Maura glanced up as Stray pushed his way into the tool shed, taking off his dusty coat and shaking it out for all the good it did him. He slung his pistol holster off his back, leaving just his ragged undershirt to cover his body. Tossing aside a small burlap sack—Maura saw copper wires and other scraps spill out from its open top—he grabbed the pistol sling and trudged over to the bench she and Anne were sharing. He never did let that pistol out of his sight, Maura had noticed. You had to respect someone like that. “You kicked her,” Maura reminded him. “In the alley.”