Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(17)

Callie glanced at Brooke. “You can get make and model just from the paint?”

“Oftentimes, yes. The sample is analyzed not just by pigment, but also the layering involved—the undercoat, topcoat, clear coat—to narrow down the particular type of vehicle.”

“What about his fingerprints?” Sean asked.

Callie looked at him. “His?”

“It’s a boy’s bike, so we’re going with that assumption.” Brooke looked at Sean, who was watching her steadily with those hazel eyes.

“No prints. It’s the same problem we had at the crime scene. Very fragile evidence, and the rain doesn’t help us.” Brooke turned to Callie. “Based on the size of the bike and the lack of fingerprints, it’s probable it belongs to a boy between eight and ten.”

“Maybe our mystery witness?” Callie asked hopefully.

“It’s possible. The timing works. A neighbor heard a screech of brakes about nine p.m. We saw skid marks leading to the area where the bike was recovered. And a close examination of some of the crime-scene photos shows a tire mark on the driveway.”

“I’ve got them here,” Roland said from his computer.

Everyone gathered around his chair as he scrolled through a seemingly endless series of photographs. The shots started at the base of the driveway, capturing the car and the house, and then nearing the back door where the body was found.

“That’s a lot of photos,” Callie said.

“Shoot your way in, shoot your way out,” Brooke said. “That’s Maddie’s motto.”

“Here.” Roland stopped on a close-up shot of the driveway near the deck. A thin brown line on the asphalt appeared to be a muddy tire track.

“Zoom in on that,” Sean said.

Roland enlarged the image. It definitely looked like a mark made by a bike tire.

“The rain washed it away before anyone got a good look at it, but at least we have it on film,” Roland said.

“Does this mark match the bike?” Callie asked.

“Hard to say ‘match’ when all we’ve got to go on is a photograph,” Brooke told her. “But I would say it’s consistent with the bike we found in the hollow, which suggests the rider of the bike was at the crime scene.”

Callie tipped her head to the side. “So, the scenario is that this kid sees something terrifying, leaves the scene in a hurry and isn’t paying attention, and gets hit by a car as he races away?” She looked at Sean for confirmation.

“You’re assuming it’s an accident,” Sean said.

“You’re not?”

“Maybe the car belongs to the killer.”

Brooke shuddered. The possibility had kept her up all night. Had Samantha’s killer seen the child witness fleeing the house and tried to chase him down? If so, had the child escaped or not? A whole team of officers had combed the area last night, but they’d recovered no further clues beyond the crumpled bicycle and the youth-size Red Sox cap that Sean had found in the hollow.

“I hope you’re wrong about this,” Callie said. “But no matter what, we need to find this kid.”

“We’re also working on a shoe impression we recovered near the trash cans,” Roland said. “The feds maintain a database, and I submitted what we have. Haven’t heard back yet, but I can tell you it’s a herringbone tread pattern.”

“We’ll be able to get a brand for you,” Brooke said. “I can send you a picture, too, when it comes in.”

The lab phone rang, and Roland reached for it. “Trace evidence.” He listened for a few moments and looked at Brooke. “Sure, I’ll tell her.” He hung up. “That was Dave upstairs. He finished with the paint sample. Comes back to a Ford pickup or SUV, dark red.”

“Damn,” Callie said. “There have to be a lot of those in town. And statewide? We’re talking about thousands.”

“Date range ’96 to ’05,” Roland added. “That should help narrow it down.”

Alex Lovell stepped into the lab and looked surprised to see so many people. Her gaze settled on Brooke. “I got those results back.”

Brooked nodded.

“Whenever you get a minute.” Alex gave her a meaningful look and slipped out.

What had Alex found? Whatever it was, Brooke couldn’t think about it right now.

She turned to Sean. “One last thing—and it may or may not help you. The bicycle is a boy’s Mongoose mountain bike, around ten years old. Given that we think the boy riding it is around that age, it’s safe to say the bike’s a hand-me-down or possibly purchased at a resale shop. I know it’s a long shot, but—”

“We’ll check into it,” Sean said.

“We need to move on this vehicle lead.” Callie’s phone chimed, and she pulled it from the pocket of her blazer. “Sorry, I have to take this. Thanks for the fast turnaround, you guys.”

Callie stepped out, leaving Sean behind with Brooke and Roland.

“Walk me out?” Sean nodded at the door.

Brooke followed him into the dim hallway. The trace-evidence lab occupied a remote part of the Delphi Center, and she wasn’t used to so many visitors coming and going.

Sean propped his shoulder against the cinder-block wall and gazed down at her. “What’s wrong?”