Free 3 Time to Steele by Alex P. Berg

bedroom,” said Shay. “The contents of one seem to have been sifted through more than the other two. Another difference is the contents of the pile that received the most attention have more wear than the contents of the others. They’re older mementos.”
    “You think the intruder is after a clue from Gill’s past?” I asked.
    Shay snapped and pointed her finger at me.
    “Hmm.” I tapped a fist against my chin as I let that sink in. “Interesting. But more importantly…how did the reveal feel?”
    Shay shrugged. “About the same. I’m not sure why you love keeping things from the rest of us.”
    “Who knows? Maybe I was ignored as I child.”
    Shay raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. I hadn’t been ignored, but that didn’t mean my pint-sized years had been filled with puppies and rainbows. Between my mother being murdered when I was a spry thirteen, my father falling into a spiraling depression that forced me to care for my younger brother, and the resulting cycle of misery that steadily pushed the three of us apart, it was a miracle I’d blossomed into a somewhat functional, productive member of society.
    Thinking about my dad and brother made me realize how long it had been since I’d seen either of them. I told myself I should make a greater effort to mend the fences between us all, but I had enough trouble making time for the fruit of my own loins. I figured if anything, helping sculpt a well-rounded, mostly undamaged child was a better use of my time and energies than trying to glue the pieces of two broken relationships back together.
    I heard footsteps and turned to face them. Rodgers walked in through the front door with a charge in tow—a square-faced guy wearing a flat cap and vest and with his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Rodgers and Quinto had lagged behind Shay and I in our silver coin-powered rickshaw, but when they did arrive they’d gone to work on the neighbors to see what they could tell us about the second crime in one day at Gill’s. If looks were any indication, Rodgers had found a longshoreman with information worth sharing.
    “Hey, Daggers,” said Rodgers, stopping in front of me. “This is Yancey O’Brien. He’s the neighbor who called in the break-in.”
    “Ah.” So his attire was cultural, not work-related. “Thanks for the notice, pal. We appreciate it.”
    “No worries, mate,” the guy said in a rolling accent. “Gillsie was a decent bloke. It’s the least I could do.”
    I thought about Passion Faust and the fact that Gill had been murdered, most likely, over some piece of clandestine information and thought maybe the man hadn’t been as decent as everyone thought. “So, Yancey, you witnessed the break-in. Did you by any chance get a look at who did it?”
    “Blimey, but I did,” he said. “Won’t soon forget the lad, neither.”
    I wondered what he meant by that. “Great. We’re going to send a sketch artist by in a bit to work with you. He’s a, uh…” I considered making a disparaging remark about Boatreng, but I felt the heat of Shay’s eyes on the back of my neck and thought better of it. Besides, the guy wasn’t really that bad. “He’s a short guy, bald, with a goatee. But while we wait for him, why don’t you tell us about this unforgettable character you saw.”
    Yancey nodded. “Well, he was youthful chap, no older than his thirtieth, with wavy, shoulder length black hair like me nuncle’s. Seemed like he was in a hurry, which makes since ’cause he was knockin’ into Gill’s place. But the real kicker that caught my eye was the bloke’s nutty dressing gown.”
    I glanced at Yancey’s wharf rat outfit and held my tongue. “Wait…so you’re saying the guy was wearing a dress?”
    “No, mate,” said Yancey. “A dressing gown . As if he’d just taken a bath.”
    I wracked my brain. “You mean a robe?”
    “That’s what I said, ain’t it?” said Yancey. “Look, his gown was a deep violet, so dark it was almost