The Shadow in the Bayou
I. The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I learned that in two years on the force and ten years on my own dime. Mrs. Dupree's house sat on a cul-de-sac in South Central, the kind of place where the streetlights flicker and the neighbors don't make eye contact. She was seventy-two, according to the file. Widowed. Lived alone. Her daughter visited on...
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