I took a shower and threw on some dark jeans. A black tee and a midnight-blue hoodie.

When I came out, the game was in the sixth inning, and the two dogs were both asleep on the couch, a foot or so between them. A good first day.

Marvin stretched his left leg out, the heel of his sock up on the edge of the coffee table. He pointed his toes toward the TV and then brought them back again, working the muscles in his calf.

“You robbin’ a bank or something?” he asked, staring at my clothes.

I shrugged. “Porsches don’t come easy.”

I grabbed my keys and drove to the address that Remy had texted me.

24

I sat at the counter at Scala’s, a full mug of Pabst Blue Ribbon in front of me.

The place was a neighborhood bar, and in not such a good neighborhood. The numbered streets, 20th and Pike to be exact.

I’d been to this bar for a cop’s retirement party. But it was years ago, and my policy back then was one beer and home to the wife.

The owner of Scala’s had been a boxer, and he’d decorated the walls with images of famous boxing moments—some from movies and others from the yellowing extracts of sports sections. All of them were housed in black frames that plastered every wall.

I sat at a counter facing the street, my view a handful of empty storefronts along 21st Street. A shuttered hardware place. An abandoned liquor store. A barber shop that was still in business, but closed now, at ten p.m.

The bar smelled like stale beer and pretzels. When I heard the chime on the door, I glanced to my right.

At work, Remy Morgan dresses up. So other than at a stakeout like the other night, it’s all professional-looking skirts or pantsuits. Nice jackets. But now she had on gray leggings and a black T-shirt that read Extra in black letters.

A waitress came by as Remy climbed onto the stool next to me. “What’ll you have, hon?”

“Ginger ale,” she said, looking from my beer to me.

After the woman left, I pushed it farther away. “A prop,” I said. “If I wanted to start drinking again, it wouldn’t be PBR.”

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Was following up on a lead.”

“Everything all right?”

Remy nodded.

Tomorrow I was expected back at work, per a text I’d gotten from Chief Senza. So I’d be back on the case Remy was working late on. With four dead bodies and counting, I’d have to be ready to go whole hog.

“The short guy,” she said. “I went back over the area outside of Tandy’s in the daylight on Saturday. Specifically the route that Shorty took out the bathroom window.”

“You find something?”

“In the weeds outside the window,” Remy said. “A motel key card.”

“What motel?”

“The Garden Palms,” Remy said. “Although the card was generic, so it took us a day to figure that out.”