Mr. Mason sighed and pulled a notebook out from under the counter. “If they got a keg, the name’s in here. When they bring it back for the deposit, I cross it off. He pushed the notebook across the counter. Murray scanned the list of names. All of the names were crossed off, except for one: O’Connor.

“No first names?” he asked, and Mr. Mason shrugged. He pointed to a dollar symbol next to the name. “This means they paid in cash,” Mr. Mason said. “And before you ask, yes, he had ID.”

Murray pulled a printout of Trip O’Connor’s mug shot from his last arrest out of his file. “Is this him?” he asked.

To Murray’s surprise, Mr. Mason stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Shorter hair. More serious-looking.”

Murray frowned. There were likely plenty of O’Connors around here, but Mr. Mason probably just didn’t want to get involved. Then he had a thought. He showed Mr. Mason a photocopy of a clipping they’d pulled from the local paper. It showed Will O’Connor, along with the rest of the track team, after a regional win. Mr. Mason nodded. “That might be him,” he said. “Can’t say for sure. That’s a pretty grainy picture.”

It was enough for Murray. If they needed a better picture, they could get it. “Thanks for your help,” he said. Finally, something he could work with.

As he left the store, Mr. Mason called after Murray: “Hey, if you find your guy, tell him to bring back my tap!”

16

Maja sat at the kitchen table in her apartment and stared at her to-do list, which was growing longer each day, with no corresponding cross-outs to balance out the load: Return call to Belltown Mutual Insurance, call contractor, get appliance orders in, check in with the DA. They were at a standstill with the house. A cleaning crew had come in to mop up the beer and piss, and sweep away the Solo cups and cigarette butts. But there was nothing they could do about the larger damage until the insurance company scheduled an adjuster to come out, and they seemed to be dragging their feet. She’d tried to broach the subject of writing the checks themselves until the insurance paid out, at least so that John could start ordering new materials, but Ted was adamant that they should wait. They were already on the hook for a ten-thousand-dollar deductible, and Ted was uptight enough about that.

Last night he’d come home from work looking exhausted and had snapped at her when she complained that she felt like she was doing everything.

“Maja,” he’d said, not quite looking at her. “I’m working. You know, the job that pays all the bills, including all the bills for this house you wanted.”