those are common as dirt around here—at least shirts with red in them. You probably have one, too.”
Tyler carefully crossed the room to the closet and lifted the corner of a dress that had been tossed on the floor. Beneath it was the sleeve of a red-plaid shirt. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head happily. “Not the same. When was the last time you wore your shirt in this room?”
“I don’t know; a long time ago, if ever.”
He shoved the envelope back into his pocket, a pleased expression on his face. “Then this may be where he screwed up. Find the shirt in his possession, and this little baby,” he patted his pocket, “will place him at the scene.”
“Maybe,” Tony cautioned. “Even if we do find the shirt, he might have sixteen different explanations for how a piece of it wound up here.”
Tyler’s smile was undiminished. That was a legal problem, and not his department. And I had to admit, I shared his pleasure. Regardless of how far it led—and despite my own skepticism—it was a step, and that’s what these cases were built on.
I gave Tyler a thumbs-up. “Here’s to that being the first nail.”
He nodded confidently. “There’ll be more. By the way, when we get back to the office, I’m going to need some fingerprints and hair samples from you, to rule some of this out.”
For the first time, I didn’t mind being intimately involved.
Tony and I left Tyler to do a final sweep of the place and were almost back to the car when I saw Dennis DeFlorio’s grimy sedan, dust-covered and blotched with rust, nose into the driveway and grind up the hill to join us.
I waited for him, one arm crooked on the open door, my foot perched on the rocker panel, while Tony took advantage of the pause to fire up his ever-ready companion once again.
Dennis pulled alongside and heaved himself out—a round man, unhealthy in appearance, who even in a coat and tie looked somehow untucked and disheveled, an effect heightened by his pants being stuffed into the tops of a pair of laceless, ancient hunting boots. I saw Tony examining the entire package like a slightly dismayed anthropologist.
After he’d led the search of the grounds, Dennis had coordinated the neighborhood canvass, but he hadn’t actually come face-to-face with me since the start of all this and was the least successful at hiding his discomfort at my personal connection to the victim. He scratched his ear, looked at the house, the ground, the cars, and everywhere else but at me, and aside from an undirected half wave of the hand, accompanied by a muttered, “Hi, Joe,” he finally ended up addressing Brandt exclusively.
“Hi, Chief. Dispatch said you were here, so I thought I’d give you what we got so far.”
Brandt smiled and nodded, transparently amused with Dennis’s anguished pantomime. “Shoot.”
DeFlorio pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “It’s not a great neighborhood for this—not too many houses, and they’re pretty far apart—but so far I got a jogger goin’ by around ten, a dog barking maybe an hour later. The hottest lead is a car leaving this driveway a half hour after that—”
“That was me,” I interrupted.
Dennis pursed his lips, obviously taken aback, but then carried on, his eyes glued to the page, still ignoring my existence. His voice, however, was just a shade flatter, “—another vehicle a few hours later, and then two male voices talking in the road about half an hour before dawn.”
“Explain that last one,” Brandt said.
“It’s a little vague. I think it might’ve been two guys walking—for exercise, you know? The person who heard it said there was no sound of an engine—just two voices going by slowly, talking normally.”
“You find out who they might’ve been?”
Dennis shook his head. “But not everybody’s home. At work, you know? And if they were exercising, they could’ve come from a mile away or more. I just did the local area.
Tyler carefully crossed the room to the closet and lifted the corner of a dress that had been tossed on the floor. Beneath it was the sleeve of a red-plaid shirt. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head happily. “Not the same. When was the last time you wore your shirt in this room?”
“I don’t know; a long time ago, if ever.”
He shoved the envelope back into his pocket, a pleased expression on his face. “Then this may be where he screwed up. Find the shirt in his possession, and this little baby,” he patted his pocket, “will place him at the scene.”
“Maybe,” Tony cautioned. “Even if we do find the shirt, he might have sixteen different explanations for how a piece of it wound up here.”
Tyler’s smile was undiminished. That was a legal problem, and not his department. And I had to admit, I shared his pleasure. Regardless of how far it led—and despite my own skepticism—it was a step, and that’s what these cases were built on.
I gave Tyler a thumbs-up. “Here’s to that being the first nail.”
He nodded confidently. “There’ll be more. By the way, when we get back to the office, I’m going to need some fingerprints and hair samples from you, to rule some of this out.”
For the first time, I didn’t mind being intimately involved.
Tony and I left Tyler to do a final sweep of the place and were almost back to the car when I saw Dennis DeFlorio’s grimy sedan, dust-covered and blotched with rust, nose into the driveway and grind up the hill to join us.
I waited for him, one arm crooked on the open door, my foot perched on the rocker panel, while Tony took advantage of the pause to fire up his ever-ready companion once again.
Dennis pulled alongside and heaved himself out—a round man, unhealthy in appearance, who even in a coat and tie looked somehow untucked and disheveled, an effect heightened by his pants being stuffed into the tops of a pair of laceless, ancient hunting boots. I saw Tony examining the entire package like a slightly dismayed anthropologist.
After he’d led the search of the grounds, Dennis had coordinated the neighborhood canvass, but he hadn’t actually come face-to-face with me since the start of all this and was the least successful at hiding his discomfort at my personal connection to the victim. He scratched his ear, looked at the house, the ground, the cars, and everywhere else but at me, and aside from an undirected half wave of the hand, accompanied by a muttered, “Hi, Joe,” he finally ended up addressing Brandt exclusively.
“Hi, Chief. Dispatch said you were here, so I thought I’d give you what we got so far.”
Brandt smiled and nodded, transparently amused with Dennis’s anguished pantomime. “Shoot.”
DeFlorio pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “It’s not a great neighborhood for this—not too many houses, and they’re pretty far apart—but so far I got a jogger goin’ by around ten, a dog barking maybe an hour later. The hottest lead is a car leaving this driveway a half hour after that—”
“That was me,” I interrupted.
Dennis pursed his lips, obviously taken aback, but then carried on, his eyes glued to the page, still ignoring my existence. His voice, however, was just a shade flatter, “—another vehicle a few hours later, and then two male voices talking in the road about half an hour before dawn.”
“Explain that last one,” Brandt said.
“It’s a little vague. I think it might’ve been two guys walking—for exercise, you know? The person who heard it said there was no sound of an engine—just two voices going by slowly, talking normally.”
“You find out who they might’ve been?”
Dennis shook his head. “But not everybody’s home. At work, you know? And if they were exercising, they could’ve come from a mile away or more. I just did the local area.
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