A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  “Yesterday.”

  Standard again. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “What’s this about?”

  “That, I can’t say. Only that it’s highly sensitive. After you generate the profile, send it straight back to me.”

  “Our database tech can enter it—”

  “Not this time.” His gaze locked with hers.

  Mia folded her arms over her chest, trying not to get defensive. “Background checks on the tracers are very thorough. I trust every one of my colleagues, so—”

  “I’m sure you do.” Holt stood up and rested his hands on his hips. His silver star gleamed at her, reminding her of the early days of her career when she’d paid her dues at the state crime lab. “I’d tell you more about it if I could, but you’re gonna have to take my word for it. It’s a sensitive case. You’re the only person I trust.”

  She nodded. “All right, then. I’ll start on it today.”

  “Thanks.” He squeezed her arm affectionately. “I sure appreciate it.”

  When he was gone, she stared at her empty doorway until the telephone yanked her back to the present.

  She picked up the receiver. “DNA.”

  “You have visitors down in the lobby, Mia.”

  She checked her watch. It would be Troy and his detective friend. Another face from the past. Mia glanced at her reflection in the glass cabinet. She tucked a wayward curl back into her ponytail and sighed. It had been years since she’d had a good hair day and almost as long since she’d had a good date.

  Troy Stockton. Here we go.

  “I’ll be right down,” she said.

  Nathan pulled into work and knew it was going to be a shit day. All the clues were there: no coffee filters, a sopping wet newspaper, a sharp pain behind his eyeballs every time he looked at the sun.

  Maybe Alex was right and he should get his eye checked out. Or maybe his headache had more to do with her than the punk who’d sucker punched him a few days before.

  The station house was buzzing with activity as Nathan walked in. Only Friday morning, and the weekend rush had already started. Nathan hiked up the stairs to his department, trying to recall the last time he’d had two consecutive days for recreation.

  “Yo, Dev.”

  He turned to see Hodges coming toward him, a manila folder in his hand. More reports Nathan hadn’t had time to read.

  “We got a problem,” Hodges said.

  Nathan ducked into the break room, where the coffeepot was empty, of course.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked, fishing his wallet from his pocket and turning to the vending machine.

  “Floater from Lake Austin,” Hodges said. “Strangling victim.”

  A Coke thunked down, and Nathan retrieved it from the machine. “What about him?”

  “I followed up on that phone number we found on the matchbook in his pocket,” Hodges said. “Took me a while to track it down.”

  Nathan popped the top and chugged, eyeing his partner’s face over the top of the can. Hodges looked much too intense for the average day at the office, even in homicide.

  “What?” Nathan asked.

  “It’s a corporate account, belongs to A.L. Enterprises.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And that’s a shell company,” Hodges said. “Owned by Alexandra Lovell.”

  Alex hadn’t expected one of the world’s foremost DNA experts to be cute. But that was the first word that popped into her head as she watched Mia Voss walk across the lobby.

  Alex told herself to reserve judgment, at least until the woman opened her mouth. When Mia reached them, Troy pulled her into a hug while she regarded Alex with curious blue eyes.

  “You must be Alex,” she said, and Alex could tell by her tone she’d been expecting a man.

  They exchanged a polite handshake. “Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” Alex said.

  “Troy tells me you’re down from Austin. So… you’re with APD?”

  “Not exactly,” Troy said. “Hey, you mind giving us the tour before we head up to the lab? Alex has never been here.”

  “Sure.” Mia glanced at the visitor’s badge clipped to Alex’s shirt. “Looks like you’re all checked in.”

  She led them across the spacious lobby toward a pair of Doric columns. Alex wasn’t sure what to make of the place. Or the guide, for that matter. Besides the predictable lab coat, Mia wore faded jeans and ankle boots, and her strawberry blond hair was pulled back in a black scrunchie. Alex suddenly wondered whether this pretty young doctor was one of Troy’s many ex-girlfriends.

