Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(7)

Reynolds jotted some notes on a legal pad. “And what do we know about her?”

“She’s single, no kids. Works as a shift manager at a coffee shop here in town,” Ric said. “And we stopped over there on our way back in. Her boss tells us she was also taking classes at the university.”

Reynolds shook his head. “Just what we need. A dead college student. The media’s going to be all over this.”

Sean felt Brooke tense beside him.

“As for cause of death,” Ric continued, flipping open his notebook, “sharp-force injury to the neck. Specifically, transection of the left and right carotid arteries, and incision of the left and right jugular veins.”

“So, he slit her throat,” Reynolds said.

Ric nodded, although that description seemed mild to Sean. Brooke’s was closer to the truth. He’d damn near cut her head off.

“From the angle of the wound,” Sean said, “the ME thinks he grabbed her from behind and tipped her head back.”

Brooke shuddered.

“Murder weapon is a large knife with a serrated blade,” Ric added. “Probably a hunting knife.”

Across the table, Callie grimaced. She’d been on the scene last night, but the body had already been removed, so she hadn’t seen the full extent of the carnage. You could tell a lot from the amount of blood everywhere, though.

Reynolds looked around the table. “What else? We have the murder weapon?”

“No,” Sean said.

“We canvassed the area,” Jasper put in. “We didn’t find it, so it looks like he took it with him, although we didn’t find any blood trails leading away from the body. But that may be because of the rain.”

Ric flipped another page in his notebook. “No defensive wounds on her hands or arms. No sexual assault.”

“The pathologist thinks the whole attack lasted a few seconds,” Sean said. “He thinks it was an ambush.”

Reynolds blew out a breath. “What about witnesses?”

“We interviewed the neighbors,” Callie said. “Nobody saw anything until the woman next door let her dog out and spotted the body there on the back porch. There’s a chain-link fence between the two houses.”

“Well, shit.” Reynolds looked around the table. “You’re basically saying that this girl was murdered on her doorstep and nobody saw a damn thing. What about the lab work?” His gaze homed in on Brooke.

She folded her hands on top of her file, and Sean admired her calm in the face of the lieutenant’s bluster. “The ME sent us her fingerprint card this morning. We lifted prints from the doorknobs, both interior and exterior, and all those come back to the victim. Also, we found no blood trails or bloody shoe prints inside that would indicate the perpetrator entered the house after the attack.”

“Why would he?” Reynolds looked at Sean. “You said it was an ambush.”

Sean cleared his throat. “Well, the back door was open, so it looked like someone might have been inside.”

“Open as in unlocked, or open open?”

“Standing open,” Sean told the lieutenant. “Right, Brooke? You made the scene before I did.”

She nodded. “The crime-scene photos confirm that. The door was open with the victim’s body a few inches away. Our CSIs collected other fingerprints, too. On her car door, for instance. Those belonged to her, as well.”

“What about the baggie from the car?” Ric asked.

“I haven’t seen the results of the drug test, but I printed the plastic bag this morning. I got one good print and it belongs to the victim.”

The lieutenant’s bushy eyebrows popped up. “Wait, drugs?”

“A little over two grams of cocaine,” Ric said. “It was in the glove box.”

“So, what’s your case theory, then?” Reynolds looked around the table. “Are you thinking it’s a drug thing?”

“We don’t have a case theory yet,” Sean said. “And I don’t think it’s a drug thing.”

“Why not?”

Sean hesitated a beat. “That’s not the impression I get based on the evidence so far.”

Reynolds blew out a sigh. “So, we’ve got no murder weapon. No witnesses. No blood trails, no bloody shoe prints, no fingerprints except the victim’s. We’ve got no case theory, except maybe drugs, but you’re not convinced.” Reynolds tossed down his pencil and crossed his arms. “Sounds to me like we got a whole lot of nothing.”

“Actually, that’s not accurate.”

Everyone turned to Brooke.

“I think you have a witness.”





CHAPTER 3


Five pairs of eyes bored into her.

“I believe the witness is a child.”

“A child?” The lieutenant turned to Ric. “You said she lived alone.”

“No husband, no kids,” Ric said.

Brooke looked at Sean, whose attention was fixed on her. She could tell he understood the gravity of what she was saying. “Why do you think it’s a child?” he asked.

She glanced around the room at all the gazes. Interested, definitely. But skeptical, too. Cops were skeptical by nature. Brooke didn’t mind, but it meant she had to make a strong case.