In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(23)
“That’s the scenario.”
“I know a guy,” Rosa said. “Worked with him once on another case where a body was found in a river. Let me take a look, and then I’ll decide if we should bring him in or not.”
“Sounds good,” Tracy said.
“He’s not bad to look at either,” she said, smiling. Then the smile faded. “Maybe one of these days we’ll work an easy one together.”
“You wouldn’t be involved if it was an easy one.”
From the medical examiner’s office, Tracy made her second detour, to the King County Courthouse on Third Avenue. The sheriff’s office was located in room W-116. Kaylee Wright, a senior crime-scene analyst—known in the profession as a “sign-cutter” or “man-tracker”—was at her desk, which was rare. Ordinarily, Wright spent much of her time out looking for bodies in remote locations, or teaching classes around the world on the science behind sign-cutting and its relevance in modern forensics. Tracy didn’t have to be convinced. She’d witnessed Wright’s work firsthand. Wright could tell not only the types of shoes the victim and perpetrators were wearing, but where each had stepped and who’d stepped there first. She could even tell from analyzing blades of grass if the person had been standing or sitting or lying on the ground.
At five eleven, Wright was one of the few women in law enforcement taller than Tracy, and she maintained the build that had made her a college volleyball player. When she and Tracy worked cases together, like the shooting of a Russian drug dealer in Laurelhurst several years back, they were referred to as “Salt and Pepper” because of Tracy’s light complexion and blonde hair and Wright’s darker complexion and black hair.
Tracy handed her the envelope. “These are the originals. The negatives are in the front of each pack.”
“I’ll keep them safe,” Wright said, opening one of the envelopes and flipping through a few of the photos. “1976. I was two then.”
“So was I,” Tracy said.
“They look like good shots, given what the photographer was working with back then. I’m guessing from the quality and the date stamp that whoever took these used an Instamatic of some sort. You sure you don’t want to give me a hint about what I’m looking at?”
Tracy wanted Kelly Rosa’s and Kaylee Wright’s analyses to be completely independent and not influenced by anything Tracy told them, though admittedly she didn’t know much at this point.
“I’m not certain what’s depicted or why,” Tracy said. “I’m hoping you can tell me.”
Wright slid the pack of photographs back into the envelope. “All right. I like a challenge. How soon do you need it? I’m leaving for a conference in Germany tomorrow.”
“Must be rough,” Tracy said. “Berlin?”
“Hamburg. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds—meetings and panels every day. I intend to sample several German beers.”
“Barry going with you?”
“Did I mention there will be German beer?”
“So it’s working out?”
“We’ll find out. They say it’s a good test if you can stand each other while traveling in a foreign country. How are you and Dan getting along?”
“So far, so good.” Tracy checked her watch. “I better get in. Kins and I pulled that murder in Greenwood, and he carried the burden while I was away this weekend. Enjoy Germany. Hoist a beer or two for me.”
The city had recently begun calling the Justice Center building “Police Headquarters.” “Justice Center” apparently now referred to the adjacent building on Fifth Avenue that housed King County’s municipal court. To Tracy and the veterans, though, the SPD building would always be the Justice Center. Whatever the name, one thing that hadn’t changed was the volume of Vic Fazzio’s gravelly voice and New Jersey accent when Tracy stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor. She heard Faz well before she entered the A Team’s square-shaped bull pen.
“You got a hot date, Sparrow?” Faz was saying. He liked to use the nickname bestowed on Kins when he’d worked undercover narcotics and he had grown out his hair and a wispy goatee like the Johnny Depp character in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.
“You’re wearing enough aftershave, you could become an honorary Italian,” Del said.
“I’d have to put on a hundred pounds to join ‘your’ club,” Kins said.
“Like I’d be in a club that would have Fazzio,” Del said.
Faz and Del looked to have been plucked straight from central casting as bodyguards in a mafia movie like The Godfather. At the moment, they sat at their cubicles but with their chairs swiveled to face Kins, who was at his desk across the center workstation.
“Hey, Professor, check out our boy Joe Friday,” Faz said when Tracy entered the bull pen, referring to the suit-wearing detective from the TV series Dragnet.
Kins stood up from his chair holding his coffee mug. “If I had known wearing a suit was going to make the news, I would have dressed like a bum like you two.” Kins nodded to Tracy to follow him. “Brother of Tim Collins called. Wants to talk. I got a lot to fill you in on.”
Tracy turned to follow.
“Hey, Professor,” Faz called out. “I got a gas mask you could borrow for the elevator ride.”