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We thanked Millie, and while Rich alking her out, I pulled out the second photo froive it a second look This section of onlookers was standing behind the tape, three rows deep I counted fourteenhats or hoods, or holding up umbrellas

I peered at each face, looking for what? A guilty expression? A crazed grin? Ormy memory I’d seen all of those people in real life Had one of the that I could have noticed at the tiotten?

And then so kicked in

One of the men did stand out in the crowd He was in the back row, at the end of the line, wearing a black knit cap He looked angry

He could have been justifiably pissed off that there had been a shooting Orin his face Or, hell, could be that the u water down his neck Or so else Like maybe that there were cops at his murder scene

I memorized his face and the nineteen others in that photo, while waiting for forensics to run the whole batch of nition

Drilling in on faces That was so I could do

CHAPTER 52

BACK AT MY desk, I got Charlie Clapper on the line

Clapper is head of our forensics lab, a former LAPD homicide cop, and a real law enforcement treasure

No pleasantries were exchanged or required

“I got back the DNA on the coat Conklin found in the trash near Pier 45”

“Good And?”

“There was DNA on it, all right It’s been fondled, worn, or slept in by innu the tests useless Like a bedspread froht motel”

“Yahoo,” I said