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your friend. I’m a cop and this is a homicide investigation. So if you have any other information that could be useful in solving this crime I need to know about it right now.” Molly paused and waited. Ari was certain the detective didn’t know about Bob’s threat. “Well?” Molly barked.
    Ari pursed her lips. A lie was forming, and she was about to say something when Molly roared, “Because of your interference, our prime suspect has disappeared. If you do not stay out of this investigation, I will have you arrested!” The phone slammed down in Ari’s ear.
    She closed her eyes, letting her emotions swirl inside. The police would hunt for Bob. He certainly had motive, both personal and professional, and he had the opportunity. It looked very simple, but Bob’s reaction that afternoon was sheer shock, and Ari had only seen him like that once before. She was certain Bob Watson was telling the truth, and even if it meant going to jail, she would help her friend—if she could find him.

Chapter Three
    Sunday, June 17
    10:05 p.m.
     
    Ordering the fourth shot of whiskey was a mistake. Molly passed from happily buzzed to somewhat incoherent. She shifted on the stool, catching the eye of a hungry redhead who raised her eyebrows in question. All she had to do was nod and she wouldn’t be alone tonight in her small, empty apartment. She let her eyes drop to the polished bar. She was tired. Tired of her life. Too many one-night stands, too many women and way too much drinking. Her life was like a terminally ill patient whom Molly had given up on a long time ago. Her failed relationships lined up in her mind, each of her lovers leaving with a door slam louder than the one previous. Rachel, her last partner and a fellow cop, had cracked the jamb.
    Rehashing it made her crave another drink. She held up her hand, but Vicki, Hideaway’s favorite bartender, scowled and waved her off. Molly had to give her credit. The woman kept her in line and knew her limit, but this was Hideaway, the premier lesbian bar in Phoenix. The bartenders knew their regulars and knew how to keep them as regulars. Even on Sunday night, the place had a pulse. All of the bar stools were occupied, and a handful of women were bopping to the dance music. Most of the outer booths were empty, the patrons choosing to cluster together like a flock. Molly knew most of them by name and what size panties each wore. She’d slept with every woman who frequented Hideaway, mostly as one-night stands.
    She motioned to Vicki for a glass of water and worked to sober up—it would be par for the day if she got a DUI. Inheriting the Michael Thorndike murder was the captain’s way of breaking her. She’d been hired by his predecessor and that was the first strike against her. Being the only lesbian detective was another, and her abrasive personality was the last. During her last evaluation, she’d been encouraged to “foster better social skills and peer communication.” In her opinion, she communicated just fine, letting many of her male co-workers know that she wouldn’t tolerate the traditional sexual harassment. She hated the good old boy network. It had been tough on the Spokane police force but Phoenix was worse.
    Molly returned to the case at hand, very grateful that Michael Thorndike was discovered on a Sunday. By the time the press dogs had picked up the scent, the crime scene was secured and the body removed. So far, the crime scene yielded few clues. The bar’s countertop had been wiped clean as well as the broken patio door, save Ari’s thumb print. Hopefully, the lab results would glean some evidence, but she doubted there would be a smoking gun. They could have used one since the weapon was missing.
    In hindsight, Molly should have opted to visit Deborah Thorndike, the grieving widow, but instead she gave that assignment to her partner, a rookie she didn’t quite trust yet. So while Andre had been doling out empathy and drinking iced tea on the