To Catch a Killer(60)

Victor pinches his lips together. The skin at the corners of his eyes folds up. “That’s sad, because she was such a beautiful person.”

“When I saw the box, I had to take it. Just so I’d have something that was close to her.” I lean forward. “Rachel never even showed me that all my mother’s things were in the attic. I found them by accident.”

“And you don’t remember anything about the murder?”

I give him a grim smile. “Only the smell of blood.”

He nods. “No one forgets that.”

I pose my index fingers in the shape of an X. “And there’s something about seeing the shadow of a cross on the floor, like when the sun shines through a French door at an angle.”

“That’s all?”

I nod.

I lay my hands flat on the table and press down. My knuckles are white as bleached bone. “So, yeah, you could say I have some questions.”

Victor shifts positions in his chair. “Then let’s start at the beginning.”

“Well, I didn’t just lose my mother, I lost the identity of my father, too.”

“It was my understanding she was planning to raise you alone,” Victor says.

“Maybe. But if she were here I could at least ask her questions. Think about it. I share DNA with a stranger. She might have loved him, or maybe he was just some random dude, but I came out of that and I have no idea who he is. Sometimes I walk down the street and just look at face after face after face and wonder, Am I related to you … or you?”

Victor smiles at the way I wave my hands around.

“I believe I have a right to know who my father is. I also think I have a right to know who killed my mother and why.”

“I agree on both counts,” he says.

“There’s one more thing I want to know … well, it’s more than a want, it’s a need. I need to know my father isn’t the one who killed her. That he wasn’t the one who took away our dream of being a family.”

Victor stays silent for a long minute. Then he ticks each item off on his fingers. “So, if I heard you correctly, you want to solve a murder, establish paternity, and rule out a suspect?”

I nod. “That pretty much covers it.”

“That’s what we call the DNA trifecta.” He nods at my mother’s box, still sitting in the middle of the table. “And, while it’s all doable, it’s going to take more juice than you’ve got up in your attic playroom.”

“I know. That’s why Miss Peters was helping me.”

Victor sits forward. “The biology teacher who was murdered? She knew about all of this?”

“Yeah. Well, I’d say most adults in town know about me and what happened to my mom. But Miss P was the first to actually show me how I could get some answers on my own.”

Concern forms in the creases of Victor’s forehead. “That sounds highly inappropriate for a teacher. What did she show you … exactly?”

“She knew I was playing around with forensic stuff and she showed me—like you just said—how DNA could answer all of my questions. She helped me. Maybe you’ll help me now.”

Victor runs his thumb over a spot on his wrist, finally meeting my gaze with a look that’s just as intense as mine. “I’ll take a cursory look into the case. But first, I’m curious to know how you started ‘playing around with forensic stuff.’”

“Your books kind of started it.” I grin and he rolls his eyes in response.

“The attraction was always about finding the answers to my questions.” I adjust my position in the chair by curling one leg up under me. “But first I had to get the techniques down. And that takes a lot of practice.”

Victor rests his elbow on the table and props his head on his hand. “Some would say it requires more than practice, but go on.”

“Well, a friend of mine at school was afraid her boyfriend was cheating on her, and I thought maybe we could use forensics to prove it. I started by looking at hair samples. Then taught myself to lift fingerprints and do chromatography tests on lipstick and stuff.”

Victor looks surprised. “Wait a minute, you taught yourself to lift prints and do chromatography?”

“They teach it in high school now, so how hard can it really be?”

“I’ll be sure to tell my boss that,” he mutters. “Keep talking.”

“We helped a lot of our friends at school with problems, which prompted Miss Peters to try to get a forensics class or club on campus.”

“Wow, you’ve gone to a great deal of effort. Old Carl must be impressed with you,” Victor says.

“Yeah. Not really. I mean, Principal Roberts gets it, to a point. He says science fair projects are okay, but forensic experiments are forbidden on campus.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Victor asks.

“I wish. Mr. Roberts claims my forensic experiments could have unpleasant consequences. So, if I get caught doing any investigations on campus, it’s an automatic three-day suspension.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “He’s not wrong about the consequences, but if I told you some of the pranks we pulled when we were in school…” He gets up from the table. “Hey, I’m starving and I make some serious scrambled eggs à la Victor. What do you say?”