He opened his eyes again. Pointed. "That one. He was with, uh-" he leaned forward to read the smirking guy's name-"Alejandro Santiago."

"You smell anything on 'em?"

"Nope."

Hadley looked at them, one eyebrow lifted.

"Pot," Kevin explained. "Like we talked about." He turned back to the chief. "Lyle says we've got a dead body?"

"Mmm." The chief's face was abstracted as he studied the two sheets.

"One of these guys?" Kevin gestured to the board.

"I don't think so. We don't have an ID yet, but he's been dead at least a month, maybe more, and we've got confirmation from the First District Anti-Gang Task Force that all these charmers were alive and well as of the beginning of this month, when they reported in to their parole officers. We're interested in the group in the car because Officer Knox said Santiago and one other guy had prison tats on their fingers that look very much like the ones on our John Doe."

"Just like," Hadley muttered.

The chief crossed to the table and picked up one of the photos. It was a close-up of a human hand, puffed up like a rubber-glove balloon, with what looked like gang tags between the knuckles and first joints. "Do these look familiar to you?"

Kevin shook his head. "No."

"I mean, do they look like the tattoos on Alejandro Santiago?"

Kevin glanced at Hadley. "I-uh, didn't see any tattoos, Chief. I may not have been close enough."

"I just want to make sure Officer Knox isn't accidentally conflating two different things. There's no mention of any hand or finger markings on either of these sheets."

"He had prison tats on his hands," Hadley said. "I worked in the California DOC for two years. Believe me, the ballpoint special is distinctive." She turned to Kevin. "I told you last night, remember? About how they were inked in?"

Oh, crap. "I-Uh…"

The chief gave him a long look. "Kevin? Did Officer Knox describe any tattoos to you?"

"No," he said. Shit. "She didn't say anything about tattoos at the time." He grabbed at a straw. "But she was real shaken up by the whole thing. I wouldn't expect her to remember every little detail."

"Mmm." The chief turned toward Hadley, who was clench-jawed and rigid. "Kevin's got a point. You've been in two high-stress situations, back-to-back. It may be you're creating links where there aren't any. Not intentionally," he added, holding up his hands. "That's just the way people are. We all go looking for patterns."

"Like those trick abstract prints where the dots and dashes make you see a human face," Kevin said.

"Yes. Thank you, Kevin."

Too late, he realized that wasn't going to make Hadley feel any better. "I know what I saw," she said. "And I saw those markings"-she jammed a finger against the photo the chief was still holding-"on that man." Her arm swept toward the bulletin board, where Santiago 's picture was displayed.

"We're still going to follow up on the guys in the car." The chief dropped the photo back into the file. "We have one dead Latino with gang markings, and two live Latinos with possible gang connections up from the Bronx. It's a pretty thin connection, but it's the only string we've got."

"I wanna know what the hell they were doing in Millers Kill." Lyle MacAuley strolled into the squad room. "Recruiting?"

The chief looked unsettled at the suggestion. "This isn't the Latin Kings or Los Traveosos. The AGTF classifies them as known associates, that's all. Besides, most gangs tend to be racially cohesive. Last I looked, Millers Kill and its surrounds didn't have much in the way of a Hispanic population."

"You're not looking hard enough. Every fourth farm in the county has Mexicans working for 'em nowadays." MacAuley handed the chief a mug of coffee. The chief took it and blew across the top. MacAuley cocked an eyebrow. "You don't think some of those farmhands up here for a crack at the good life wouldn't trade hard labor for a chance to walk tough and make big money? Sellin' drugs is a hell of a lot easier on a man than milkin' cows."

"Until you get gunned down." The chief took a sip, grimaced, then took another. "Did Harlene make this?"

"Just because I didn't put six teaspoons of sugar in it? Jesus." MacAuley gestured toward the hallway. "You get anything out of Pedro, there?"

"The kid's name is Amado. Amado Esfuentes. And no, I didn't get anything. It was a long shot, anyway."

"Amado?" Kevin asked. They both looked at him as if the filing cabinet had spoken.

"You should check 'im out, Kevin. He's the only guy I've ever seen has a worse beard than yours was." MacAuley stroked his chin.

"He's the guest worker who broke his arm in that accident back in April," the chief said. He took another drink from his mug, wincing. "I figured, since he is Latino and he's living out on my brother-in-law's farm-where the body was found-he might have some information."

"I thought he was shifty." Hadley's voice was still tight, but she sounded as if she was trying to let it go. "Like he was hiding something. He didn't like it when you asked him about anyone he might have seen around the McGeoch place."

The chief nodded. "I agree."

Kevin opened his mouth. She got to sit in on an interrogation? I never get to do that! He snapped his jaw shut. He wasn't going to move up from patrol by being a crybaby. A new and unpleasant thought occurred to him. Maybe he wasn't going to be the one stepping into departed officer Mark Durkee's shoes. Maybe he wasn't advancing from street work to investigations. Maybe they had hired Hadley Knox for that. That would explain why, despite her reluctance, the chief kept pushing her into the investigations. Maybe her DOC experience gave her an edge. Maybe they still thought he was too young. Maybe there was some sort of equal opportunity quota and they needed a woman.

The chief was still talking. "Don't forget he probably views any American in uniform as a threat. I suspect his uneasiness may have more to do with his legal status as an alien than with trying to conceal anything criminal. Still… let's keep that in mind."

"Maybe you should let Knox question him alone." MacAuley looked at Hadley speculatively over the rim of his coffee cup. "He might find her less threatening. Open up more."

Solo questioning! And she's not even out of Basic! God damn! Hadley, however, didn't seem to appreciate that she was in like Flynn-except this Flynn obviously wasn't. She got a panicked look on her face. "Uh…" she said.

The chief shook his head. "I want to talk with my sister and brother-in-law first. Kevin?"

"Chief?"

"I want you to drive Mr. Esfuentes back to St. Alban's." He paused. MacAuley turned his considering gaze on the chief. "Tell Reverend Fergusson we'll run him back out after he finishes work tonight," the chief continued. "We'll keep everything nice and informal and friendly-like."

"Uh… okay."

"Officer Knox, go with him to the interview room and let Mr. Esfuentes know what's going on." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Then you may as well knock off for the day."

She stood. "Yes, sir."

In the hallway, out of earshot of the old guys, Kevin said, "Look, I'm sorry about what went down back there. I mean, about not backing you up on the tattoos."

She gave him a jaundiced look. "I don't expect you to lie for me, Flynn." She inhaled. "It doesn't matter if they believe me or not. I shared like the chief told me to. What they do with it is their business." She turned and marched down the hall.

She was smack-dab in the middle of the corridor, so he had to bob and weave to keep up with her. "Is your car fixed?"

"No." She pressed on, past the dispatch room.

"Hi, Kevin!" Harlene yelled.

He paused. Waved. "Hi, Harlene!" He had to take two large steps to catch up with Hadley, which was something, considering his legs were a lot longer than hers. "Did you drive your grandfather's car?"