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path just takes too long. “Was anyone here not killed by this man?”
    Two more stepped forward. A tiny elderly Asian woman said, “He knocked me down going into a restaurant. I fell and broke my arm.” She paused. “But he paid for the doctors, and it healed.” She smiled a wide toothless smile.
    “Okay, thank you. Is there anything else about this that you can shed light on?”
    She shook her head thoughtfully. “But I think maybe I will come to see you another time.”
    I gave her a nod. She nodded back and disappeared. I looked at the other person who had come forward. It was hard to tell his age. His hair and beard were wild tangled masses of dirty gray. His clothes were also filthy, hanging from his emaciated frame. A waft of sun kissed garbage made it to my nose – which should have been immune at that point.
    “Devon Parrish, ma'am.” He had a distinct Southern drawl.
    I caught the dull gleam of a medal on his chest – the Bronze Star. He caught my look and gave me a modest smile. His glance hit Jane in her distinguished suit. I could see his embarrassment at his own state.
    As simple as that, his appearance melted into one that probably mirrored the image he wanted. Devon now stood before us, neat and clean, in khakis and a Polo shirt. His hair was short, and the beard was gone. The scent of freshly cut grass replaced his earlier foul smell.
    There were gasps all around.  Devon looked down as he realized what happened.
    “Very cool, man. Hey, guys, you can look however you want!”
    There were shifts as the others made adjustments, exclaiming over each other's choices. The air quality had definitely improved. Iglanced around the group. The Hispanic girl had changed into a print dress, with a fringed shawl tied around her waist. Robin decided on a gray suit, blue shirt and shiny black shoes. He turned around in front of Jane, and she nodded approvingly at him.
    “Okay, everyone, if the fashion show is over, let's get back to this.” I turned back to the war vet. “Devon?  What's your story about this guy?”
    Devon gave me a sheepish look. “Well, I only saw him a few times in the park, and I never really even came close to him. Even desperate, crazy people can sometimes tell when to steer clear.” He looked to see if I understood. Of course I did. I glanced at Thulu, who gave Devon a nod, and he continued.
    “He always came by in his limo and never stayed long. The only reason I even mention him is because he pointed this one dude in my direction once. It was shortly before I died. I'm not sure if they are connected, but it feels like it.”
    “Did you have any other contact with him?”
    “No, ma'am. That was the closest I came.”
    I opened another document and typed in Devon's name, right below Parker's.
    “Let's meet another time, Devon.  I'd very much like to hear your story.” We made an appointment for the following week. Devon faded away, rather than popping out.
    “Anyone else not know why they are here?” I was down to about half a dozen people besides Jane and her grandson.
    A tiny little voice came from the back, “Me.”
    The mood in the room shifted suddenly from self-absorption and curiosity to one of anger, dismay and, forgive me, but dead silence. The kids always seem to have that effect on the living and dead both. The group shifted to show a tiny, almost solid form. She had light blonde curls and bright blue eyes and was maybe four or five years old. She wore shorts, sandals and a T-shirt with some Disney princess on it and carried a small blue stuffed toy. I took a deep, stabilizing breath, willing myself to not let tears form. I hate having to deal with the kids who've been murdered. I met Jane's eyes. She seemed to know what I was thinking and gave me a supportive nod. Thulu gave a gentle pat to my arm, leaving his hand there.
    “Hi there, sweetie. What's your name?”
    “Jenna,” she said in that same tiny voice.
    “You can come closer.”
    She moved to my desk,