CHAPTER TWELVE
Pete Mitchell, short and chubby with gray hair and gold-rimmed bifocals, looked more like someone’s grandfather than a pawn shop owner.
“Detectives, we’re a licensed, bonded, insured, family-owned business,” Mitchell said. “I run a clean operation here. We never knowingly accept stolen property.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Pete,” I said. “We aren’t here about stolen property.”
“Good, because we don’t knowingly buy or make loans on stolen property,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah, you said that already,” Reyes said, laying three photos on the counter. “What we want to know is if you recognize any of these ladies.”
Michell peered at the photos through his bifocals. He tapped the picture on the left, Audrey Ryan.
“This one I’ve done business with,” Mitchell said. “She has b
