Free Stripped by Brian Freeman Page A

world.”
    Stride could translate Sawhill’s meaning easily enough. If the lieutenant had known it would turn out to be such a high-profile case, he would never have turned it over to his black sheep, the untested detective from Minnesota and his transsexual partner. Not in a million years. Now it was too late to yank them. Unless Stride gave him a reason by screwing up.
    “That reminds me,” Sawhill continued. “Direct any media inquiries to the PR office. Okay? You’ve got a case to solve. I don’t want you wasting your time with reporters. That goes for Amanda, too.”
    Amanda most of all, Stride thought. Sawhill didn’t want either of them representing the city or, worse, snatching the limelight.
    “What’s the status of the investigation? I need to tell the mayor something.”
    “We have the perpetrator on film,” Stride said. “He left us his fingerprint. Deliberately. That’s a pretty ballsy move, and not like a hired gun who’s just doing a job.”
    Sawhill narrowed his eyes. “Were his prints in the system?”
    “No. We couldn’t get a good read on his face, either. He knew where the cameras were. All in all, one cool customer.”
    “You’re sure he was after Lane? This wasn’t a random thrill kill?”
    “It wasn’t a typical hit. But random? No. He was after MJ. Tracked him and killed him.”
    “You have a line on a motive?” Sawhill asked impatiently.
    “Drugs, gambling, women. Pick one, you’ve got a motive. But so far no reason to think any of them got him killed.”
    “So how do you plan to crack the case?” He was the inquisitor now, probing for a weakness, looking for Stride to give him an excuse to pull him off the murder.
    “We’re doing a sketch from what we’ve got, which isn’t much. The Oasis guys are reviewing their entrance tapes for the last month, to see if he was inside casing the joint and may have been a little less careful about keeping his face hidden. We’re backtracking MJ’s route that day and using the sketch to see if anyone spotted the perp when he picked up MJ’s tail. Amanda and I are talking to everyone who knew MJ or saw him recently, to see if we can pick up a thread on who he might have pissed off. And I want to talk to MJ’s father. There was something going on between them. It may be nothing, but it’s the only sign so far that anything was amiss in MJ’s party-boy life.”
    Sawhill shook his head. “It might be better if I talked to Walker Lane myself.”
    “Why is that?” Stride asked, struggling to betray no irritation in his voice.
    “Walker Lane is a wealthy, influential man,” Sawhill said. He sounded like a teacher lecturing a slow student. “The governor himself was the one to break the news to Mr. Lane about the murder. I assume you’re not suggesting Mr. Lane is a suspect?”
    “I have no reason to think so,” Stride said, “but a dispute was going on between Walker and MJ. We think they talked an hour before he was killed. It’s possible that MJ was involved in something that led to his death, and Walker might know what it is.”
    Sawhill drummed his fingers on his desk. He nodded, looking unhappy. “All right, fine. You do the interview. But tomorrow, not today.” Stride began to protest, and Sawhill waved it aside. “Let’s give Mr. Lane a decent time to grieve. You’ve got plenty of other leads to follow. And kid gloves, Detective. He’s a powerful man who just lost his son.”
    “Understood,” Stride said.
    “How are you and Amanda getting along?” Sawhill asked. His face was stony, but Stride wondered if the man was hiding a smile.
    “No problem. She’s smart. I like her.”
    “Ah. Good.”
    He sounded disappointed.
     
     
    Stride barely had time to return from Sawhill’s office when Amanda poked her head around his cubicle wall.
    “We’ve got company,” she told him brightly, her eyes twinkling. “Karyn Westermark in the flesh. And I do mean flesh.”
    Stride followed Amanda to the third-floor