Red by Kate Kinsey

day he was killed, she and her husband had a quickie down at the Purple Onion.”
    “Glory-holing?” Gina smiled a little. “Go, Roger, you perverted bastard . . .”
    “But you don’t know either of them?”
    Gina glared at him over the top of her bottle, taking a swig before she answered.
    “We don’t all know each other. It’s not like we register for a license or something. Some people never come out to the clubs or parties—”
    “But the ones who come out to play, most of them know each other? Right?”
    “Most of them. Some people lose interest, drop out for a while, maybe they come back. New people come in. But basically, it’s a small population.”
    “So, if you didn’t know Roger or Robyn, they were probably not into the local community, right?”
    Gina shrugged again.
    “I’m not exactly in with the cool kids anymore. They could be new, I wouldn’t know.”
    “You mean, you’re not—into it—anymore?”
    He was afraid she’d see the hope reach his eyes.
    “You and the department weren’t the only ones who abandoned me.” Her face tightened once more. “After I was busted, I was not made to feel particularly welcome there.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because we’re in the buckle of the fuckin’ Bible Belt, Hanson! In New York, California—not so much of a big deal. But around here? Most people are scared shitless that their family or their neighbors or their bosses will find out what they’re into. Some of them are professionals who could lose their licenses over something like that coming out. Some could lose custody of their kids. And some are just plain assholes who think they’re a lot more important than they are.”
    She took another sip of beer.
    “So here I am, with my name and face all over the place as the Disgraced Dominatrix Detective, reporters all over me, people recognizing me—friends in the lifestyle didn’t want me anywhere near them.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the photos so he didn’t have to look at her. “I didn’t know.”
    “Of course not. You never bothered to find out. This case is the only reason I even let you in my house.”
    They sipped their beers in silence.
    “You want to know about the case, then?” Hanson said finally.
    Hanson talked, and she asked a few questions. He realized then that the real injustice was that Gina was and always would be a cop at heart. He could see just how much she’d missed the job.
    She paused over one photo in particular.
    “You gotta be kidding me.”
    She turned the photo around toward Hanson. It was the shot of the dresser in Robyn Macy’s motel room, showing the empty Coke cans and the cookie wrappers.
    Then she picked up another photo—this one of the rope—and held it up alongside the first.
    “I think I know who Robyn Macy was with.”
    “You said you didn’t know her.”
    “I don’t. But I know the Oreos and the rope.”
    “I’m not following.”
    “Don’t pout. You didn’t miss anything. But I know—used to know—a guy who always gave his good little girls Oreo cookies after playtime. And he had this thing about storing his rope braided this way. Separately, could be coincidence. But together, I’d bet it’s the same guy.”
    “Don’t tell me. Did he give you cookies, too?”
    Gina looked at him, as if trying to decide whether he was being an asshole. She shrugged.
    “Paul likes to score all the newbies, the fresh meat. I’d be willing to bet that he’s done half of the women in the local community, at least when they first started out and didn’t know any better.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    “Don’t know. Paul may not even be his real name.”
    “Where can I find him?”
    “No idea.”
    “Shit!” Hanson had thought finding a link in the murders was going to help, but it was looking more like he was stepping into quicksand.
    “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Gina said. “Look, most people use scene names, or their screen names from the