Free Stolen Lives : The Lives Trilogy Book 1 by Joseph Lewis Page A

what they had found.  He walked him over to Summer, Dahlke and Wannager.
    “George, you remember Agent Storm,” he said with a nod to Summer.
    Summer shook George’s hand.  He smiled shyly and uncertainly.
    “Skippy, this is George Tokay.  We think the two perps are two of the three victims.  At least, they fit the descriptions George gave us and the photos we matched from those descriptions.”
    James sighed at Pete, shook George’s hand and introduced himself as James and his partner as Roz.  He handed George two plastic booties and a pair of thin rubber gloves, the sort that surgeons wear, and asked that he put them on.  George took off his cowboy hat, dropped his gym bag, dug out his moccasins, slipped out of his boots and put the moccasins on, followed by the plastic booties.
    Dahlke handed him two large rubber bands and said, “Put these on your booties.  That way, our footprints are distinguished from the others we’ll encounter.”  He added in disgust, “A lot of pedestrians have already trampled the scene, so we have our work cut out for us.”
    George silently did as he was told, already feeling the heat and humidity that was vastly different from his native Arizona, and knowing it was only going to get hotter.
    “We’ve worked a circular pattern around the scene, starting in the center where the vics are and moved out.  Picked up some trace; a cigarette butt and some fiber,” James said.
    “We’re about to work from the perimeter in,” Roz said with a smile, wiping sweat from her face with her sleeve.
    “Was the cigarette butt Marlboro?” George asked quietly.
    Roz and James glanced at each other and then James spoke for both and said, “Yes.  Why?”
    “That’s what I found at the other crime scene.  The tall, skinny man smokes them.”
    James said to Roz, “We’ll need to cross-check DNA on the tall guy with the cigarette.”
    George squatted down, glancing between the blacktop of Highway 8 and the gravel of Jack Pine Road.  He bit his tongue, pretending to search the ground.  He touched the turquoise and leather around his neck and silently asked forgiveness from the chindi for walking onto the scene of death.  After he finished, he stood up.
    “A lot of footprints.”
    “Wonderful, isn’t it?  Makes our job all the more fun,” James said with disgust.  “And time consuming.”
    “Did you check anyone’s feet?”  George asked.
    “Nope, but we’re about to.”
    James stuck a thumb and finger into his mouth and whistled loudly and sharply.
    Walking somewhat sideways about four steps, he stopped and announced, “Anyone, and I mean anyone , who walked this far needs to report to my two partners right now.  We need to check your shoes against the ones who messed up our crime scene.”
    Ray Zimmerman and his two boys came forward, as did Sheriff Blizel and stood in front of Roz and George.
    When no more came forward, James said, “There are at least four or five more sets of prints here.  Let’s get moving.  I’d like to finish before it gets dark.”
    Roz went to work studying the soles of the sheriff’s boots and then started on the father of the two boys.  Following her lead, George began inspecting the shoes of the two boys
    Their father intervened and said, “Come here boys.”
    The boys hesitated and then moved over next to their father.
    “We got a problem here?” Pete asked as he stepped up to George.
    Ray Zimmerman didn’t respond.  Neither did Rich or Alan.
    Pete slipped off his wingtip, handed it to George, and said, “Tell me what you see George.”
    Guessing Pete was making a point, George said, “Size ten, about 190, maybe 195.  You mostly walk on your heals, but you roll the step, so you wear down the outside of the heal. Your left foot drags, because you’re wearing a gun on your ankle.  Probably small caliber like a .22 or .38.”
    “Thanks for the compliment, but I go 197,” Pete said slipping back into his shoe.  “How about the