LEGACY IS EVERYTHING
The Gay Detective: The Dying Detective
It’s what we leave behind that defines us
Dark alleys in the wee, small hours — dead body magnets, according to Harry. My work partner of twenty-odd years has some definite ideas. Like what makes for a good blues bar. And the best place to find dead bodies. If there is a best place.
I’d have to give him that one, though. Because here we were in another grungy, dead-end, back street standing over a corpse. Well, I was standing over the corpse. Harry was talking to the first-on-scene detective, Geoffrey Ranse.
Ranse was the last of a dying breed. A staunch believer in the value of shoe leather and leaning hard on your CIs for information. Often, harder than department policy allowed. But with a solve rate like Ranse’s, no one in his squad shed any tears over a few bruises.
No surprise, Ranse’s confidential informants weren’t keen to assist in his investigations. But they’d learned it was easier to co-operate than go to ground. Ranse was too damned good at sniffing them out. And then the leaning was a lot harder.
Also, no surprise when one of Ranse’s regulars, Ricky Dee, was found dead. His poking around must’ve cut too close to somebody’s bones.
