Dominion by Randy Alcorn Page B

the backseat, who knows? No physical description of the perps. Don’t know size, color, age, what they were wearing, nothing. It’s frustrating.”
“What about the weapon?”
“We’ve got forty .223 shell casings.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a casing, and handed it to Clarence. “Here’s one of them. Haven’t got the rest back from the technicians yet. There’s a huge backup in ballistics right now—too many shootings. Presumably the casings are all alike, so having forty won’t be much better than having one. We’ve got a partial left footprint coming up the porch steps. It matches perfectly a plaster cast of a full right footprint where the shooter stepped off the walkway onto the lawn during his retreat. At least we’re pretty sure it was the shooter. It had been dry all week and just rained earlier that night. The print was fresh. Size eight and a half, Air Jordans. That’s about it. Maybe narrows us down to a few million people.”
“So…is this case going to be solved?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. The initial window is gone. We’re into the tough part—trying to beat the bushes and find any witness, any clue. But I won’t give up. I’ve solved cases a week later, a month, three months, six months, two years. Some precincts have cold-case crews that have solved cases going back fifteen years.”
“So…are you optimistic?”
“The truth? Not really. Problem is, the killings don’t stop. If we could have one murder and just focus on it for however long it takes, it would be great. But we’ve only got five homicide teams. Manny and I already have three open cases, plus another dozen unsolved that can yank our chains anytime if there’s a new development.”
“So Dani’s just number three?”
“No. She’s still number one, but we rotate, go on call, and our number’s up again. Next homicide and she’ll drop to number two. That’s how it works. But I have to tell you, your sister’s case is really pulling my strings. I take it personally, the way it was done. Vicious. Mother and child. I want the perps. But I’m just being honest with you—the fact that we haven’t got much now suggests a good chance we won’t. The lieutenant’s always talking about case load management. There have to be priorities. The new cases get priority because if we put them on the back burner, we miss our best chance at solving them.”
“I’ve heard gang killings are low priority,” Clarence said.
“Not low priority. It’s just that there’s getting to be more of them. Hard to keep up with. And hard not to move on when there isn’t a quick solution. What can I say? We’re overworked.”
“So you’re going to let my sister’s murder fall through the cracks?” Clarence watched Ollie’s red neck get redder.
One of the advantages of black skin. Easier to hide your emotions.
“Nope. Told you that already. I’m doing my best. See this?” He lifted up a half-inch stack of papers held together by a metal clamp. “Those are reports from the uniformed officers who first arrived on the scene.”
He picked up another stack and pushed it toward Clarence. “These are interviews with neighbors conducted by Manny and me.”
He picked up a big bulging manila envelope. “These are the photographs from the scene, and the autopsy.” He kept the envelope on his side of the desk, his hand on top of it.
“I’ve gone over it all three or four times, looking for anything.” As Ollie flipped through the big stack of papers, Clarence saw yellow highlighting and red underlining and scribbling in the margins.
“I’m just trying to help you understand why I can’t give it my undivided attention,” Ollie said. “I’ve got other victim’s families just as anxious as you are.” Ollie’s eyes went to the office window. He jumped up and opened the door.
“Hey, Manny, come on in here. Say hi to Mr. Abernathy.”
Manny came over and nodded coldly to Clarence, flashing an unmistakable “what the