Free Resuscitation by D. M. Annechino

women’s apparel. He waited by designer handbags while the salesperson paged the manager to the sales floor. Curious, Al looked at the price tag on a Prada handbag: four hundred and fifty dollars. What could be so special about a hunk of leather that it would cost so much? He owned two pair of Docker knockoffs he’d bought on sale for nineteen bucks apiece, he never paid more than thirty dollars for a pair of jeans, and even the one suit he reserved for weddings and funerals cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Then again, Al had never been particularly fashion conscious.
    After a short wait, Al spotted a tall, slender woman walking toward him with purpose in her step. Her hair, a few shades darker than auburn, barely touched her shoulders. She wore a perfectly tailored, navy-blue pantsuit with a stark-white blouse.
    “Are you Detective Diaz?” she asked.
    Al extended his hand and nodded.
    “Katherine Levy.” Her grip put a man’s to shame. “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”
    He followed her past racks of dresses, skirts, business suits, and lingerie. She led him to a small office next to the dressing rooms, and when Al walked inside, the first thing he noticed was the stark difference between the pristine store and Katherine’s shabby office. It looked more like the kind of office you might find in the back of a convenience store.
    “Please have a seat, Detective.”
    “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” Al said. “I just want to assure you that this conversation is strictly confidential.”
    “What exactly can I do for you?” Levy asked.
    “I’m working on a murder investigation—”
    “Is it that girl they found at Mission Bay Park?”
    It wasn’t a secret. Everyone who could read had heard about Genevieve Foster’s murder. The story dominated both newspapers and television. “It is.”
    “What a shame. Is it true they found her dressed in designer clothes?”
    “Her outfit was purchased here, Ms. Levy.” Al pulled the sales tag, still in a plastic bag, out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Is there any way to identify who bought that cocktail dress?”
    “It really makes my skin crawl to think that the murderer might have been right here in this store.” She grabbed the plastic bag and examined the sales tag. “Well, I can tell by looking at the UPC code that it’s a Herrera designer dress. One of our more expensive items. Unlike general merchandise that uses a generic UPC code, designer items have a unique number specific to that particular item.” She set down the tag, planted her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on folded hands.
    “So, what does that mean?”
    “Well, I can scan the code in our database, and we should have the buyer’s name and address on record.”
    Al wanted to jump up and down and yell, “Yippee!” But from past experiences, he had learned that many promising leads led nowhere.
    “You do have a warrant, correct?”
    “It’s in process as we speak. I can have one in your hands in an hour.”
    “I’m afraid that places me in a rather difficult situation. Saks Fifth Avenue is very rigid on customer confidentiality. I could lose my job if I gave you this information without proper authorization.”
    “And another young woman could lose her life while you and I debate company policies and procedures, Ms. Levy. I can appreciate your situation. Truly. And I’ll be happy to get you a warrant, but time is absolutely critical. How would you feel if Genevieve Foster’s murderer abducted another woman while I was chasing down a warrant? I give you my word that I’ll—”
    “I’ll be right back, Detective.”
    After several minutes, Katherine Levy returned to the office and shut the door behind her. Instead of sitting at her desk, she plopped down next to Al and crossed her legs. “Unfortunately, the gentleman who purchased the cocktail dress paid cash.”
    “So what does that mean?”
    “The name on the sales receipt is ‘John