The Haight

The HaightBook 1 of The Haight Mystery Series Peter MoreiraHippie Hill Press Copyright © 2017 by Peter Moreira All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please contact Peter Moreira through petermoreira.com. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.Published by Hippie Hill PressCover design by Xiaodan JiangAuthor photo by Nic Takushi Contents . Chapter . Chapter Prologue 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. 12. 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Chapter 26 27. Chapter 27 28. Chapter 28 29. Chapter 29 30. Chapter 30 31. Chapter 31 32. Chapter 32 33. Chapter 33 34. Chapter 34 35. Chapter 35 36. Chapter 36 37. Chapter 37 38. Chapter 38 39. Chapter 39 40. Chapter 40 41. Chapter 41 42. Chapter 42 43. Chapter 43 44. Chapter 44 45. Chapter 45 46. Chapter 46 47. Chapter 47 48. Chapter 48 49. Chapter 49 50. Chapter 50 51. Chapter 51 52. Chapter 52 53. Chapter 53 54. Special Bonus Also by Peter Moreira About the Author This book is fondly dedicated to the memory of Dennis Turner1946-2014A great economist, a magnificent raconteur, and the best damn music fan I’ve ever met. It looked as if a night of dark intent Was coming, and not only a night, an age. – Robert Frost Once by the Pacific PrologueTuesday, May 28, 1968 His lips had turned blue by the time she heard the birds singing in the ash tree outside the window. She wondered if he’d like the shade. Blue was so prominent in his paintings—deep blue skies, or a lurid blue light that bathed his figures. As she slumped in a corner with her guitar across her lap, she realized he was a study in blue. Paint-smeared blue jeans, blue-tinted lips, blue veins mapping his left forearm. His blue eyes stared at the high blue ceiling edged with molded plaster. The only exception was the tiny sphere of blood where the needle had dropped from his arm. Jasmine had spent most of the Chapter 1Friday, May 31, 1968 As he stepped from his unmarked 1966 Monaco, Lieutenant Jimmy Spracklin gazed up Haight Street and thought something was strange. A few clusters of hippies were chatting beneath the two- and three-story storefronts. A few sat on blankets. Others were walking along, their bellbottom jeans flapping with each step. He checked them all out in an instant and only one looked anything like Marie. It was a girl in a purple and lime afghan who was talking to a skinny boy in a ragged T-shirt. Spracklin studied the girl. It wasn’t Marie. He’d scanned and rejected all the kids within a couple of blocks. And that’s what was odd. Even on