The Yellow Pajama Exchanger

“So,” the detective said slowly, hopefully. “The only thing missing is the pajamas.” His pen hovered over his notepad poised to spend ink adding to the very short list of stolen items.

Outside the flashers of three police cruises strobed. Even a simple robbery guaranteed at least two in this neighborhood. It also guaranteed the press – who had already obliged. He could hear them pestering the uniforms with questions. Fortunately they knew better than to answer.

The woman nodded. “Yellow ones.”

The detective sighed and nodded back but didn’t write. He’d already known their color and recorded the detail. The pen slumped. “We’ll be in touch.” He handed her his card. “Call me if you notice anything else missing, or recall any other details.” She wouldn’t, he knew. There was never any more to tell.

Behind him, one of the forensics team said, “All done, detective.” She was holding the lone piece of evidence: a pair of yellow pajamas he knew would turn out to be those stolen from the previous robbery.

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