To Catch a Killer(71)

I nod. If Rachel says she was with Chief Culson when Miss Peters was killed, I wouldn’t dream of questioning her.

“But last night Rachel admitted she has been concealing this relationship. You knew nothing about the two of them, correct?”

“Zip,” I confirm. “That night she went to bed early, saying she thought she was coming down with the flu. I felt bad that the police had to call her to come to the station. But when she got there, she didn’t seem sick at all.”

“Aha. You see? Alibis are hard enough to prove, but combine them with a lie and you have a problem with motivation. Why was the person lying to begin with, and why should we believe them now? Even the tiniest lie will eventually taint the truth.”

He’s not talking about me, but I feel the weight of his words. Hopefully, he won’t pick up the guilt rays I’m radiating. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that part of your theory is flawed. But the other part is genius—dabbling with DNA testing probably did get your teacher killed,” he says. “So tonight we’re going to try to re-create her DNA test and see what it tells us.”

“Wow.” I’m about to fall over in a dead faint … or float to the ceiling and bob there out of extreme bliss. Watching Victor actually do a DNA test = mind-blowing.

There’s even an extra side of surreal because I know most of the steps he’ll be taking before he takes them. I just can’t believe he’s doing it with me.

“I’m just going to throw this together quickly, so if you have any questions or want me to explain anything don’t be afraid to ask.” Victor moves around the kitchen gathering supplies: a pitcher, measuring cups, spoons. He dumps them at one end of the table.

My guilt is starting to weigh me down. Victor’s treating me like an equal, but I’m still holding back information. I decide I’ll tell him about the strip of fabric and the link between the murders after we finish running the DNA.

I don’t want anything to detract from this moment. I slide my chair closer to Victor. “I want to write down each step.” I open my notebook. “What will re-creating her test tell us?”

He drags a shopping bag over next to his chair and starts unloading things onto the table. “The first thing we try to do in a murder investigation is come up with a profile of the victim’s behavior and activities that occurred in the days or hours right before she was killed. You had the right instincts about the DNA samples in the refrigerator. If we can duplicate that and match even one or two of the profiles from her test, it will tell us something about what she was thinking and the evidence you’ve been gathering.”

“So, we’re going to the lab at school?”

“Nope. We’re going to do it right here,” Victor says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“But I thought you said it required special equipment and a bunch of stuff to pull off an accurate DNA test.”

Victor raises his hand. “Yeah, for the don’t-try-this-at-home crowd. But I am a trained professional. I’ve pulled off many a field DNA test in a hotel room and even once in the trunk of a Lincoln. It’s tricky, but possible.”

“So where do we start?”

He grabs a buccal swab in each hand. “I have one for you … and one for your boyfriend.” He pins me in a serious gaze. “I’m assuming Rachel’s edict fell on deaf ears and he’s still your boyfriend. Can you lure him over?”

My cheeks flame. I think he just officially became my boyfriend today. “You’re a bad influence. But actually Journey started a new job today so he probably can’t come.”

Just then the front doorbell rings.

Victor and I exchange surprised looks for a second.

“Right, pizza!” Victor hurries to the door and I follow. I wasn’t expecting that because our normal pizza guy always comes to the back door. Victor swings the door open and Journey is standing there, holding a stay-warm pizza-delivery box.

“Somebody order pizza?” He flashes me a crooked grin.

I’m stunned. “You didn’t tell me,” I say.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Journey says. “I know Papa John’s is your favorite.”

Victor rubs his hands together. “Erin, look who’s here.” He ushers Journey inside. “We were just talking about you. Come in. Come in.”

Journey looks adorable in his uniform, a white coat with a bright green armband bearing the logo for our neighborhood Papa John’s Pizza. He unsheathes two boxes from the wrapper. Victor rummages in his pockets for money.

“Will twenty-five bucks cover it?” Victor asks, shoving bills into Journey’s hand.

“Oh yeah. Let me get you some change,” Journey says.

“No. Keep it.” Victor insists.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were delivering pizza to my house?” I ask.

“I lost my phone, remember?” Journey says.

“Oh, right.” I inspect the boxes in Victor’s hand. “Um, I only ordered one pizza. Ham and pineapple.”

“For real?” Journey makes a face. “Who eats pineapple on pizza? The second one is mine—which I didn’t charge you for. It’s time for my dinner break and I thought maybe we could eat together.” He smiles at me. “But if I shouldn’t be here, no worries. I can always eat in the van.”