Her name was Rosalia Fuentes. She was a bleached redhead, bosomed streetwalker who claimed 10th and Vine as her territory. She was tall, with long shapely legs, wearing a tight black skirt that accentuated her tight a*s magnificently. Tonight she was dressed in a bright yellow blouse four buttons undone and flashing a lot of cleavage. Yet the way she moved, the way she smiled, lifted her two or three levels above the normal definition of a hooker.
As he sat in the darkness of his black CTS Cadillac and watched her, he smiled knowingly. She was expensive. She was smart. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. And she had been the roommate of the very first of the women who had been visited by The Ripper.
Eyeing the street, making sure no Vice Squad personnel were around, the dark-eyed man st
