I Shall Not Want

anymore. Hunh. Maybe I'll start calling myself a Hibernian-American.'

'I think you mean Caledonian-American, Dep. Hibernian-American would be Irish. Like me.' By the look on MacAuley's face, that last 'like me' might have been overdoing it.

'Get in there, before I go Irish on your ass.'

Kevin hustled into the squad room, grinning to himself. To be rewarded by the sight of her, seated at the big table, studying a series of photos.

'Hey, Hadley,' he said, his voice a pitch-perfect blend of friendly and casual. He had practiced in his Aztek on the way over.

'Hey, Flynn.' She didn't take her eyes off the pictures.

'You can call me Kevin, you know.'

That made her glance up. 'I don't think so.'

'What are you doing here so early?' The voice made him jump. Oh. Yeah. There was somebody else in the room. Kevin turned toward the bulletin board, where the chief was tacking up rap sheets. 'Never mind,' he continued, 'Come here and tell me if you recognize any of these.'

Kevin crossed to the board. The sheets had the familiar formatting of the NYS VCAP database. Eight young Latinos stared at him, captured by booking photographers in Brooklyn and Manhattan and the Bronx: defiant, stoned, sullen, smirking. Kevin tapped the smirking face. 'That's the one I had to chase off. He doesn't have his piercings in this shot'-he touched his upper lip-'but that's him.' He leaned closer to read the guy's short list. Fresh out of Plattsburgh, less than four months ago. Three possessions, carrying concealed, auto theft, assault, and assault with a deadly weapon. Possible associate of the Punta Diablos. No wonder he'd intimidated Hadley.

The chief grunted. 'Knox ID'd him as well. Anybody else?'

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment. Tried to re-create the moment in his mind: his lights on Hadley's car, the men, two on either side as he drove up. One pair scuttling for the Hummer before he had gotten out of his cruiser. Leaving his rig twisted frontward some, so the big block of his Colt.44 could make an impression. The littler rat-faced guy squinting at his gun. Panicked.

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