Either Mel Dlouhy’s body was still inside or they’d snuck the fuck out the back. Cops in jackets and ties kept walking past the living room windows, and you could see that there were brilliant floodlights on behind the house.

Mitch didn’t say much, but Denny could tell he was pumped. The scope of this whole thing was really starting to settle over the big guy. Nah, big kid was more like it.

“Excuse me, Officer. Did they catch the guy?” Denny asked one of the cops around the perimeter — and now he was just showing off for Mitch.

“You’ll have to check the paper or TV, sir,” the cop told him. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Denny turned halfway around and spoke low. “You hear that? Sir. Must be a good neighborhood.” Mitch looked off to the side and scratched at his jaw to keep from cracking up too much.

The cop was just about to get on the radio when Denny spoke up again. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare ciggie on you?” He held up a blue Bic lighter. People always like to see the homeless guy with his own match, and sure enough the porker reached into his cruiser for a pack of Camel Lights.

“One’s fine,” Denny said, making sure Mitch was visible over his shoulder. “We can share.”

The cop took two out of the pack. “What unit were you with?”

Denny looked down at his faded camo jacket. “Third Brigade Combat Team, Fourth Infantry Division, best unit overseas.”

“Second best,” Mitch said. “I was New Jersey Army National Guard, out of Balad.”

In fact, Mitch had never known a uniform, but Denny had drilled him enough that he could fake it a little. People loved vets. It always worked to their advantage.

Denny took the ciggies from the piggy with a friendly nod and handed one over to Mitch. “Word on the street is that this guy might be one of us, the way he’s been shooting,” he said.

The cop shrugged in the direction of the sloped front yard. “Word don’t trickle down that hill too quick. You should ask a reporter. I’m just on crowd control.”

“All right, well…” Denny lit his own cigarette, blew smoke, and smiled. “We’ll get out of your hair now. God bless you, Officer, and thank you for what you’re doing.”

Chapter 28

THE FRIDAY AFTER the Dlouhy shooting was one of those breezy spring days, the kind where you can feel summer coming on the wind, even though it was still jacket weather.

Kyle buttoned his blazer as he turned onto Mississippi Avenue and walked north, blending in with the local color, so to speak. His wig, makeup, and contacts were all perfectly effective, even if they were comically rudimentary. Ever since the surgery on his face, anything less was simply beneath him — if not also a necessary evil.