Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(61)

“We could get a sample without him knowing,” Ric said. “A drinking straw or a cigarette butt, something like that.”

Rachel shook her head. “We went through all this earlier. Even if you got a hit, you would have targeted this man as a suspect merely because he shares a last name with someone who’s in the system. The whole thing is fruit of the poisoned tree. It would get tossed out of court in a minute, especially given Mahoney’s connections on the bench.”

An uneasy silence settled over the room.

Sean leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a hunch, Rachel. Think of all the coincidences we’re talking about here. The same social worker, the same judge, the murders within a few days of each other. So, this DNA lead isn’t one hundred percent? Don’t use it at trial, then. But it is a lead, and we can’t ignore it.”

Rachel took a deep breath and blew it out. She looked around the table, and her gaze settled on Sean.

“You think Judge Mahoney had something to do with these murders? Fine. Show me. Show me something in the victims’ phone records or emails. Show me a neighbor who saw his car out in front of Samantha’s house. Show me a suspect sketch from the kid who was there that night. You believe in this theory? Then get me something usable, God damn it, or don’t bother asking me to put my head on a chopping block!”

? ? ?

Callie watched the prosecutor stalk out the door. Then she turned to Sean. “Well, at least she didn’t freak out.”

He shot Callie a look, obviously not appreciating her sarcasm.

“God damn it, Byrne.” Everyone’s attention turned to Reynolds. “Don’t come in and drop this shit in my lap with the DA here.”

Sean lifted an eyebrow. “You planned to keep her out of the loop? Aren’t we going to need her when it’s time for a warrant?”

Reynolds leaned forward, getting red in the face. “Don’t give me your smart-ass crap, Byrne. She’s right. There’s no way we’re using a partial DNA hit for any kind of warrant against a judge. Not on my watch. So you better be ready to roll up your sleeves and do some real detective work.”

“I thought I was.”

Reynolds turned and jabbed a finger at Callie. “Get on the Bonner girl’s computer. We need it turned inside out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant turned to Ric. “Get working on those cell phones. I want a dump on both victims’ numbers going back twelve months. Calls, texts, everything.”

“I’m on it.”

“And get that boy in here for an interview.” Reynolds stood up and glared at Sean. “I want a suspect sketch on my desk by tomorrow.”





CHAPTER 18


Brooke returned to the lab, but she felt too agitated to be there. She worked her way through two evidence envelopes, all the while replaying the exchange with the prosecutor. Of course, in hindsight it was easy to think of all the perfect retorts that had eluded her in the heat of the moment.

Roland plopped a drinking glass on the worktable beside her. “You missed a print.”

She glanced up at him. “I did not.”

He switched off the spotlight above her head. Then he took out a flashlight and aimed it through the glass at an oblique angle, illuminating a partial fingerprint that had somehow escaped her black powder.

“Oh.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s it? ‘Oh’?”

“What do you want me to say? I made a mistake.”

“Yeah, no kidding. What the fuck’s with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” He went back to his table.

Brooke stared at the glass. Roland was right. Her concentration was crap this afternoon and so was her work product. And she had no right to be sitting here handling evidence.

She stopped what she was doing and put it away for tomorrow. Then she packaged up the drinking glass to reexamine later. She grabbed her purse and left the lab without a word. It was almost five, which was ahead of her typical departure time, but she was better off leaving early than staying here and screwing things up.

On the way to her car she scrolled through her phone until she found Kaitlyn Spence’s number. By the third ring, Brooke’s heart was racing. When Kaitlyn finally picked up, Brooke felt a wave of relief.

“Hi, it’s Brooke Porter.”

“Hi.” Kaitlyn sounded surprised but not hostile. For some crazy reason, she didn’t seem to blame Brooke for what had happened last night.

“I just wanted to check on you and Cameron.” From the background noise, it sounded like Kaitlyn was in her car. “How’s everything going today?”

“You really want to know? Terrible.”

Brooke slid behind the wheel, but didn’t start the engine. She heard shuffling noises and then Cameron’s voice in the background asking for McDonald’s.

“I told you, Cam, no more fast food. . . . Brooke? Sorry, you’re on speakerphone. We’re in the car.” Kaitlyn sighed. “It’s been a bad day.”

“What happened?”

“They want us to spend the night at the shelter again. And I’m missing another dinner shift, but my boss won’t reschedule me. But who cares, right? It’s only money.” Brooke heard the stress in Kaitlyn’s voice. “And to top it off, I just left the police station, where they totally grilled me like they think I’m some drug dealer or something. Or maybe they think Sam was. Those guys need to get a clue. Sam didn’t touch drugs or even alcohol. She ate freaking veggie shakes for breakfast.”