Page 23 of Killer Clone

“But wouldn’t you take those with you too? I mean, if you were going to take the corpse’s clothes?” Stacy pulled off her be-slimed glove and tossed it into the open dumpster.

They both froze.

“Unless…” They both glanced at the dumpster. “Unless the glove got gross, and I just discarded it.”

Stella shook her head. “He wouldn’t put it in this, though. Too close. Too risky.”

Stacy nodded and turned in a circle. “Where?”

“When was the trash taken?” Stacy pulled a fresh pair of gloves from her pocket.

“It doesn’t get picked up until tomorrow. I checked.” Stella climbed up and peered into the dumpster, just to be sure. It was a mess of plastic bags, beer bottles, sandwich wrappers, and loose trash.

Nothing stood out.

No way the gloves would be here. Forensic teams were thorough. If they’d missed something like that, they’d never hear the end of it.

Stella turned toward the next dumpster down at the other end of the alley. “Let’s try that one.”

Stacy nodded. “Makes more sense. If he dumped them, he wouldn’t risk putting them right next to the body.”

They approached the second dumpster. Stacy pulled the lid open while Stella peered inside.

The pile was less disturbed. A couple of bags had torn, but for the most part, the trash was settled, undisturbed.

Then—

“There.”

Stacy pointed toward a mound of black bags. Between two of them, a small piece of blue latex was exposed.

“No shit!” Stella’s exclamation echoed in the alley, but she didn’t care. She pulled an evidence bag out of her pocket.

With Stacy holding her belt to keep her steady, she sat on the edge of the dumpster and leaned forward. She placed one blue glove in one evidence bag and the second one in another.

“Let’s not get excited.” Stella tamped down on her excitement even as she sealed the bags. “This might not go anywhere.”

Once again, Stacy yanked off her gloves and tossed them in the dumpster. “Just let me ride this high, Stella. Getting fingerprints from the interior of the gloves would besucha gotcha. True detective work.”

She washed her hands with cinnamon-scented hand sanitizer before pushing them into the pockets of her coat. Her long fawn-colored trench likely cost more than most of Stella’s wardrobe. It might’ve even cost more than some of the items Hagen possessed.

“Let’s get out of here.” Stella tucked the evidence bags in her coat pocket. “Maybe we can find our potential vehicle on local surveillance footage. I’m feeling lucky.”

Stella headed toward River Street, eager to put the site and the stench behind her. A pile of carpet cuttings and stained blankets rustled as she passed them.

She jumped back. Her hand flew to her gun. The blanket on top of the pile fell, revealing a face dark with dirt, a mess of gray-and-black hair, and a scraggly, unkempt beard that burst out in matted curls.

The man snarled. “Whaddaya want?”

Stella stepped away. Her shoe landed on something wet and slimy, and she slipped.

Stacy caught her elbow. She took Stella’s weight and lifted her up. “We’re FBI, sir, and we have a few questions. How are you doing today?”

The man looked at them suspiciously and said nothing.

Stella was undeterred by his nonresponse to Stacy’s question. Maybe their investigative luck had just given them a witness, but she needed to build some sort of rapport. “Can we get you anything?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Stacy and then turned to Stella. “I can take care of myself. Don’t need no charity.”

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