Bitter Past

by Caroline Fardig

  “I always thought it was such a waste of time to have two people examine every piece of evidence that comes through.” She snickered. “Then I met Beck Durant. I think they made that rule for him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve reprocessed something of his and found evidence he missed.”

  “Wow. Sounds like his lab skills got worse instead of better after I left. I guess we should get started.”

  Amanda repackaged the pants and followed me to evidence, where we retrieved the murder weapon, the pull-up bar, the clothes Eli was wearing at the time of his death, and the folding chair. She had already processed the pull-up bar and Eli’s pants, so I gave her his shirt and the folding chair for examination and took the murder weapon, the pull-up bar, and Eli’s pants for myself.

  I placed the jump rope under the stereoscope for magnification. There was gray fingerprint powder on the black plastic handles from where Beck had dusted for prints. I would have to dust the handles again after I finished examining the jump rope to find any prints he may have missed. It was possible that I could find some prints with the help of a UV light, but only if whoever left them had been sweating or had another bodily fluid on his hands. I got out a UV light and some goggles, turned off the light above my worktable, and shined the UV light on the handles. There were no fingerprints to be seen, but there was a smear of blood, which appeared to have already been swabbed. I swabbed it again as part of my independent examination. The rope portion was of course covered in blood from where Eli had tried to claw it off his neck. Getting out a few more swabs, I moistened each one with a drop of distilled water and rubbed the smooth rope with them at several intervals, hoping to pick up some epithelial cells from the killer.

  Finished with the UV light, I swiped fingerprint dust over the handles but didn’t find any prints. Beck seemed to have done a good job at getting all the prints off the handles. Satisfied with my work, I processed the pull-up bar in the same manner, looking for any missed fingerprints and swabbing for possible touch DNA.

  When I was done, I got the victim’s shirt from Amanda and began studying it. It was a tattered T-shirt, a staple garment in the wardrobe of every college boy. This particular one, though, had bloodstains around the neck and a few blood smears across the front.

  Turning around to Amanda, I said, “I can’t help but imagine the last few minutes of Eli Vanover’s life. I feel like this shirt should be able to tell us something. The murder was intimate—at least during the time the victim was being manually strangled. There has to be some kind of transfer on it, even though Beck didn’t find anything.”

  She said, “Agreed. You were at the scene. How do you think it all went down?”

  I thought for a moment. “There was likely some kind of a verbal exchange to start. A struggle ensued, during which the coffee table got shoved several inches over and a bong broke. The killer stepped on a pizza box, leaving behind a shoeprint and several rocks from his shoe treads. At some point, the killer grabbed Eli by the neck and choked him violently enough to break his hyoid bone, but not thoroughly enough to kill him. The killer also held a gun to Eli’s head and pistol-whipped him, but we don’t know if it happened before or after he choked him.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “Probably before, right? I mean, if the killer broke our victim’s hyoid bone, the manual strangulation was intense. Would the victim have even been conscious for the rest of it?”

  “He was conscious for a time while he was hanging from the pull-up bar, because there’s evidence he tried to get free, but I’d never thought of it that way. That’s brilliant. And it means the killer would’ve had to hoist an unconscious or semi-conscious young man up onto a folding chair, which couldn’t have been easy.”

  “How in the hell would you get an incapacitated person from the floor to a standing position on top of a chair, anyway? Wouldn’t it be nearly impossible?” she asked.

  “Let’s find out. It’s reenactment time.”

  After disposing of our gloves, we headed over to our office area, away from the evidence and expensive equipment.

  Amanda said, “Lie down like I’ve choked you and you’re unconscious.” I did as she said, and she continued, “If it were me, I would move you like this.”

  She got behind me and put her hands under my armpits. Lifting my head and shoulders up, she then dragged me over to a nearby chair. Once I was propped against the chair, she stood over me, using the same underarm grab move to pull me up farther. This time we were face-to-face, in close proximity. She was able to hoist me into a sitting position on the chair, but then stood back, huffing and puffing.

  “Whew! That was a workout, no offense, and I still don’t have you in a standing position. Maybe the victim was conscious after all.” Amanda brushed her hand across my shoulder. “Sorry, I got some makeup on your lab coat when I was lifting you.”

  “So this is what you girls do when you’re alone in the lab.” Sterling, who had just entered the lab with Baxter, smirked at us and then turned to his partner. “I don’t know exactly what they were doing, but it was kind of hot, don’t you think, Nicky?”

  Amanda turned beet red, and I rolled my eyes.

  Baxter ignored Sterling and said to me, “I came to tell you that I made a few calls about Maddie Haynes. She packed up and left and hasn’t been seen by any of her friends since Tuesday night, just like her boyfriend.”

  “Oh, that’s not good,” I breathed, fearing that sweet little Maddie was in way over her head.

  “I’m willing to bet she and Ogelsby are shacked up somewhere and don’t want to be found. You and I can dig deeper tomorrow.” He gestured to Sterling. “Right now, we get to tag along with narco on a drug bust. We’re hoping to nab Eli Vanover’s supplier, but I’m not convinced the guy is going to show. It depends on whether or not he’s heard about Vanover’s death.”

