Prologue

Central city hummed with life, Day and Night. The Flash did a good job, cleaning up the streets, but recently, with the League business and saving the world, the occasional mugger slipped in.

Normally at night. When it appeared the scarlet speedster wouldn't be able to make it, either with some crisis or something. The criminals in central city were rather smart, in that regard.

Of course, if they were aware of the Flash's alter ego, and where he worked, that might've caused a few to think four times.

The Central Star Bar and Grill was leftover from prohibition. The atmosphere had a touch of each decade, and it was a place most cops went after duty. Even some of the forensic team would come over.

It was also next to a private investigator's office. Well, it was next to an office building and the fourth floor had a P.I., but that's really splitting hairs.

The P.I.'s door had 'L. Walker' written on it, no secretary, and a couple of filing cabinets. It was leased to a 'Leo' Walker. Walker was on fairly good terms with the police station . . . there was only one blue blood detective that didn't like the private eye going over cold cases.

Now, when most people hear the name, 'Leo' it automatically pictures some guy (or a ninja turtle). Which was not true of the woman who owned the office. She was slight, not obviously muscular, reddish brown hair, which was as non-descript as she was in appearance. Her father had desperately wanted a boy, and had decided to ignore the eventual plight of his daughter, naming her Leo. He also proceeded to treat her like a boy, which caused a few problems for her mother, teaching her to be a girl. The end result was a tough girl who tried out for the football team and tended to wear practical shoes, even with evening gowns.

As time went on, Leo found an escape route from being called her name, by coming up with a nickname that most people used.

"Hey, Kit, miss me?" The red head with a trackstar build slid into the booth across from her.

"I saw you yesterday, West. Surprised by your call, though." Kit fixed him with a look. "What's wrong."

"You weren't the only one, Kit." Wally West rolled his shoulder. "We've unearthed two Jane Doe's with his same M.O. One was was buried alive."

"Damn." She hissed, if anyone had paid attention to the two, they would have seen her flicker, and turn transparent. "So much for hope, apparently."

"Easy Kit." She regained control. "We're hoping you're the last. But . . ."

"What are the odds he only kills three people?" She sighed. "You owe me a beer."

"I know. Try to keep it low key?"

"Always."

Me no own Justice League or DC comics . . . I'm just taking them for a spin.