What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(44)

Below that email was a message from an address Tracy didn’t recognize.

Noreply@guerril amail.com

She was about to delete it, thinking it junk mail or a potential virus that would cause her computer to implode, but the department had a server that weeded out such email and protected against viruses. In theory anyway. Tracy clicked on the email.

Re: David Slocum Autopsy

Tracy’s stomach fluttered. Goose bumps ran along her arms, like being home alone on a dark night with the drapes open and feeling as though someone was watching her. She read the email.

Gunshot residue minimal on David Slocum’s right hand. None on left hand.

Slocum left-handed.

Bullet entry left temple.

Bullet trajectory angled slightly downward.

Slocum did not own a gun.

No suicide note.

Tracy hit “Reply” and typed, “Who is this?”

Moments later she received an expected reply indicating no such address.

She printed out the email, afraid it might disappear, or self-destruct like in the old Mission: Impossible television shows. She studied what had been typed. As interesting as she found the contents, she was even more interested in the sender. She forwarded the email to the tech department asking that they identify anything and everything about the email including from where it had been sent.

She went back to the six bullet points. Slocum being left-handed made it far more probable he would have shot himself in the left temple, but also that residue would have been found on Slocum’s left hand, not his right. Tracy closed her eyes and thought of the gruesome photographs of David Slocum seated in the driver’s seat, his left temple exposed to the window. If someone had shot him, the killer would have been standing, and the angle of the bullet would have been downward. The gun had been found on the passenger-side floorboard, which seemed near impossible if Slocum had shot himself with his left hand. The gun, absent some gymnastics, would have more likely been found near the driver’s seat.

Whoever sent the email intended to communicate something Tracy already suspected but could not yet prove. David Slocum did not kill himself. She was about to forward the email to Kelly Rosa and ask her to quietly go through the autopsy report and provide Tracy with her assessment, but she didn’t want that request on the police server. She’d send Rosa an email from her private account.

About to log off her computer, she stopped when an email from Chief Weber popped up atop her list. A moment later Tracy’s desk phone rang. Caller ID indicated the call was from Chief Weber.

“You got my email?” Weber asked.

“Just opening it now.”

“You’re prepared for the press conference at ten o’clock this morning to discuss the final bodies found in Curry Canyon and bring closure of this matter?”

Tracy had completely forgotten about the press conference.

She lied. “I’m prepared,” she said, though she’d spent less than ten minutes thinking about what she might say.

“This matter can be closed; can it not?”

“Rosa has confirmed that no other bodies have been found or show up on ground imaging.”

Tracy snuck a peek at the clock in the right corner of her computer screen. The press conference was in just thirty minutes.

She swore under her breath.

“I want you to go over the number of victims in general but also specifically, if asked. There will be family members of the two latest victims present, as well as family of the other victims, and I want to present a unified front that we have brought closure to these families.” More public grandstanding, Tracy knew, but necessary.

“Rosa will be present to answer any questions related to medical and forensic issues and specifically to advise that no more bodies are

buried up there, that we aren’t abandoning the site. We worked it, and we’re confident we have not left a body up there.”

“Understood,” Tracy said.

“Good. What are you working on?”

About to answer, Tracy caught herself. Maybe Childress had the right idea not to tell her bosses the details of what she worked on.

“I’m cleaning up the files from Curry Canyon. Then I’ll start evaluating files with the greatest chance for a resolution.”

“You might want to come up with something more concrete. I’m going to emphasize that we are moving expeditiously to close as many cold cases as advances in science allow, and that is now your responsibility. I’d like to give the press something concrete.”

“I’ll take a look at some of the files Nunzio had at the top of his list.”

“I’ll see you in the conference room at nine forty-five.”

That left Tracy fifteen minutes. This would be like cramming for a final.

She hung up and pulled up the cheat sheet she had created for each of the victims buried under the home in North Seattle or in Curry Canyon, including the names of their family members. For the next ten minutes she studied the material. The information came back to her quickly, but not quickly enough. She was out of time. She decided to bring the sheet with her in case she needed it. She set it aside and picked up Nunzio’s summary of his most promising files for resolution—those with available DNA. She looked at the clock on her computer screen. No time. She’d read it on the way.

She stepped from her office with both cheat sheets and hurried down the hall, studying Nunzio’s list.