  “Scumbags generally don’t make it a point to watch the evening news or read the paper, so he’s probably clueless,” joked Sterling.

  “Have fun on your drug bust. I’m heading home. See you tomorrow,” I replied to them. Amanda gave them a shy wave.

  After they left, I turned to Amanda and studied her for a moment. “So, which one of them do you have a crush on?”

  Her face flamed bright red again, and she looked away. “I don’t…” She cleared her throat.

  “Is it Sterling?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

  Sighing, she nodded.

  “I’m not trying to pry into your personal business or tell you how to live your life, but speaking from experience, Sterling might not be the best choice for a relationship.”

  “He said you told him he wasn’t good enough for you once you got your professor job at the college,” she said, her tone defensive.

  I laughed. “That’s what he’s telling people? He pursued me for an entire month, and then when I finally got drunk and gave in, he lost interest. After we hooked up, he barely spoke to me. Of course, I told him what I thought of that, and he didn’t appreciate it. Since then, we can’t be in the same room with each other without fighting.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said, frowning.

  “But, hey, I’m far from qualified to give dating advice, so go with your gut.” Our conversation was getting uncomfortable, so I changed the subject. “So about our reenactment, it’s likely there are plenty of epithelials on the victim’s shirt, especially under the sleeves, right?”

  “I think that’s a safe assumption,” she replied, beginning to shut down the office area for the night.

  I went back to my worktable, tape lifted under both sleeves of the shirt, and set the sample aside to be sent to DNA. A light bulb went off in my head as I glanced down at the shoulder of my lab coat where Amanda had smudged her makeup during our reenactment. I hurried over to a cabinet to retrieve a UV light and turned out the lights over my worktable. After donning a fresh pair of gloves, I shined the UV light on the shirt.

  “Aha! There’s something here on the shoulder. Could be sweat—the kille
r’s sweat.” I circled the area of the stain with a Sharpie, cut out a tiny piece of it, and placed the sample in a small manila envelope. “Perfect. That is, unless the victim made a habit of using his shirt to wipe his own face.”

  Amanda came back over to my table, yawning. “I’d say you’re right on target. Good job.”

  “I think we should leave here on a positive note. Let’s call it a night.”

  “You read my mind.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I was dreaming about being alone on a deserted Hawaiian beach, with no job and no worries. It was blissful and perfect until rocks started tumbling down from the cliff above me, coming straight down at me. I jolted awake.

  “Ellie!” said Rachel, shaking my shoulder.

  “What?” I groaned.

  “Will you answer your damn phone? It’s been ringing every five minutes, and it’s driving me nuts.”

  She tossed my phone onto the bed beside me and flounced out my room. I had left my phone in my purse, in the kitchen, and as far away from me as possible. To say that I didn’t want my sleep disturbed would have been a gross understatement. In hindsight, I should have simply turned the ringer off instead. I looked at the screen and found I had three missed calls and two voice messages from Baxter. Before I could listen to the messages, my phone rang again.

  “What?” I griped, not bothering to say hello.

  “Whoa. It’s like I woke an angry bear,” Baxter said.

  “Did you call me for a reason, or did you just feel like bothering me?”

  He laughed. “I need you.”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “It’s only a few minutes after ten.”

  I whined, “What could you possibly need that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “Besides a pat on the back for catching Eli Vanover’s supplier, I need you to run his prints. I’ve got him on possession and dealing, but if I had a murder charge to throw at him, I might get him to talk about some of his fellow dealers.”

  “Like the third shooter from your convenience store case?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Sighing, I asked, “Why can’t you call Durant or Amanda?”

  “The department would have to pay them overtime if I call them back in. You, on the other hand, are getting a lump sum for your services.”

  “For the record, I’m not happy about this.”

  “Duly noted. See you soon.”

  I dragged myself out of bed and changed clothes, but couldn’t even consider the thought of wrenching my eyes open to put in my contacts. I put on my glasses and headed back to the station. When I got there, Baxter was waiting for me, a ten-print card in hand.

  I took the card from him. “Going old school?”

  He nodded. “The live scan computer isn’t cooperating. Personally, I like using the ten-print card. Something about getting fingerprinted the old-fashioned way rattles a lot of people. What’s with the glasses?”

  I had hoped no one would notice them, although they were rather large and had thick, black frames. “Someone woke me up, and I didn’t feel like putting my contacts in.”

  “You look like a hipster.”

  “Call me a hipster again and see how many fingerprints I get done for you,” I grumbled.

  He grinned at me. “I’ll be in Interrogation Room Three. Find me when you’re done.” He disappeared down the hall.

  I trudged to the lab and scanned the fingerprints into our AFIS computer, taking my time in examining each print and plotting its individual characteristics. Baxter’s suspect had an interesting double loop whorl pattern to his fingerprints, which was great because it made them that much more unusual and easy to visually distinguish. After I had the suspect’s fingerprints entered, I sat back and let AFIS work on finding me some possible matches. In under a minute, I had proof that Baxter’s suspect, Shawn Mayes, was not our killer—at least his fingerprints didn’t match any we’d found at the crime scene. He was, however, involved in an unsolved liquor store robbery on the east side of Indianapolis from three months ago.

