The waterfront can be a deadly place. Sailors fresh onto land, fallen angels looking for a dollar or two, the desperate, the lonely and the murderous all come together in swirls of monochrome. Shadow and light work against each other when cool wet pea soup fog rolls in off the bay.
Doyle MacKenna walked the waterfront beat in the clear or in fog. This had been his world for thirty years. He thought nothing could surprise him until he heard that scream, the scream that ripped the heart out of the night.
By the time MacKenna got to the crime scene, the victim was long dead. She’d been gutted from neck to navel by something beyond sharp that slashed in parallel lines and cut deep into her abdomen. It was the worst crime his beat had ever seen.
Retirement three months later did not treat MacKenna kindly. Though no longer a cop, he still came down to the docks on nights when the fog rolled in. Hoping for a clue, he walked his old beat, past strangers and angels, searching the shadows for a monster.