  Alex cut a glance at him as they walked. Instead of signing in as Alex had and having his driver’s license swiped for a criminal background check, he’d simply pressed his palm against a screen at the front desk. The receptionist had waved him right in. How had he gotten that sort of clearance? She’d asked, but he’d shrugged off the question, which had only piqued her curiosity.

  They passed through the columns and into a long corridor, and the architecture fast-forwarded into the twenty-first century.

  “We call this wing Plants and Ants,” Mia said over her shoulder. “Our botanists and entomologists work here.”

  Alex glanced back and forth at the glass doors as they passed. Behind each one, she saw stainless steel counters and sinks, lots of cumbersome-looking equipment, a few scientists in goggles peering into microscopes.

  “Is it my imagination,” she whispered to Troy, “or are we going down?”

  “We are,” Mia said from several steps ahead. “I’m taking you past our Bones Unit. They work in the basement.”

  The temperature cooled as they descended. Alex had thought the complex looked large from the front steps, but she’d had no idea it extended so far underground.

  Mia came to a double glass door. She rested her palm on the screen to the right, and the panels parted. A wall of cold air hit them.

  “This is where we do cadaver research,” Mia said. “All the workrooms are closed off, but the entire section stays at about fifty degrees.”

  Alex rubbed her bare arms and wished for a lab coat like Mia’s. As they moved through the corridor, she gazed through a long window at a group of people with clipboards and eye shields huddled around a table.

  “That’s Osteology.” Mia stopped and nodded at the glass. “Looks like a class going on right now.”

  Alex craned her neck, but she couldn’t get much of a view. “What are they looking at?”

  “A skeleton,” Mia said. “They brought it in from the body farm this morning.”

  Alex sent her a questioning look.

  “We’ve got about a hundred acres southwest of the building where we research decomposition. How human remains react under different conditions—car trunks, ponds, open fields.”

  Mia resumed the brisk pace. “Used to be, the country’s primary body farm was in Tennessee. But we get different kinds of weather and wildlife out here, so ours is more helpful for law enforcement agencies in the Southwest.”

  Mia led them around a corner and stopped at an elevator. When the doors dinged open, she stepped inside and flattened her palm to the screen before pressing the button for the sixth floor, which was labeled DNA/COMP. Alex read the other choices: IDENT, TRACE, PHOTO, QD.

  “What’s ‘QD’?” Alex asked.

  “Questioned Documents. I’d take you by there, but they’re hosting VIPs today. Some group from Britain, I believe.”

  “Delphi’s getting attention from all over the world.” Troy smiled slyly. “Almost like Quantico.”

  Mia shot him a look. “Better than Quantico.”

  The doors dinged open, and Alex kept her skepticism to herself as they stepped into a sunlit hallway. She squinted up at the glass ceiling. “Guess you get to work in the solarium?”

  “Actually, no.” Mia led them down the hall as Alex gazed down through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the courtyard six stories below. They passed another interior window, and Alex stopped short. “Holy hell
,” she muttered.

  “Knew you’d like this part,” Troy said.

  Alex gaped at the enormous room filled with sleek new machines: computers, servers, 3D laser scanners. A trio of latex-gloved men stood around a table at the end of one of the rows. One of them slowly waved a scanner over a skull, and the image appeared on a nearby screen.

  “That’s Digital Imaging and Cyber Crimes.” Mia looked at Alex. “I take it you like computers?”

  “Yeah.” Alex itched to go explore, but she had a feeling her visitor’s badge wouldn’t get her inside.

  Troy leaned in close. “Jealous?” he asked, and his breath was warm against Alex’s ear.

  He was talking about the computers.

  “Not really,” she said. “I just upgraded, so I’m not in the market.”

  Mia passed another row of windows, and Alex saw more scientists with eye shields working at tables. Then Mia stopped at a door and did her palm routine again. The panel slid open.

  “This,” she said, stepping inside, “is where I work.”

