Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(9)

Dixon pushed open the door and the usually head-turning blonde was a disheveled mess. “Slept like shit.”

“Me, too.”

“Can you be ready in twenty? I just got a call from Matt Aaron. He’s at the B&B, and he found something.”



MATTHEW AARON’S forensic kit was splayed open. A bottle of luminol was on the bathroom vanity and a square of carpet was missing from an area partially beneath the large overstuffed bed.

Vail and Dixon stood in the doorway. Oh, shit. Her mind added it up in milliseconds: Luminol. A sample cutout. He found blood. Robby’s blood?

“You want us to put booties on?” Dixon asked.

Aaron waved a hand, welcoming them in. “Maid already cleaned it, right? So forget about it being a useful crime scene. But I vacuumed anyway, did a full workup, just in case. I’m about ready to close up shop.”

They ventured in, Vail stopping by the conspicuously defiled carpet. “You found something.”

“I did. I covered the place in luminol—the proprietor probably isn’t going to be too happy with me—but I’m glad I did. I got a hit right there.” He nodded to the area beside the bed. “So I cut away the carpet and sprayed again. When you have heavy blood loss, it seeps down into the carpet fibers—”

“And into the pad,” Vail said.

“And into the pad. It lit up like a purple battlefield. So I took the pad, too. We’ll run it for DNA and see what it shows.”

Vail’s shoulders slumped. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside the void in the carpet. “It could be from something else. It might not be Robby’s.”

“That’s what the DNA will tell us. Do you have an exemplar we can use for comparison?”

“I can get you one.” Vail’s eyes remained on the carpet. “Whatever happened here, there was substantial blood loss.”

“Not enough that someone bled out,” Dixon said. “Right?”

“Probably not. But the sooner you can get Detective Hernandez’s DNA—”

“Whoever caused that wound didn’t want anyone finding it,” Dixon said. “They cleaned it pretty good. We didn’t see anything.”

“Nothing,” Aaron said, “until the luminol.”

Vail nodded slowly. She pulled her BlackBerry and tapped out an email to Bledsoe, asking him to go over to Robby’s house and get some hair from his bathroom, as well as his toothbrush. She told him to overnight the hair to the Sheriff’s Department, and to bring the other sample to the FBI lab.

“Can you send a section of the carpet pad to the FBI?” Vail asked.

Aaron, who had begun packing his case, froze. His set jaw and narrowed eyes said all that needed to be said.

“I want a second set of eyes looking at this. No offense.”

“You know,” Aaron said, “whenever someone says, ‘No offense,’ it’s usually preceded or followed by an offensive remark. And why shouldn’t I take offense that you don’t trust my work?”

“Matt,” Dixon said. “Please. Just do it.” She tapped Vail on the shoulder and extended a hand. Vail grabbed it and Dixon pulled her up.

Vail sighed deeply, then looked around the room. She had only stayed there a couple of nights, but they held intense memories of Robby. Her eyes lingered on the bed, where they had spent their last hours together.

No. Not our last. Please, not our last.





7


As Dixon drove back to the Sheriff’s Department, Vail left a voice mail for her son Jonathan to call her when he took his lunch break, or between classes if he had enough time.

They used their electronic proximity cards to enter the secured section of the building and headed to the task force conference room, where Brix was seated beside Merilynn Lugo. The woman’s face was streaked and flushed.

Vail sat beside her. “I’m glad you came. We sure could use your help.”

Brix shook his head. “She’s here because she wants our help.”

“Of course,” Dixon said. She remained standing, across the conference table from Merilynn and Vail. “Anything.”

Brix cleared his throat and curled his face into a squint.

Reading Brix’s expression, Vail guessed they were thinking the same thing: blindly offering “anything” was dangerous.

“She wants witness protection,” Brix said. “Federal witness protection.”

There was a long silence as Vail and Dixon processed her request. Merilynn kept her gaze on the table, apparently content to let Brix do the talking for the moment.

“To get that,” Vail finally said, “to even get consideration, you’d have to level with us. Tell us everything you know.”

“I can’t live like this anymore,” Merilynn said. “I need protection.”

“Protection from what?” Dixon said.

“WITSEC, the witness security program, isn’t something that’s given out lightly,” Vail said. “There are procedures and requirements. It has to be approved.”

“You’re the FBI, you can make it happen.”

Vail shook her head. “It’s not like that, Mrs. Lugo. The FBI doesn’t administer WITSEC. The Department of Justice does. Application has to be made to the Office of Enforcement Operations, and it has to be approved by DOJ headquarters. Then you’re interviewed by the U.S. Marshals Service, which oversees the program, to determine if you’re a good fit.”