3rd Degree

Chapter 9

CHARLES DANKO STOOD at the edge of the crowd, watch-ing. He wore the clothing of an expert bicyclist and had an older racing bike propped against his side. If nothing else, the biking helmet and goggles covered his face in case the police were filming the crowd, as they sometimes did.

This couldn't have gone much better, Danko was thinking as he observed the homicide scene. The Lightowers were dead, blown to pieces. He hoped they had suffered greatly as they burned, even the children. This had been a dream of his, or perhaps a nightmare, but now it was reality - and this par-ticular reality was going to terrify the good people of San Francisco. This fiery action had taken nerve on his part, but finally he'd done something. Look at the firemen, EMS, the local police. They were all here, in honor of his work, or rather, its humble beginnings.

One of them had caught his eye, a blond woman, obvi-ously a cop with some clout. She seemed to have some guts, too. He watched her and wondered if she would become his adversary, and would she be worthy?

He inquired about her from a patrolman at the barricades. “The woman who went into the house, that's Inspector Murphy, isn't it? I think I know her.”

The cop didn't even bother to make eye contact, typical police insolence. “No,” he said, “that's Lieutenant Boxer. She's Homicide. A real bitch on wheels, I hear.”