“You’re not going to get a task force,” Gaudet said. “And if you keep asking for one, the captain is going to launch your ass out of Homicide.”

“People need to know a serial killer is out there targeting women.”

“He’s targeting prostitutes,” Gaudet said. “Nobody gives a shit about prostitutes, especially black ones.”

“He’s cutting his teeth on them because they’re the easiest. That doesn’t mean he’s going to stick with them.”

“You’re not thinking about doing what I think you’re thinking about doing, are you?”

Murphy shrugged. “That depends on what you think I’m thinking about doing.”

“If you talk to her and the captain finds out, he’ll turn you over to the Rat Squad and let them do the dirty work. They hate your guts and would love the chance to get even with you.”

“That was three years ago,” Murphy said. “They have a new commander now. Maybe…”

Gaudet waved his hand in the air. “When DeMarco got promoted to assistant chief, he got to handpick his successor, and you’re nuts if you don’t think he left the new guy a list of cops to fuck over at any cost. When you beat them with your appeal, brother, you got put on their permanent shit list.”

Murphy took a long sip of beer. He was desperate to put together a task force to catch this killer, and he knew that what he was planning was a desperate move. He also knew that desperate men made mistakes. Gaudet was right. PIB-the Public Integrity Bureau-had a long institutional memory.

Gaudet downed half his beer in one gulp, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Besides, and getting back to the point, if you’re thinking about doing what I think you’re thinking about, she hates your guts too.”

“ Hate is a strong word.”