Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(15)

Her voice vibrated with determination, and Sean had no doubt she’d do it. Brooke was smart and tough and good at her job.

Underneath her toughness, he detected some skittishness, though. He didn’t know what it was about, but he was determined to get past it. He wanted to get to know her better.

She turned and picked her way down the creaky wooden steps.

“Speaking of dogs,” she said, “we found dog hair on one of the sofa cushions.”

“She didn’t have a dog.”

“Maybe she had a visitor who does. Maybe an ex-boyfriend, or her friend Amy, or possibly the child we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’s a dog and not a cat?” he asked. “I noticed a striped tabby hanging around here.”

“Animal hair varies by species. Microscopic examination reveals different scale patterns on the hair cuticle. It’s definitely a dog.”

Sean wasn’t going to argue. He knew jack shit about scale patterns on hair cuticle. But it seemed odd for the victim to have dog hair on her couch when she didn’t have a dog. “You know what kind of dog?”

“Long, light hair. Possibly a Labrador mix.”

Sean filed it away as she went to stand in the spot where Samantha’s car had been parked. The Kia was now at the Delphi Center garage.

“You guys start on the car yet?”

She nodded. “We didn’t get much. It’s clean and well maintained. Recently had an oil change. Again, not the usual MO for a drug addict. There’s something else we’re working on, though.”

Sean perked up. She had that tone she always got when she was onto something, but didn’t want to get his hopes up. “What is it?”

“Let me show you.”

She led him to the trash cans at the side of the one-car garage. Last night Sean had checked out the dilapidated structure, which was used as a storage shed for torn screens and old paint cans.

“We believe the victim was ambushed,” Brooke said. “So the killer had to have been hiding somewhere nearby, then approached her from behind for the attack. I think he was crouched here behind the trash cans. Roland found a footwear impression that corroborates that theory.”

“I thought we didn’t have any footprints because of the rain?”

“This wasn’t in the dirt. Roland recovered a small styrofoam box, like you get for fast food, flattened right here beside the trash can. You’ll see it if you go through all the crime-scene photos. Looks like someone stepped on the box while he was crouched here. It’s only a partial impression, but the herringbone tread pattern looks consistent with a small portion of a footprint made in blood on the bottom step of the deck. So, we’re thinking it’s the killer.”

“Any idea the shoe size?”

“No, and we’re not optimistic on that because it isn’t a full print. But we’re running the tread pattern through the database to see if we can get the type of shoe. We’re lucky with the styrofoam—it’s pretty impervious to the elements.”

“I’ll take any luck we can get, at this point.”

A woman at the end of the driveway caught Sean’s attention. She was pretending to walk her dog as she watched what they were doing. The woman was short and heavyset, and she had a yappy terrier on the end of the leash.

Sean strolled over to her. “Evening, ma’am.”

She nodded warily.

“Detective Sean Byrne.” He gave her a smile. “Do you live on this street?”

“On the end there. Right before the hollow.”

So, this would be Mrs. Morton, the widow who lived alone. Sean had read Jasper’s interview notes.

“Have they caught him yet?” She squinted at the house.

“We’re working on it. Ma’am, have you seen any suspicious people or vehicles around here lately? Maybe even today?”

She shook her head. “Except for the news van. They were here this morning, but they haven’t been back since.”

“And were you home last night?”

“I was at church. Wednesday potluck. Then I stopped by the store. I came home about nine and unloaded a few groceries.”

Sean nodded. “Do you remember any cars you might have passed?”

“The officer yesterday asked that. I don’t remember any.”

“Hear any noises or commotion?”

“Well, it was raining. Not a lot, but enough to keep people indoors instead of walking their dogs and whatnot.” She tipped her head to the side. “When I was unloading the groceries, I heard a screech of brakes down by the bridge. People are always taking that turn too fast and running off the road there. Someone did it last night, too.”

Sean’s pulse picked up. “What time was this noise?”

“Like I said, about nine. Maybe a little before.”

The first responder had arrived at nine fifteen. The wreck that held up Sean and Ric had happened even later than that.

Sean took out a business card. “Thanks for your help tonight. If you think of anything else—”

“I’ll be sure to call.” She took the card.

Brooke joined Sean at the end of the driveway as Mrs. Morton and her terrier walked off. “What was that about?”

“Come on.”