“He had nice curls, mister.”

Frederick Remington When the last child was gone, Allingham sat closer to the former prostitute. He had a difficult time believing it was the same young girl he’d run out of French Annie’s bordello; the child with the beaten and damaged face. It all seemed an eternity ago.

“Janie, Francis wanted you to have this.” He handed her a locket which opened to pictures on either side of Francis’s mother and father.

“I see Francis in both of them.” She closed the locket and held it tightly in her fist.

He took it back from her and opened another little door on the back. “Miss Rosario put some of Francis’s hair in here for you, Janie.”

She looked at it and then at Allingham. “He had nice curls, mister.”

“He did indeed, Janie.” He breathed in deeply and continued. “That locket was very special to him, and he wanted you to have it. To help you remember him.”

“Don’t need a locket for that, mister.” She sniffed and smiled weakly. “No one who knew him could ever forget Francis.” Allingham