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prostitution arrests.  

 
    Dumb, not
likely.   If the victim's business
associates knew anything at all, they weren't talking.   They knew which side to butter their bread,
not only were they paid but also protected against arrest for their sexual
favors.   Withholding information wasn’t
due to their fear of pimps, but their fear of the police.  

 
    Phenomenal was
the number of officers, on the take, involved with drugs and eliciting sexual
favors.   Two years ago, Internal Affairs
geared up to expose those involved.   To
date the small number of undercover agents available for the assignment were
unable to make a dent in the problem.   Sorrowfully, some had added their names to the list.   It was obvious the officers, whether or not
they were personally involved, had banned together and Cassidy had to admit
what man was crazy enough to jeopardize his life on L.A.'s streets, expose a
partner or friend relied upon daily to save their life?   Therefore, it mattered little that L.A.’s
serial killer might be a cop.

 
    No one had a
feasible plan or seemed ready or willing to get involved, no one except Cassidy
Ilene Brady the only female Brady stouthearted enough to follow in the
footsteps of four generations that had dedicated their life to law
enforcement.    Pride, courage and
perseverance flowed in Cassidy’s blood.   Taught and encouraged by the best the time was long overdue to prove her
worthy of the heritage.    
     
    In tune with the
world, secretly keeping abreast of the murders she dissected the evidence and
developed a plan.   A carefully thought
out scheme she intended to pursue with or without her father and brothers
approval.   Not that Cassidy disrespected
their opinion; on the contrary, more than anything she craved their support and
approval.  

 
    Like a flash,
memories came of the far from amiable night of confrontation.   Her family had plenty to say.    Lectures that she was out of her league went
ignored.   Knowing Cassidy would pursue
her dangerous plan, at three a.m. in the morning exhausted and frustrated they
reluctantly surrendered.  

 
    The next day
Cassidy contacted the L.A. Internal Affairs Department to offer her undercover
services.   Not only was she unknown on
the West Coast, but possessed the ability, intelligence and guts.   Adding to the package all too nicely, she was
beautiful and had a model perfect figure.   Now the ball was in her court.  

 
    Surviving weeks
of intense training provided the encouragement Cassidy needed.   Tonight, as the newest undercover team
member, rudely introduced she was to L.A.'s dark side.    It wasn’t until actually walking L.A.
streets at night, observing hookers on their turf and facing Pinkert and
Sullivan that she began questioning her grit to follow through.   Especially now when she suspected Pinkert and
Sullivan were among those officers involved.  

 
      While they patrolled the streets, Mark turned
frequently to offer Cassidy what a naive woman might believe to be an innocent
smile accompanied by a reassuring wink.   Brady’s weren’t fools.   He was
outright flirting in a manner that clearly worked with the opposite sex.   Classified by her as a “Playboy,” Cassidy
wondered if he had written her name in his imaginary black book.   Little did it matter that Mark boasted titles
of “Married with children,” they did not necessarily exempt him from drugs,
prostitution, or murder.   Quite possibly,
she had scored.  

 
    Sullivan, on the other
hand, seemed oblivious to her presence; his eyes busy combing the streets, his
ears tuned to the scanner.   Sitting tall
and proud, his presence was extremely foreboding.   Stolen glances through the rear view mirror
apprised her, his face lacked the normal laugh lines for someone his age.   In conclusion, Sullivan was a serious man,
possibly, too serious, maybe after ten years he was teetering on the edge.  

 
    If so, why was
his record