CHAPTER 36
It was sometime after ten when Daryl Mayweather rapped on the window of Powell’s Bronco. Powell looked over at Daryl and noticed that he was carrying a manila folder. He leaned across the seat and unlocked the door. Mayweather climbed into the car and pulled the door shut. He was black and in his fifties with a beard and buzzed salt and pepper hair. Mayweather was a lifer who had started out as a beat cop and now worked cold case homicides for the SFPD. He was also Powell’s last partner before he retired.
“What the f**k you doin’ out here, Powell?” Mayweather said. He nodded at the bar across the street. “Lookin’ for some trim?”
“I’m working a case.”
“Still doin’ the PI thing, huh?”
Powell shrugged. “Part time, divorce work, mostly.”
“What you got goin’ tonight?”
“The usu
