Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(85)

Brynn cast a glance at Conlon, who was looking panicked.

“Can you give us an example of secondary transfer?”

“Yes. For example, a husband and wife share a bathroom. The husband comes home sweaty from work, wipes his face on a towel, then hangs the towel on top of a towel used by his wife. Now the wife’s towel might show trace amounts of her husband’s DNA.”

“I see. Are there any other locations in a household where this type of transfer can occur?”

“Any number of places, if you’ve got multiple people sharing the same space. The bathroom. The laundry hamper. The washing machine.”

Brynn looked at the jury. Their eyes were glued to the doctor. “This transfer of DNA can happen in a washing machine?”

“That’s correct.”

“What about if the dirty clothes in the machine are put through a cycle? Can trace amounts of DNA still be recovered?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “They’ve done studies on the subject. When it comes to DNA, our methods of analysis are extremely sensitive now. Even after a cycle with detergent, trace amounts of DNA from bodily fluids can be found on the clothes.”

“Bodily fluids, including blood?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Brynn glanced at the jurors to see if they understood. Several did—she could tell by the appalled looks on their faces. Joel Sebring had taken his cousin’s car to a drug deal, where he’d shot a man at close range. Then he’d gone over to his aunt’s house to kick back and play video games before letting his cousin take the fall for the murder.

“And if an item of clothing with blood on it was put into a wash cycle with other items of clothing,” Brynn said, “could those other items of clothing be contaminated with trace amounts of DNA from the blood?”

“That’s quite possible, yes.”

She glanced at Conlon. The prosecutor looked stricken. This one witness had raised reasonable doubt about every scrap of forensic evidence the prosecution had put forward—from the gunshot residue on the steering wheel and Justin’s hands to the traces of the victim’s DNA found on Justin’s clothing. Brynn could have kept hammering, but she sensed it was better to quit while she was ahead.

“Thank you, Dr. Wheeler. No further questions.”

Before Conlon could get up for his cross-examination, Linden hit his gavel and announced the afternoon break. Brynn watched the jurors file out. This time, when she left the courtroom, she was walking on air.

She turned to Hayes. “Did you see that?”

“I did, yeah.”

She glanced around the crowded hallway, but Erik wasn’t there. He’d missed her humiliation this morning, but he’d missed her redemption, too. It didn’t matter, though. The jury had seen it, and that was what counted. For the first time in days, Justin had a fighting chance.

A deafening squeal pierced her ears.

“Fire alarm,” Hayes said.

Someone grasped Brynn’s arm, and she turned around to see Keith.

“What—”

“Get her out of here,” Keith ordered.

They each grabbed an arm and propelled her down the hall.

“What? Where are we going?”

“In the event of an emergency, our orders are to get you to a secure location,” Hayes said, plowing through the crowd.

“What location?”

“The holding cells downstairs.”

Erik rushed down the stairwell, straining to hear over the earsplitting noise. Evacuees from dozens of courtrooms and administrative offices clogged the stairs.

“Hayes, report!” he yelled into his radio.

“We’ve got Brynn. One of the bailiffs said it’s”—static blared over the radio—“threat.”

“Hayes, repeat.”

“It’s a bomb threat. Someone just called it in.”

Erik didn’t like a bomb threat, especially one that was called in over the phone. Callers don’t bomb, and bombers don’t call. It was a saying he’d picked up during his training. Most phone-in threats turned out to be fake, whereas real bombers typically struck without warning.

“I don’t like it,” he told Hayes.

“You think it’s a hoax?”

“I think it’s Corby. Get Brynn to a holding cell ASAP.” Erik pushed past the crowd, sliding down a banister. Five levels to go. “Do not leave her side. You copy?”

“Copy that.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The holding cells were full.

People jostled her from every direction as bailiffs and sheriff’s deputies pulled prisoners through the hallway. It was mayhem, with way too many sweaty, overheated bodies squeezed into way too tight a space.

Keith pulled Brynn against the cinder-block wall and shielded her with his bulk.

“All the rooms are full,” he told Hayes.

“We can’t stay in here.” Hayes looked up and down the hallway, clearly unnerved by the crowd.

Brynn was unnerved, too. This part of the courthouse typically was run with careful precision, but the fire alarm’s constant wail and the sudden evacuation of hundreds of people had turned everything topsy-turvy. Brynn couldn’t help thinking of all the ways someone with nefarious intent might take advantage of the confusion.