Chapter 1

A Working Theory

It was the start of another beautiful Californian day. The sun rose across San Francisco, burning off the morning mist in the bay as the city came to life.

In the attic room number forty-eight of the Police Department, the office and private apartment of Chief Robert Ironside, there was activity as well.

Robert Ironside himself, though crippled and confined to a wheelchair, was not the sort of man to lie on in the morning. So he was already awake and dress and finishing his second cup of coffee by the time his sergeant, Ed Brown, walked into the office.

'Good morning, Chief!'

Sergeant Brown trotted lightly down the steps, deliberately missing the ramp that was there for the wheelchair, and headed to the coffee pot. Tall and handsome, with dark hair and a calm presence that women adored, Ed Brown was Ironside's good right arm, and one of the rising stars of the San Francisco Police Department. He could have had any job he wanted, but two years ago Ed had turned it all down, preferring to work with Ironside and be there for his friend during a time when he had really needed it.

Usually so straight and serious, Ed was in an uncharacteristically sunny mood. Though he must have noticed the dark, sombre look on Ironside's face, he didn't comment, but poured himself some black coffee and came over to sit beside his boss.

There was a companionable silence as Ed took a sip from his cup. It was going to be a bitch of a day and, not wanting to spoil the atmosphere, Ironside let the other man relax while he had the chance.

Together, they made up one half of the team. Of the other two, Officer Eve Whitfield would be there any moment, eager for another day at work with her boss. The last member, Mark Sanger was the only non-police officer. Even though the attic where Ironside lived was a good size and had been specially adapted, the Chief still needed help for the simple, mundane tasks that everyone else took for granted. And Mark Sanger was that help. Once, Mark had been just another black kid heading for a destructive life of crime, but now he was Ironside's helper, driver and companion, always there if the Chief needed him.

After savouring the coffee, Ed finally looked round the office in mild surprise.

'So, where's Mark this morning?' he asked.

'Already out, working,' said Ironside, looking pointedly at Ed, as if to imply that activity was something Ed wasn't used to doing himself. 'I sent him to the Hall of Records.'

The sergeant ignored the veiled rebuke.

'Any particular reason for Mark to leave so early?' Ed asked, still smiling.

'Don't I always have a reason, Sergeant!' replied Ironside, handing over a slim file. 'This came in earlier.'

Ed took one glance at the label, and his good mood vanished.

'You've got to be kidding me,' he said. 'Another one?'

'Yes, another one. The Commissioner can't stop me from looking into this now.'

'You were looking into it anyway,' Ed reminded him.

'Only from a distance. Now it's official.'

'Another body,' murmured Ed. 'That makes seven.'

'Morning, Chief!' came the bright, clear voice of Eve Whitfield. 'Hi, Ed!'

In spite of his dark mood, Ironside smiled as the young, blonde policewoman hung her coat and bag up on the hook by the door, and walked gracefully down the steps to her co-workers.

Seeing Eve would always make the Chief smile. Not only was she beautiful, but clever, dedicated and loyal. She had been on his personal staff for two years. Before that, she had been a wealthy society girl until, by chance, she was a witness in a murder case. Afterwards, they had kept in close contact, and it was Ironside that had suggested to her working for the police.

Once, if his life had gone down a different route, he might have considered acting on his feelings for her; there were hints that those feelings were more than reciprocated, even though there was over two decades between them. But there was more than that between them now, more than just his wheelchair and his disability, as well. She was part of his staff and her safety was his responsibility. He could never let her be put in such a difficult and compromising situation, no matter how he felt about her.

'Good morning, Eve,' Ironside said, giving her a warm smile. Then he turned to his Sergeant. 'I think you should give her the good news.'

'And what good news would that be?' Eve asked, looking at Ed.

'We have another case,' he said, waving the file. 'At least, I assume so, I haven't had the chance to read it yet.'

Eve, sensing the mood, picked up the implications much faster than Ironside would have imagined.

'The beatings? There's been another one?'

Ed nodded.

'It seems so.'

'There's no seems about it, Sergeant,' said Ironside, 'if you took the time to read the report.'

Ed had already opened the file as his boss was speaking, glancing down at the papers inside. Ironside watched as the other man's expression changed from mild concern to deep thoughtfulness. Eve was watching too.

'It certainly sounds like this death is connected to the others,' Ed replied after a few moments. 'But after spending so long in the water, it's not going to be easy to confirm the identification, the body's too far gone. And it's going to be even less easy to link this one to the other six deaths.'

'Assuming there is a link,' said Eve. 'This sort of thing happens all the time, Chief, what makes you think there's a connection between these cases, and not any of the other bodies they've fished out of the Bay?'

It was a familiar objection. Ironside didn't just tolerate his team asking questions, he encouraged it when he could. They all had to understand each other, and what was going on in a case. They all trusted Ironside implicitly, and they had earned the right to question his judgement if they needed to.

'Call it instinct,' said Ironside. 'These killings all have the same theme to them.'

'Theme?'

'Fit, healthy, young men, all beaten to death.' He looked up at Eve. 'Doesn't that strike you as odd?'

