On our way to his desk, he dropped the weapon off in the lab, where a ballistics expert would test-fire it to see if the slug was a match for the one found at the scene. The Ruger’s serial numbers had been noted and someone in Records would run them through the computer in hopes the gun was registered. A superficial examination showed the weapon had been wiped clean of prints and a single round had been fired. When we finally sat down to chat, I said, “How soon will you know who owns the Ruger?”

“Assuming it’s registered at all, it may take a while. Records is backed up and I didn’t put a rush on the request. I’m fascinated to hear how it ended up in your car.”

“I’ll give you my best guess,” I said. I then laid out an explanation of Terrence Dace’s backpack being stolen by the panhandlers, Pearl’s spotting it, and her determination to get it back.

Cheney was more patient than I had any reason to hope.

In addition to recounting my participation in the raid and what I remembered of Felix’s actions, I used the occasion to talk about the Boggarts’ savage attack, which I was now convinced was because Felix had taken property that didn’t belong to him.

He said, “You think Felix stole the gun from them?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense. He was hunched in the backseat as we left the scene and he’s the only one who’s been back there. I think he was attacked because he came across the weapon at the camp and slipped it into the small of his back. I think the panhandlers bided their time and came after him. If he’d told them where he’d hidden it, they’d have come after me. The owner of that bicycle-rental shop down on lower State saw the whole thing and he’s the one who called 911. I talked to him a couple of days ago, hoping he’d be willing to identify the guy. He knows who it was because he’s seen the same three bums hanging out at the beach for years. He refuses to help because he’s worried about reprisals, and who can blame the man?”

Cheney made a note. “Let me find out who’s handling the case and we’ll see what we can do. You said three of them?”

“It’s the big galoot I’m talking about. Bald guy with a red baseball cap.”

“You have a name?”

“I don’t, but he’s not hard to find. Rush hour, he’s usually standing on the side of the Cabana Boulevard off-ramp with a cardboard sign. You can’t miss him.”

“You think he had a hand in Pete’s death?”