“Lock up when you’re finished. The boxes are alphabetical by last name of victim or perp. If you want to take anything, clear it at the desk,” he drawled and walked off, lazy and slack-jawed.

I watched him walk away. He was more dead than any zombie I’d ever encountered. “Thanks a lot, sparkles,” I muttered. I was pretty sure he didn’t hear.

The big metal door gave me a little trouble at first. I had to push against it with my bum shoulder, but that wasn’t enough. So this was the master security system, I thought. How diabolical. The hinges were rusted, so I resorted to kicking. The first two kicks did nothing but send shooting pains up my leg. The third did the trick. The door swung open, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.

I coughed and fanned my arms through the soot. The warehouse was dark and smelled of grime, mothballs, and that smoky smell you can only get from old books. I let the door swing shut behind me while I fumbled for a light switch. The low-ceilinged rectangle filled with brownish-yellow light. The place was jam-packed to the roof with rotting cardboard—a total mess.

I doubted anyone had been in here for a long time. I was equally sure the place had been ransacked, with anything even remotely of value stolen. That happened all the time with police evidence. There are cops who use these warehouses as their own personal K-Mart. Luckily, I was looking for books. I was willing to bet that the type of cops who stole police evidence weren’t big readers.

The evidence had been stored in alphabetical order as the flunky had said, but only in the most general sense. There were letters of the alphabet painted on the walls, like an underground parking lot. I was amazed at the idiocy of the system. Fortunately, the boxes themselves were labeled, but it was still going to be a major pain in the ass. I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and set about digging into the area around the letter “C.”

It took over an hour for me to locate five small boxes labeled as Cain’s property. All of the seals were broken, but it didn’t look like much had been stolen. I sat down near the door encircled by the boxes, lit a cigarette, and took out my flask. After a long satisfying gulp, I dug into the clutter.

I found something curious as soon as I saw the first book title. The rest were much the same. It seemed Cain and I had some shared interests. There were editions I owned myself, titles like Monsters, Myths and Folklore; The Big Book of Spells; Modern Witchcraft; Ceremonies of Haiti; and ESP and Telepathy Today.

Each of the books was littered with papers marking spots in the pages. On several of the papers, Cain had written notes. It was better than I could have imagined, a friggin’ Clues ‘R’ Us. It seemed odd that the original investigators didn’t take notice, but I assumed any further probing might have brought out facts the authorities would rather not know. Besides, who was I to point fingers? I dropped the case as soon as we smashed into the pavement.