Another flatfoot has invaded Z's territory in Kansas City's Northland, Z's part of town a quiet backwater with hardly enough crime to support ONE, below-the-minimum-wage P.I.
Then, there's that shoe sticking out from between the dented dumpsters behind Z's narrow office window, the shoe connected to the foot bone -- the foot bone connected to the ankle bone -- the ankle bone connected to the thigh bone -- all these bones connected to the corpse of a Kansas City cop.
Cops, and more cops; shot, slashed, or drowned by the killer "swan." (Not to mention, mutilations.)
Thank God Big Bob Zapolska is a private instead of a public detective and so, out of the line of fire.