I'm at my desk a little after four in the afternoon when Donna, one of the records clerks, buzzes my office phone. "I've got a Detective Smith from Shreveport, Louisiana, on the line for you."
"Put him through," I tell her. I blink a few times trying to clear my vision after staring at the computer screen for the past twenty minutes while I work on the latest report. I'm not a fan of autopsies like I was in my younger days. Too much blood and violence. All I got from watching Kurtis work was a sense that this is one sick motherfucker.
The phone makes a clicking noise. "Is this Detective Street?" a gruff voice asks.
"Speaking."
"I've got a look-alike hit on the info you put in UCI." I sit up straighter and my adrenaline immediately picks up. "Five kills beginning three years ago. Twelve
