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to what we had before I screwed things up.
    I returned to find Miguel on the phone listening intently to whoever was on the other end. He met my gaze and his eyes hardened. He sat straighter, leaning back in his chair, lips 40

    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    crimped in a thin line. The boy was going to have to learn to park his personal issues at the door when he came to work.
    Either that, or ask for a transfer. Miguel hung up with a snap of his wrist then twisted his arm around to study the face of his watch.
    "That was trace. They got results of the material collected at the crime scene. Fabric threads pulled off the vic's clothes and corpus were a red and gray polyester blend."
    I frowned. It was an easy thing to dehumanize the victims.
    Never a good path to go down. I knew. It was something I struggled with all the time. "The victim has a name, Detective Dominguez. Isaac Simpson."
    He flushed, eyes flashing at the rebuke. "There's more, sir.
    The trace technician also pulled some animal hairs off the vic—off Mr. Simpson—and determined they're dog hairs.
    Unknown breed, but something with long hair, like a collie, only white. We want them tested for breed, we have to send them out to CFSI."
    And wait a year for the results if we were lucky. CFSI, L.A.
    County's newest forensic lab serviced the LAPD and LASD, which would be higher on their priority list than a Santa Barbara mystery dog.
    "Collie?" I tried to remember what a collie dog looked like.
    "Ah, Lassie. Anyone in the area have a dog? Do collies come in white?"
    "No, but Shih Tzus do, or Samoyeds."
    I looked at him and he grudgingly admitted, "The kids want a dog. They like those two. And poodles." He grimaced, and this time it wasn't because of me.
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    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    "So let's go ask someone if there are any long-haired white dogs in the area."
    "I was just going back to canvas it."
    "Then let's go do it."
    I drove, leaving Miguel to fill out reports. I don't let other people drive me around. We found the manager of the Milpas market stocking beer in his cooler when we entered the empty store at nine minutes past nine. He stared at the badges we flashed, taking his time, studying each one like he was looking for something to explain why we were in his store. From the broken red veins on his thick nose I figured him for someone who drank his own product.
    Wiping his hands on the front of his gabardine pants held up by a worn belt, he kept piling cans into the cooler. A massive belly protruded over the too-tight belt.
    "Mr. Hardy?" I asked. He nodded. I badged him again.
    That brought on a frown.
    "Ayuh," he said with a heavy New England accent. "Help you?"
    "Yes, you can." Miguel was in his face. "Are you familiar with the homicide that occurred near here nine days ago?"
    When all he got was a blank look for his troubles, he added,
    "The indigent man. On the beach."
    "Ah, that one," Hardy said. "Ayuh."
    "Did Mr. Simpson ever come in here?"
    "Simpson?"
    "The dead man."
    "The colored one? Not in my store. I called the police on that one. Bad smelling man, drive away payin' customers."
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    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    I had to wonder if it was only his smell that made Hardy so hostile. I looked toward the open door. The phone our 911
    caller had used was barely visible, situated as it was between the parking lot and the stretch of sand bordering the washroom where Simpson had died. I knew if I stepped outside I would be able to see the beach. Children's voices rode on the salty air along with the cries of the gulls Jason loved so much. I couldn't hear them without thinking of him.
    "You ever see anyone around here with a dog?" Miguel asked.
    "Dog? Lots of dogs 'round here," Hardy said. "Too damn many. Dirty, mangy things. Leavin' messes all over the place."
    I didn't know whether he meant the dogs or their owners.
    "Any long-haired white ones?" I asked.
    Hardy looked over my shoulder. I knew the minute he remembered. A light