To Catch a Killer(76)

“You got this. Just go slow,” he insists.

I wonder where his confidence in me is coming from. Nonetheless, I take a deep breath and add the alcohol to the first tube. It’s nerve-wracking, but I do it. By the last tube, I’m handling it like a total pro.

Victor’s final purchase from the superstore is a package of long, thin wooden skewers. He uses the skewers to show me how the DNA floats up in the tube right to the point where the buffering solution and the alcohol meet. With a skewer, he pulls up a small ball of milky white goo that almost looks like snot.

“And there you go,” he says. “You just successfully extracted DNA.”

Blink. Blink. I’m amazed, yes. And a little grossed out, too. Because the essence of life looks like it came out of someone’s nose.





37

Fingerprints and eyewitness testimony will connect a suspect to a crime scene, but if you want to really make it stick, find their DNA.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


The gel is set. The DNA extracted. The chamber’s wired up, loaded, and ready to go. I should be on-the-edge-of-my-seat excited about this—and I am. But I’m also obsessing about Journey. It’s weird not to be able to text him or send him a Snapchat and get an answer back.

This isn’t normal. I’m extracting DNA and still can’t stop thinking about him.

“You seem quiet,” Victor says. “Are you okay with all of this?”

“Yes. All of this is amazing. I was just thinking about Journey, that’s all.”

“He seems like a pretty nice guy.” Victor rummages in his briefcase, retrieving his notebook. “What is it that you like about him?”

My face turns pink. I didn’t expect that question. This boyfriend stuff is still pretty new to me. “Um, I guess I like that he’s not afraid of me.”

Victor does a slight tick with his head. “Why would anyone be afraid of you?”

“You know, afraid of who I am … my history. Everything I’ve been through. People ask about you, about your family. But when you tell them what I tell them, they get weird. That didn’t happen with him.” I think for a minute. “It also didn’t happen with you.”

“I’m glad,” he says, giving me a heartfelt look. “Because you are a delightful and brilliant young lady. My only regret is that I took so long to meet you.” He rubs his hands together, viewing the setup on the table. “Okay. We’re all set. You ready?”

“No. I’m not ready at all,” I joke.

“Let ’er rip.” He motions for me to hook the alligator clips to the batteries. Within seconds, bubbles form in the buffering solution. “See those bubbles?” Victor asks. “That tells us it’s working.”

Now we wait.

Victor brews a pot of coffee and I make my favorite dessert, a vanilla ice cream and orange juice float. Then Victor busies himself by organizing the contents of his briefcase. He sets out a bag of disposable rubber gloves and a fingerprint kit. I place my crime-scene kit on the table next to his. I, too, have gloves, a fingerprint brush, lifting tape, and cards. I click the switch and shine my ultraviolet penlight at him.

“Where’d you get all of that stuff?” he asks.

“The Internet … or just around the house.”

Victor holds a small spray bottle between his thumb and index finger. “Bet you don’t have any of this.” He spins it so I can read the label.

“Luminol!” I’ve wanted to play with this stuff forever.

“I’ll show you how it works.” He grabs a clean wooden skewer and pokes his finger, drawing a small spot of blood.

I cringe. “Dude, no.”

He scans the kitchen for something to wipe it on. Finally, he kneels down next to a strip of tile by the door and squeezes his finger. A couple fat drops of blood roll out and splatter on the floor. “I’ll clean this up with water and show you what happens.”

He scrubs the spot with a wet paper towel. “It looks clean, right?” But then he spritzes luminol onto a swab and runs it over the area. The tip of the white cotton turns bright blue. “Bam! Blood evidence.”

I jump out of my chair and do a little flailing-arms dance. “I’m not going to lie, that was impressive.”

“It’s very sensitive, too,” Victor explains, tucking the luminol back into his briefcase.

“You have to promise me that you’ll do that again for Spam and Lysa and Journey. Pleeeease?”

Victor chuckles. “No problem.”

While he finishes organizing his stuff, I run upstairs and get my laptop, checking again for Journey, but he’s still not online.

At the thirty-minute mark, Victor points out some early bands forming in the gel. They look like ragged slashes of dark color across the clear gel.

Wow. It’s really working.

“When this is done, I’ll stain it with a blue solution and the bands will show up even better.” He keeps an eye on the process while skimming through my notebook. He zeros in on my notes about the footprint in my bedroom. “I’m impressed that you took the initiative to go to a shoe store to find the style and size of shoe that matched the print you found in your room. That’s some excellent detective work.”