As the Wicked Watch(113)

Dr. Chan brought me out of a dark tunnel of disgust. “There was enough blood to extract DNA and establish a blood type. Jordan, it—”

My cell phone rang. It was April.

“I’m sorry, just a minute, Dr. Chan, this could tie into what we’re talking about.”

I answered. “April, you got something for me?”

“Are you sitting down?” she said.

“Yeah. What is it?”

“You’re a very lucky young lady,” she said, “because the blood type on that bandage and the blood from your labs are both AB negative and a perfect DNA match.”

Let’s get these animals!

I put my phone on speaker so Dr. Chan could listen in.

“Wait, that’s not all. There were two blood types indicated on the bandage. The other was B positive.”

“How could that be?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What about the condom?”

“The blood DNA and the semen don’t match,” she said.

“Did Seth certify the results?”

“He’s doing the paperwork now,” she said.

“Has he checked the FBI database?”

“That’s next on the list,” she said.

“Wow! Okay, this is incredible! There’s a new development: Terrence Bankhead is being charged with sexually assaulting a sixteen-year-old girl. He has a hearing tomorrow at one o’clock. I need those certified results ASAP to get them to the police so the state’s attorney can introduce them into evidence.”

“Okay, I’m on it.”

“Thank you, April, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Dr. Chan, hearing it all, looked gobsmacked. “Have you discovered new evidence in the James case?”

“Yes! It’s a long story.”

“What I was about to tell you was that the blood under Masey’s nail was from her attacker, not her. She’s B positive, but the blood under her nail tested—”

“AB negative?”

“That’s right! The same as the tissue from your labs. The rarest of all blood types.”

I was speechless. I needed a minute to take it all in. But Dr. Chan said the words I couldn’t get out of my mind.

“The same person who attacked you killed Masey James.”

*

I asked Joey to meet me at the same gas station where we had met before off the Congress Expressway.

“Joey, has Terrence had a cheek swab?”

“No,” he said. “There’s no physical evidence connecting him to the assault, only the victim’s statement.”

“There could be. Let’s go sit in your car.”

“You know something I don’t?” he asked.

“Actually, I do,” as I adjusted the heat without even asking.

“Really? You’re cold?” He laughed.

“I am freezing! Look, I didn’t trust the system, so I kind of took matters into my own hands.”

I brought him up to speed. By the time I was finished, he sat there quietly, pensive. When he finally spoke, he said, “Who are you really?”

“This is who I am.”

“Then you’re in the wrong business.”

I wonder about that, too, sometimes.

“So how am I supposed to get all this into evidence? Say, ‘A reporter gave it to me’? The defense will take it apart.”

“They’d have a hard time explaining how the victim’s DNA ended up on that Band-Aid. But if it comes to that, you’re in luck. I earned my crime scene investigator certification a year ago,” I said. “Just haven’t been able to put it to use until now.”

Joey flashed me a look I’d never seen before. “Get outta here!”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’m certified in Texas, too.”

“But you’re a reporter,” he said.

Can you stop saying it like it’s a disease?

“Well, technically, I’m on leave right now.”

There was something else I thought about.

“If Brent was in the foster care system, the state should have his medical records with his blood type listed. Can you see what you can get from DCFS? They won’t give it to me.”

*

Pamela might be lost, but I wasn’t ready to give up on her yet. How could anyone be in their right mind after what she’d gone through? I texted her details about Terrence’s hearing, the time, the courtroom, and the case number. I REALLY WISH YOU’D COME.

The table was set for Terrence Bankhead to go down at last. I wouldn’t have asked her to attend if I thought he had a card in the deck that could beat the rap.

walking 2 u.



By the time I read Pamela’s text message, she and Cynthia Caruthers were walking up the courthouse steps at five till one.

“Glad you could make it,” I said. I was so happy to see her, I wanted to smile, but this was neither the time nor the place. Pam nodded, but apprehension was written all over her face.

We went through the revolving door. The security checkpoint line was disappointingly long. Before we got in line, a sheriff’s deputy opened a lane and flagged us over and people trailed us like a swarm of bees. Everything had to go into the scanner—our coats, purses, cell phones, even my reporter’s notebook. I cleared the metal detector first and waited for Pamela and Cynthia on the other side. Pamela took the longest to get through. Her studded belt set off the alarm and she had to strip it off and go through again.