  Armed with a printout of my findings, I headed toward the interrogation rooms. There were small windows in the doors, and I could see Baxter in Room Three, speaking with a young, tough-looking man with tattoos and piercings everywhere. I shivered. Normally, I didn’t have to deal with too many unsavory characters, most of my work being done either at a secured scene or in the lab. When I’d worked as a criminalist, the only time I came into contact with suspects was in court when I would testify about my findings, and that too was a safe, controlled environment. It was a new experience to be working with Baxter, who seemed to want me involved in more aspects of the case.

  I could see Sterling slouched in the corner of the interrogation room, his angry cop face securely in place. When I knocked, Baxter got up and came to the door. When he vacated his seat, Sterling took his place at the table and began grilling the suspect.

  Baxter met me in the hallway. “What did you find?”

  “Probably not what you’re looking for,” I replied. “Shawn Mayes’s fingerprints didn’t match any at our scene.”

  Baxter blew out a disgruntled breath. “This case is starting to piss me off.”

  “I do have some good news for you. I found one match for your guy’s prints in AFIS on an unsolved liquor store robbery. It happened three months ago on the east side of Indy.” I handed him my printout.

  After reading it, he perked up. “This might help. Thanks. And thanks for getting out of bed to run the prints for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” As he turned to leave, I caught his arm. “Hey, um…thanks for pushing me out of harm’s way this afternoon.”

  “I wondered when you’d get around to thanking me for saving your life.”

  I gave him a sheepish smile. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I was kind of freaked out by it. I was trying not to think about it.”

  “I figured as much. Bottling up your feelings is part of the job.” He gave me a pat on the back. “Just don’t bottle up too much. You’ll end up like Sterling.”

  ***

  I woke up rested despite having had my sleep interrupted the night before. My morning classes went better than any of my classes had the entire week, and I was finally beginning to feel like my normal self again. In particular, I was thrilled about my lunch date.

  After my class, I found Rob lounging against his SUV, waiting for me near the back door to the science building. When I approached, he drew me close and gave me a thorough kiss.

  “Thanks for making time to see me,” he murmured against my cheek.

  “With a greeting like that, how could I refuse?”

  Rob released me, smiling, and helped me up into his vehicle. “I thought we might head over to the City Center for lunch.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Truth be told, the Carmel City Center, an upscale new area of Carmel, wouldn’t have been my first choice. Going there would be like hanging out at Cooper’s fundraiser gala with the town’s elite. It was not my scene, but I thought it best to go along with it and at least pretend to fit in. Rob had already seen enough of my white trash side.

  We ended up at a Spanish tapas restaurant, and even though it was rather busy, we were seated immediately. He’d been there before, so I let him choose a few dishes for us to share.

  “Did you finally get caught up on your sleep?” he asked.

  “Yes. I could use more, but at least I’m no longer walking around in a fog like on Wednesday. I ought to be much better at conversation.”

  He laughed. “I thought you did just fine. It was nice to go on a first date that didn’t feel like an interview. You were too tired to put on a false front. It was refreshing, actually.” He took my hand. “It has to be difficult working two jobs at once. Do you do much consulting for the police?”

  “No, this is the first time I’ve consulted. I was a criminalist for the county a few years ago, but I…was offered the teaching job and dec
ided to make the switch.”

  “I’m sure it’s better hours and a lot less stress.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Why did you decide to go back and consult after all this time?”

  “The Sheriff asked me as a personal favor. I’ve known her for years.”

  He smiled. “So are you rusty after not being out in the field for a while?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’ve kept my certifications and my skills up. The hard part for me is dealing with the emotional side of crime. Sometimes a case can really get to you.”

  Squeezing my hand, he asked, “Did you know the kid?”

  His touch was comforting. “Yes, sort of. Knowing the deceased adds a major dimension to an investigation. It’s not as easy to disconnect.”

  My cell phone rang, and it was Baxter. I had little time to spend with Rob today, so I decided to ignore the call.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to get that?” Rob asked.

  “No, it can wait,” I replied.

  He leaned over and brushed his lips against my cheek.

  “Well,” chirped a snippy voice. “It didn’t take long for you to move on and go about your life once you turned my Dudley over to the police. Tell me, how do you sleep at night?”

  My mouth agape, I looked up to find Judith Cooper scowling at me, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Her sister, Vivian Harris, stood beside her, her face stony as well. Rob’s expression was wary and his jaw was set, his body language suggesting he was ready to defend me. I thought I might need it.

  “Mrs. Cooper,” I began, trying to stay calm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to discuss your son’s case.”

  “Oh, you don’t? Well, I guess we’ll have to discuss it in court, then. I will have you know I’ll be suing you for luring him into a trap. He trusted you, and you betrayed him.”

  I knew she couldn’t sue for something as stupid as that. She was angry and upset about her son being arrested, and she was trying to scare me. I didn’t scare easily, but I also wouldn’t put it past her to find a way to fire me from my teaching job. It wasn’t smart to piss off the president of the college.