officially get involved, but if you happen to get the same tips….”
    Hutch picked up the paper and scanned it. The first one looked promising. A gentleman by the name of Andy Johnson called to report he’d seen three of the victims with the same man shortly before they disappeared.
    “Do you know if anyone has followed up on this?”
    “Not that I could tell, but I’m not sure,” Struk said with a shrug. “You wouldn’t believe the number of tips we get through the hotline on a daily basis. It takes a while to follow up on them.”
    Hutch handed the notes to Byte. “Find out what you can on this guy, and let’s go have a chat with Mr. Johnson.”
    Byte took the note, then checked his watch. “It’s after midnight. He may not be real receptive to being questioned in the middle of the night.”
    Hutch ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay, let’s take him some