'Apart from the M.O., they're all different. Different jobs, different backgrounds, different lifestyles.'

'They're all dead.'

'All the others had one other thing in common,' added Ed. 'They'd all called in sick a few days before and hadn't been seen around. And they have no family. No one to notice if they're gone.'

Ironside nodded.

'It's almost like they had been selected,' he said. 'But there's something missing, something to link them together, and we've got to find it.' He turned to look at Sergeant Brown. 'That's what you're going to do, Ed. Find friends, acquaintances, housekeepers. Everyone and anyone who knew them. Talk to them personally. I want to know everything you can find out.'

Ed nodded, but made no move towards the door. Ironside scowled at him.

'Mark's already hard at work, going through the files at the Hall of Records.'

'I bet he got to finish his coffee before he left,' murmured Ed.

'No, Sergeant he didn't!'

Ed and Eve exchanged glances, and Ed gulped down a last mouthful of hot coffee before putting the cup down on the table with a clunk.

'I'm on it right now,' Ed replied with a grin as he stood up and headed out of the office.

'Keep me posted,' Ironside called after him.

'Sure thing, Chief.'

'What about me?' Eve asked as the door shut behind the Sergeant. Ironside raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, but he guessed that Eve already knew the answer to her own question.

'You an I, Officer Whitfield, are going to see the Commissioner.'

Commission Dennis Randall waited until Ironside had rolled his wheelchair to the desk and Eve had taken a seat at the window of the office before he looked up from his paper.

'What do you want, Bob?' there was a frosty, and resigned tone to Commissioner Randall's voice today.

It wasn't as if Ironside had expected a warm welcome, even though Dennis Randall was the one who'd helped him keep working after the shooting. He was the one who'd given his the job as a special consultant, and given him the office to live and work in. But the Commissioner knew the Chief very, very well indeed, and knew well enough when Ironside was there to pry a favour out of him.

Ironside knew he would win. He almost always did. But Commissioner Randall never made it easy.

'Good morning to you, Dennis,' he said in a jovial tone. The Commissioner narrowed his eyes.

'You don't need to ask,' Randall said. 'You're still nosing around those homicides for the past few weeks. I suppose you want the case.'

'That's right. I want that case.'

Technically, Ironside was assigned cases, but he could usually count on getting any case he asked for, such was the leverage provided by an old friendship.

'I thought you might. I gather you think these deaths are connected, even though Homicide has been all over them already.'

'I don't think, I know. And I'm in an excellent position to prove it.' The Commissioner's expression remained fixed. 'I have Ed and Mark working on it right now.'

'Wasting no time?'

'Wasting no time,' echoed Ironside.

The Commissioner stood up with a resigned sigh. Ironside was surprised. It seemed that Dennis had given in much more easily this time.

'Why just these six men?' he asked.

'Seven,' corrected Ironside.

'Seven, then. All young fit and healthy, beaten to death and dumped by the Bay. That doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary to me.'

'It sounds out of the ordinary to me,' retorted Ironside.

Randall looked keenly at Ironside.

'You obviously have a theory, Bob,' said the Commissioner. 'I suggest you spit it out.'

'Bottom line? I think they were killed in fights. Three of them had been amateur boxers at some point. One other worked at a gym. All were well able to defend themselves.'

'I don't see your point.'

'All young and fit, all seemed to have put up a struggle.'

Ironside handed the Commissioner a photograph from one of the autopsies.

'See his hands? It looks to me like he was in a fight. Tough one too.'

'Hmm… but fights happen, Bob.'

'These were not just any old fight or a bar brawl.'

He looked at Randall expectantly.

'You think they were paid?' the Commissioner asked.

'I think they were all fighting for money. I think it got out of hand, and they were killed.'

Commissioner Randall regarded his friend carefully.

'A fighting ring? Here? Bob, that sounds…'

'I know what you're going to say, so I'll save you the trouble, and say it for you. If there was a ring we would know.'

'We have informants all over the City, we would have heard something. These deaths have been happening for months. Someone would know.'

'I don't agree Dennis,' Ironside said. 'Just because we haven't heard means that we haven't been listening.'

'Or there's nothing to hear. You couldn't keep something like this quiet. Not with seven deaths.'

'Homicide has been all over these deaths, Bob, and they didn't turn anything up. What makes you think you will?'

'Homicide is overworked, understaffed and underpaid,' Ironside replied. 'Lieutenant Burwell has other things on his mind.'

'And you don't?'

'I would have thought you would appreciate me taking an interest,' Ironside said bluntly.

'Think about it, Dennis. These deaths are not officially connected. Homicide has no leads and no one is following up. And whoever knows what's going on has enough money and power to make sure that it stays quiet.'

'You would rather believe conspiracy than serial killings?' Ironside nodded. 'Those are pretty big assumptions.'

'Nevertheless, Dennis, that's the theory I'm working on.'

There was a pause.

'And do you have a chief suspect?' said the Commissioner wearily.

'I do.'

'And are you going to tell me who it is?'

It was Ironside's turn to hesitate. Then he gave the Commissioner his finest smile.

'Mister John Carlson fits the bill nicely.'