  They followed her into a windowless room, and the door slid shut with a whoosh. The space was dim, the only light coming from a desk lamp sitting on the counter beside an open file folder.

  Alex glanced around. The center of the space was occupied by a rectangular, slate-topped table. Three microscopes were arranged in a neat row on top. On the far wall were shelves filled with glassware: beakers, test tubes, lots of other stuff Alex couldn’t identify. A red biohazard bin sat tucked in a corner.

  “Is this all yours?” she asked Mia.

  “Not really. Most of our DNA tracers work in the bigger lab next door. I like this room because it’s dark, and I work with lots of alternative light sources, chemicals that fluoresce, stuff like that.” Mia gestured to a stool. “Have a seat. Show me what you brought.”

  Feeling a bit self-conscious now, Alex pulled out the plastic sandwich bag containing her “evidence.” It seemed out of place here, amid all the cutting-edge equipment. She passed it to Mia.

  “Hmm.” She held up the bag. “Next time, use paper.”

  “Paper?”

  “To transport evidence,” Mia said. “Plastic containers can accelerate the deterioration of biological specimens. So what is it you want to know about this?”

  “Well.” Now Alex felt even more self-conscious. “First off, I’m not sure whether it’s blood.”

  “Let’s find out.” Mia reached for a box on the counter behind her and snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. She pulled down a metal arm suspended from the ceiling and switched on a light. The glare was intense, and Alex was reminded of visiting the dentist’s office.

  “I’ll just do a quick TMB test,” she said, taking some supplies from a drawer. She tore a piece of paper from a wide roll, arranged it on the table, and emptied the plastic bag on top of it. Then she dampened a cotton swab with some sort of liquid and bent over the earbud.

  “What’s that?” Alex asked.

  “Distilled water.” She dabbed gently until the tip of the cotton swab was pink. Then she dampened a paper strip with the water and held the swab against it. “This is a Hemastix strip.” She glanced up. “We’re looking for it to change color. Sort of like a home pregnancy test.”

  Troy eased closer. Alex pulled up a stool and sat down to wait. Soon the paper turned greenish-blue.

  “It’s blood,” Mia announced. “Next question, is it human blood? I would guess yes, since it’s on an earbud, but you never know. Just this morning I tested blood droplets on a pair of boots that belong to a murder suspect. Odocoileus virgianus, unfortunately. White-tailed deer.” She sighed. “My homicide detective isn’t going to be very happy. Anyway, I’ll run what’s called a precipitin test to be sure.”

  Alex glanced at the cotton swab. “Aren’t you worried about using up the sample?”

  “It’s okay. We’ve got methods now to replicate DNA so that we can get a usable sample from a very small amount. I can get one off a single hair follicle, if I need to.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s human blood, given the circumstances,” Alex said. “The question is, whose?”

  “You want a DNA profile,” Mia stated.

  “I guess.” Alex glanced at Troy. He hadn’t told her that when he set up the appointment?

  “And I assume you also want us to run it through the database for you.”

  “Depends.” Troy claimed the stool beside Alex, and she felt reassured by his closeness. “Alex believes the blood belongs to a murder victim.”

  Mia’s brows arched. “A victim? Would they be in the missing-persons index?”

  “What’s that?” Alex asked.

  “The national DNA database has three main parts,” Troy said. “One is for profiles lifted from crime scenes—that’s the forensic index. Then there’re profiles from offenders. The third part is missing persons. Profiles from un-IDed remains.”

  “It also includes donated profiles,” Mia added, “from families who are looking for someone, hoping they’ll turn up someday.”

  “I see.” Alex felt the weight of her ignorance. “Sorry, but this isn’t really my area. Tracing people in cyberspace, I know all about. Tracing people through genetic codes, I’m way out of my league.” Alex looked at Troy. “I doubt Melanie’s in the database, though. I mean, I’m the only one who even believes she’s missing. And she doesn’t have a criminal record.”

