Free 2 in the Hat by Raffi Yessayan

cold.
    “The clothes are a good angle. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out that end of it. They were always used outfits, but they didn’t belong to the victims. Either too big, bunched up with safety pins, or too small, left unzipped and unbuttoned.”
    “Same thing last night,” Alves said. “Josh’s pants were at least six inches too long. Pinned up. Courtney was busting out of her dress in the back. You couldn’t tell until she was cut loose from the tree.”
    “I always figured the clothes might have come from thrift shops, Salvation Army or Goodwill, but I could never prove anything. He could be buying the stuff at yard sales. Tough to trace. But we’ve got to check it out anyway. Maybe he made a mistake this time.”
    “Most thrift stores don’t have security cameras. They usually take cash only. We might find a receipt where someone bought some evening gowns and tuxes, but we’ll have no way of IDing the person. I’m hoping a male buying dresses sticks out in someone’s mind.”
    “Give it a shot,” Mooney said. “Leslie used to work with a theater company. People used to go out to Goodwill to buy up gowns for their productions.” He looked back down at the photos he had arranged on the table. “It’s good to be working with you again, Angel.”

CHAPTER 21
    R ay Figgs switched off the lamp and sank back in the upholstered chair. Most of the furniture in the small room was from the old house. Dad’s TV chair. His metal snack tray. Dad’s lamp with a base of carved pine—two wood ducks on a log. Always reminded his dad of fishing holes down South. All of it to make the old folks feel comfortable in their new digs. They weren’t called nursing homes anymore, they were rehabilitation centers.
    Figgs watched his father breathe—like a baby, irregular blips and bubbles. His dad had been a police officer too—retired more than twenty years. Used to love to listen to Ray’s stories, give him advice. Ray wished he could talk to his father now.
    Lately, all his cases were gang shootings. He spent his time out talking to a bunch of people who had witnessed the shooting, and they all basically told him to go pound sand. If those cases didn’t get solved in the first couple of days, they were not going to get solved. Not until someone with information got jammed up on a drug or a gun charge and started looking to cut a deal for their testimony. That was the only way those cases got cleared. It didn’t matter how many hours were put into the investigation. It all came down to someone willing to rat someone else out to save his own hide.
    His father would understand what he was up against. Ray used toprocess every crime scene according to protocol. He’d follow up on leads and talk with witnesses, lean on them, haul them in to the grand jury if he needed to.
    His father’s skin was ashy in the semi-dark. He’d have to remember to pick up more of that lotion his father liked. The one that smelled like almonds. Ray could rub it on his father’s hands, his forearms. His father seemed to like that.
    All he could think about was that .40. At least two kids killed with the same weapon. Evidence from shots-fired in different parts of the city linked to the same gun. A stash gun. He needed to clear his head. He needed to connect the dots.

CHAPTER 22
    M ooney put down the stack of reports and stood up from the table . He walked to the window and looked down at the few cars passing by on Tremont Street. It was after ten o’clock. They had gone through most of the old files. He’d had enough of sitting around reading reports and looking at pictures. He had missed being at the crime scene the night before. A Sunday night, and he’d been home watching the opening games of the football season. Only twenty-four hours ago, he’d been assigned to Evidence Management. Working days. “Let’s go,” he said. “I want to see where he left Courtney and Josh.”
    It was great working with Angel Alves again.