Free No Place Like Hell by K. S. Ferguson Page B

the salt and pepper shakers. We both looked around the restaurant to avoid looking at one another.
    "You must be excited to work such an important case. Mr. Decker didn't deserve to die like that. It's a great opportunity for you to bring the person responsible to justice."
    I snorted. "I'm not part of the investigation team. Lenny Greene doesn't think it's a suitable job for a woman."
    "You graduated from the police academy top of your class, and you've been on the force for two years. You found the body. Why shouldn't you be involved?"
    "How did you know about my academy record?" I asked, voice climbing.
    Tad grinned. "Dad mentioned it in his speech yesterday. I guess you weren't listening."
    My cheeks got hot enough to singe my eyelashes. "I was listening… sort of."
    He laughed. "He can't open his mouth without making a speech. I usually tune him out, too. But I listened to what he said about you."
    He looked over his beer glass as he sipped. "What do you do when you aren't keeping Solaris safe from its criminal denizens?"
    "Not much. I volunteer at the Mission on Saturday afternoons to help feed the homeless."
    "And the rest of the week?"
    "Work keeps me busy. Lots of overtime."
    "No boyfriend?"
    I shifted in my seat. "A cop's life is hard on relationships. What about you?"
    "No boyfriends for me, either," he replied straight-faced, but his eyes twinkled.
    My discomfort soared. I wanted to crawl under the table. Was he having fun, or was he making fun of me?
    "I meant what do you do in your spare time?"
    His expression soured. "I spend all day hopping from one photo-op to the next. My father is grooming me for a run at the city council."
    "The rumors are true, then? With your military record, you ought to be a shoo-in."
    He dismissed my assessment with a wave of his hand. "The war isn't popular. Many people hold my service against me. Besides, I'd like to do something more… I don't know… direct. It seems like I've spent my life focused on all the wrong things. I want to dedicate myself to helping others."
    "Risking your life to defend your country seems like helping to me."
    "It's not enough to erase my sins. Maybe I should do a stint at the Mission with you?"
    A guy who'd volunteer at the Mission. I couldn't believe my ears.
    The waitress brought our order. Tad tore up breadsticks and dipped them in the soup. I stuck with my spoon and wondered how to ask him if he was in some kind of trouble.
    "Do you know someone who lives at the Carlisle Hotel?" I asked.
    Tad frowned and pursed his lips. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"
    "I just wondered." I stirred my soup and tried another approach. "It must be tough running for office. Your whole life is suddenly in the spotlight. Enemies come out of the woodwork. You don't know of anyone who has it in for you?"
    "It's only the Solaris city council, not President of the United States," he laughed. His expression became serious. "But no one is safe while the Slasher is on the loose."
    "We know who the Slasher is."
    Tad rocked back. "You do?"
    "A hippie named Sleeth." A beat later, I realized my mistake. I shouldn't talk about the case.
    "But the police chief said there wasn't enough evidence to prove it was him."
    A little sigh of relief whispered past my lips. I hadn't leaked anything he didn't already know. "I saw him. He's a sicko. Believe me, he did it."
    Tad stirred the remains of his soup with a breadstick. "If there isn't enough evidence, maybe Sleeth isn't guilty. Maybe you should keep looking. The real Slasher could kill again while the police chase the wrong man. The detective's report says there's no connection between this Sleeth and Decker."
    "Ha!" I laughed. "Turns out Sleeth's enjoying 'free love' with Decker's secretary."
    Tad's eyebrows bounced up. He dropped the soggy breadstick in his bowl. "That information wasn't in the briefing my dad got."
    "Well…," I said, casting around for a way to explain how I'd come by this tidbit.
    He plowed on. "Aren't most murder