To Catch a Killer(73)

“Your uncle’s cool,” Journey says, leaning back against his van. He rests his arms on my shoulders and pulls me to him. I lay my head against his chest. I listen to the faint thrum of his heartbeat and wish I could sync mine with his. Mine is racing. I’ve never been close to another person this way, except maybe Rachel.

“Yeah, he is.” I drift into Journey’s circle of warmth, loving how his fingers twist the very tips of my hair.

“Maybe he’ll solve this thing and we can stop worrying about psycho killers.”

“Mmm. That would be nice,” I whisper.

Journey moves me away from his body so he can look at my face. “Have you told him about the—you know—connection?”

“Not yet.” I step back. “But I think I should. What do you think?”

Journey pulls me back against his chest. “I think we’re safer if you don’t tell.”

“Why?” I pop my head back again, studying his face.

“Because that connection between the two murders is the one thing no one else knows. Even the killer doesn’t know we know it,” Journey says. “And, since we’re not sure who we can trust, I think we should keep it that way.”

“Except we know we can trust Victor.”

“Probably. Yeah.” Journey rakes a hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead. “But can we trust who Victor would tell?”

I haven’t discussed my suspicions about Chief Culson with Journey, but I see what he’s saying. If I give the tie to Victor, he’ll tell Rachel and she’ll tell the chief. Even though Victor thinks he’s safe, I’m still not so sure.

“That makes sense.” I de-stress by forcing the air out of my lungs and then taking in a long deep breath. Thoughts of possible motives for murder used to be a silent dark knot that lived quietly inside me. It was not something I ever talked about openly. I don’t have to hide any of this from Journey, which is a relief. But our lives would be better if we didn’t have to worry about it at all.

Journey pulls me to his chest again and rests his cheek on top of my head. “I have to get back to work.” He whispers this into my hair. In one swift move he pecks me on the cheek and climbs into the van. “I’ll call you later.”

The van finally rattles to a start on the third try and he backs down the driveway toward the street.

“How?” I wrap my sweatshirt a little tighter around me, my voice buried by the rumble of the van. “You lost your phone.” I watch him back into the street and pull away.

Returning to the kitchen, I find Victor in full-fledged field DNA test mode. The table is littered with all kinds of stuff and he’s slumped in his chair, going through my notebook. I take a seat.

Victor sets the notebook aside. “So we know your bio teacher collected samples from you and from Journey. And, I can maybe buy that she would put herself in the mix, too. Can you see her doing that?”

“Definitely. Miss Peters used to say we are our own best test subjects.”

Victor gnaws on a hangnail. “So, if she had a degree in forensic chemistry, she probably knew what her own DNA string looked like.”

“We all knew what it looked like,” I say with a laugh. “She had it blown up, framed, and hung on the wall.”

“She included her own DNA in order to validate the test. That’s logical,” he says.

“She was a stickler for things like that. I can hear her voice in my head. ‘Always include a control sample.’”

“She’s her own control sample. I’ll buy that.” Victor stabs the notebook with his pen. “I don’t expect to match the last sample because we don’t have enough information. But let’s say CC indicates it was Chuck. Why would she include him?”

“Because … she wanted to impress him, show him she could do it.”

Victor points at me. “You really are my star pupil.” He thinks for a minute. “It’s too bad we can’t get a sample of Chuck’s DNA, because then we could settle your theory once and for all.”

Victor stops and gives me a wide-eyed look.

Which is funny, because I’m giving him the very same look.

Two great minds …

Both of our heads swivel to the counter next to the sink and land on one plain, gleaming, half-full glass of water.

We leap up and make it to the sink in a matter of steps. Neither of us touches the glass, but we both know it contains the chief’s DNA.

“Looks like we’ll get to test your theory after all.” Victor returns to the table and slides my notebook over to me. “Clean page, write this down: today’s date … gel test. Samples one through four. We’ll label them the same as Peters’s. That glass on the counter will be CC.”

Victor shoves all the crap to one side of the table and grabs an unread newspaper from our recycling stack. He unfolds it, covering half of the table. “My lab table has a stainless steel top, easy to clean and sanitize,” he explains, “but out in the field we use newspapers. Here’s a lesson for you: An unread newspaper is sterile. Want to know why?” He doesn’t wait for my answer but keeps talking. “Because printing presses get up to about one hundred and thirty degrees. That’s enough to kill most bacteria.”

“Wow, that’s news to me.” I giggle.