Free Cliff's Edge by LAURA HARNER Page B

made him hyper-aware of how he must look. With his salt-and-pepper hair, two-day beard, and bags under his eyes the size of plums from too little sleep followed by a five-hour drive, he probably looked a decade older than his forty years.
    “I’ll call you by your name if you like, but my dad retired from the Navy, and taught me a lot about respect. As he used to say before he passed, once a chief, always a chief. You made it to the top of the enlisted ranks, and as one of the elite, so don’t let this”—his gaze dropped to the books, then swept the outer office where most of the detectives had gone back to minding their own duties—“single incident diminish your accomplishments.”
    Definitely the good cop.
    “You didn’t answer my question,” Cliff said, rather than responding to the pep-talk, as he sat and rested his forearms on the table. “So it’s confirmed? The shooting and robbery were gang-related?”
     
    “That’s the working theory. Look, let’s get this out of the way first. I’m familiar with the reports, I saw the crime scene photos, I know what Hard Labour was, and I don’t give a shit. Can we be clear on that, before we do anything else?”
    “If you say so. Where do you want me to start?”
    With an ill-disguised snort of amusement, Kam pointed to the book on the top. For the next thirty minutes, neither of them spoke as Cliff dutifully scanned each page of photos. The assortment of photos differed from the mug books Detective Kingston showed him the day following the shootings. Those had been younger men and many of the faces black. These books were primarily Hispanic, the men ranging in age from late teens to mid-thirties. Which was closer to the age he’d estimated the older man to be.
    On the bottom corner of the third page of his third book, he found a face that looked familiar. Mentally noting the location, he decided to finish the book, then return to the photo.
    “Spot something?” Kam asked. The man was a good observer.
    “Maybe.” He tapped his finger on the photo and turned the book toward Wagner. “This one looks…similar. Like your buddy over there pointed out”—he tilted his head in Kingston’s direction—“I wasn’t in a position to have an unobstructed view. It’s never going to be enough to hold up in court—”
    Detective Wagner’s face went blank as he stared through the office window. David Kingston leaned a hip against his desk, his gaze on the two of them, his mouth running to the apparent amusement of the two men standing next to him.
    Finally, Kam dragged his attention back to Cliff. “Detective Kingston’s not working this case anymore, I am. As for testifying? That’s too far down the road for either of us to worry about. Right now, we just want to find that first thread…the one loose end that will unravel the whole case. Know what I mean?”
    “Yeah, I know. I wish I could tell you this”—he tapped the photo—“is it, but I don’t think so. The first man…the older one who was shouting orders…” He blew out a breath as just for a moment he relived the frustration of remaining handcuffed to a bed while Draco and Gentry were shot down less than twenty feet away. “This could be a relative of the older man. The face structure is similar, but this man is six-one according to the mug shot…the shooter was five-ten, tops.”
    “All right, do me a favor. Shake your head, close that book, and take the last one. Go ahead and look through all the photos, just like you’ve been doing. If you see someone you recognize, make a note. If you don’t see any familiar faces, let’s talk over another photo anyway.”
    Cliff was far too disciplined to visibly react to Kam’s words, but he understood the implication well enough. Kingston, or someone else Kam had seen when he’d stared out at the bullpen just now tweaked the detective’s radar. He clearly didn’t want it known if Cliff made an ID.
    An hour later, Cliff sat sipping from a