To Catch a Killer(40)

—VICTOR FLEMMING


An hour later we’re back home, sitting around the kitchen.

My head is throbbing, but I’m relaxed knowing that at least Journey isn’t spending the night in jail. Rachel and Sydney weren’t happy with the way Victor cleared him, but they had to agree it didn’t make any sense to hold him.

Victor is totally my hero.

The whole incident feels fuzzy. But a brick on the gas pedal can only mean one thing, right? Someone really is trying to kill me.

Rachel combines ingredients for her famous spaghetti sauce while Victor and I hang out around the dining room table. Victor’s sleeves are pushed up and he rolls Chief Culson’s fancy pen between his fingers.

“I can’t believe he’s still handing out the hoity-toity pens from England,” Victor says with a snort. “Who cares? It’s so juvenile.”

Rachel slips a lid onto the sauce pot. “What’s juvenile is how you and Charles continue to cling to your grudge after all these years. It was high school, Victor. Let it go.”

“I’m not holding on to a grudge.” He passes the pen back to me. “These are seconds, you know; damaged in some way. That’s why she sent them to him for free.” Victor uses air quotes as a mocking gesture.

Rachel throws her hands in the air. “Honestly, who cares?” she says. “I’m going to change.”

Once Rachel leaves, I grab my messenger bag to take my stuff up to my room. The bag tilts, spilling the fingerprint cards I lifted from Journey’s van. I make a quick swipe to scoop them up, but I’m not quick enough for Victor.

“Hey, fingerprint cards,” he says. “Let me see those.”

I hand the cards over, excited to see what he’ll say but also a little nervous. If Rachel spots these cards, she’ll know what we were up to at Journey’s house, and that won’t go over well. “I was just messing around,” I say.

Victor studies the cards. “Are you in one of those special forensic classes? I think they’re using one of my cases for classroom instruction.”

“Really? Which one? I’ve read all of your books—several times. I’m kind of a fan so I’m sure I’d know all the details.”

“A fan, huh?” Victor smiles. “These fingerprints look more like an apprentice.”

My eyes grow huge. “Really? You think so?”

“I do,” Victor says. “Your technique is good. You’ve almost captured the fingertips of two complete hands. A right and a left. They’re not from the same person, though.”

“They’re not? How can you tell?” I peer at the cards, trying not to fangirl freak out over getting to see them through Victor’s eyes.

“Well, there are three main patterns to fingerprints—” he says.

I jump in. “Arches, loops, and whorls.”

He chuckles, pointing at one card with his little finger. “Good. But are you aware that arches are only found in about 5 percent of the patterns we see?” He gestures to the card in my other hand. “While we see loops in 60 to 70 percent of the patterns. So yeah, my guess is these are not the same person.”

“Wow.” I’m in complete awe. I make a mental note to check Journey’s fingertips next time I see him. Is he a whorl or an arch?

“But you’re not in one of those classes, huh?” Victor asks, handing the cards back to me.

“I wish.” I stash the cards more securely in my bag.

Victor frowns. “Too bad. I keep hoping I’ll come across a classroom that’s doing it. But not having kids, you know, I’m not around that many classrooms.”

Suddenly, “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga blasts out loud and clear.

Victor and I lock eyes, momentarily baffled, until I realize it’s the ringtone on my new cell phone—the one Spam gave me. She would set her ringtone to Lady Gaga.

I grab the phone and answer, “Hi, hold on.” Then I give Victor a quick wave as I exit the kitchen and take the stairs, two at a time, up to my bedroom. Once inside, I close the door and lean my back against it.

“You’re not going to believe this.” I’m breathless with excitement.

“What? That someone tried to kill you?” Spam sounds upset.

“Oh. You heard.”

“I just got off the phone with Lysa. What the eff happened at Journey’s house?”

“Someone put a brick on the gas pedal of Journey’s van and sent it speeding toward me.” I drop my messenger bag on the floor and slide under the comforter on my bed. The sheets are cool and soothing.

“It wasn’t Journey?” she asks.

“No. He was behind me.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t an accident?” demands Spam.

“How could a brick on the gas pedal be an accident?”

“I’m coming over,” she says.

“Great. Then you can meet my uncle.” I pause dramatically. “Because he’s here.”

“Wait. Your uncle? The FBI dude?”

“Yeah. Crazy, huh? I’ve wanted to meet him my whole life. He’s a-mazing. Like the god of evidence. You won’t believe what he did to keep Journey from being arrested.”

“On my way,” she says.