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MOONLIGHT BROKE THROUGH THE CLOUDS above Brooklyn, like a smile in the night.
Time was scarce. The burglar had to assume that there were hidden camera feeds in the empty apartment, scrolling data onto a hard drive. There might only be minutes for the burglar to find what was needed.
The burglar headed straight for the bathroom. A comb, a brush, and a toothbrush lay on the shelf under the mirror. The burglar held up the hairbrush and examined it. Sam Capra had a full head of brownish-blond hair. Several strands lay entwined in the stiff bristles of the brush.
The burglar hoped some held surviving follicles. The brush went into a plastic bag, to be joined by the comb and the toothbrush. A slide of the gloved fingers along the bag and the job was done.
Then out the door, down the stairs, back into the moonlight-dappled night. The burglar slid up the dark heavy balaclava that hid his face and walked off into the black. The key to dealing properly with Sam Capra lay rustling like a whisper in the plastic bag.