  Mia tipped her head to the side, clearly confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand your objective here. Your department thinks someone was murdered? And they sent you here to—”

  “I’m not a police officer,” Alex cut in. “I’m a private investigator. One of my clients disappeared, and I think there was foul play involved.”

  Mia gave Troy a look, but Alex couldn’t decipher it. Had he misled her about why they were here today? Or maybe she was annoyed to be wasting her time with a civilian.

  “Alex is trying to convince police that her client is dead,” Troy said. “She wants a murder investigation. But the only evidence she has is this”—Troy nodded at the earbud—“and a burned-down house, where her client was staying. Alex thinks the killer set fire to the place to conceal the crime.”

  Mia leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. “So there isn’t even a case yet, really. Just your belief that something bad happened to this woman.”

  “That about sums it up,” Alex said.

  Mia watched her for a moment, drumming her fingertips against her sleeve. “All right.” She shrugged. “Works for me.”

  Alex stared at her. She was going to help. Alex hadn’t really believed it until just this moment, and she didn’t know what to say.

  “What?” Mia glanced at Troy. “That’s why you came here, right? To make your case?”

  “I’m just surprised,” Alex said. “Getting the tests run… this detective I know made it sound like such a big deal.”

  “I get that a lot,” Mia said. “Old dogs, new tricks, and all that. Most cops still look at DNA as something used to prosecute a case, not investigate. It’s one of the biggest problems we’re up against.” Her voice took on an edge as she talked. “With the technology available now, that’s so shortsighted. We can use DNA to put a weapon in someone’s hand. To put a perp at a crime scene where he claims he’s never been. We can pile up evidence and pressure someone into a confession, save the taxpayers a big trial. But that’s not happening right now because the system is broken. We’ve got this amazing technology, but we’re really only using it to prosecute cases that have already been solved.”

  The room fell silent, and Mia’s words hung in the air. Alex realized this woman was on a mission.

  “Sorry.” Mia rolled her eyes. “Bottom line, yes, I’ll help you. I assume you brought me another sample? Something I can compare to this blood, see if I get a match?”

  Alex pulled another plastic bag from her purse, this one containing the envelope Melanie had given her last October when she’d put a
down payment on Alex’s services.

  It was the only payment Alex had managed to collect from her.

  “I watched Melanie lick this envelope.” Alex handed Mia the bag. “Will that work for you?”

  She smiled. “Like a charm.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Troy turned onto Alex’s street, and she glanced out the passenger window for the hundredth time today. No tail. But still, she felt uneasy for some reason.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just like to keep tabs.”

  His brow furrowed. “You worried about something?”

  “Force of habit.”

  He pulled into the driveway behind her Saturn.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Alex scooped the box of leftovers off the floorboard. They’d spent the afternoon walking around San Marcos and then stopped for drinks at a restaurant on the river. Drinks had become dinner. Now it was dangerously close to nighttime, and they still hadn’t dealt with the tension hovering between them.

  Alex shoved open the door and got out. Troy walked her up the stairs, like she’d known he would, and stood patiently behind her as she fished her keys from her purse.

  “You driving back tonight or tomorrow?” she asked, unlocking the door. She turned to face him and immediately knew the intention behind his warm, steady look.

  “That’s up to you.”

  Her stomach fluttered. He wanted to come inside and pick up right where they’d left off before New Year’s.

  And she wanted to say yes.

  “Thanks for your help today,” she said instead.

  He gazed down at her.

  “This case is important to me. And it means a lot that you gave up so much of your time to help me with it.”

  “But you’re still mad,” he stated.

  “I’m not mad.” And she wasn’t. Not anymore. The anger had lasted only a few hours. The hurt, though—that had stuck with her for months.

  Troy rested his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t look upset. Just resigned.

  “I know you’re going to think this is bullshit,” he said, “but I am sorry.”

  She watched him, waiting for more. But he simply looked at her.