by Regan Black
Time was of the essence, and it bothered her immensely that Bowe had not returned her calls. When the sunny day faded to twilight, she turned for home. She’d fix something to eat and, as the best option, study the original Paxton and Emerson files in preparation for the Monday meetings. Contrary to Antonio’s opinion, she was not ready to hang herself out like bait for Orr.
She rose with the sun on Monday morning. Rolling into the station early, she was surprised to see Free Granny signs in store windows all along the central boulevard. She knew those store owners and wouldn’t have expected them to become protestors, but the media was drumming up community sympathy for the elderly Hannah McPherson.
She doubted most of the people behind the movement had even heard of Hannah McPherson before Saturday night, though. They were simply upset over an apparent injustice. Those who did know Hannah were likely even more upset because the woman was kind, thoughtful and clearly determined to defend her granddaughter.
Melissa went in through the back door and greeted the officers on duty. In her office, she set her travel mug of coffee on her desk and reached over to boot up her computer. While she waited for the machine to come online, she called down to the lab and left a message for Ian Elward, the CSI on the Paxton case to come to her office first thing. She wanted his take on that scene before she spoke with Bowe about it.
She couldn’t say that she’d made any real progress or found a glaring error, but she felt confident about the entire case file from Antonio’s initial report to the recovery of the body. She went to the break room to top off her coffee and saw Ian striding in.
“Good morning, Chief,” he said.
She’d often wondered if he used that clipped tone all the time. That perfect diction made everything out of his mouth sound like he was reciting an academic paper to people who had no hope of understanding the findings. Ian wasn’t the most popular of people in the GGPD, due to his constant need to prove he knew everything, from the science behind a blue sky to the newest method of processing evidence.
“Thanks for coming in,” she said, and they went to her office.
“Of course.” Ian sat in one of the visitor chairs in front of her desk. “How can I assist you with the Emerson case?”
The query caught her off guard. After closing the door, she took her time settling into her chair. “I actually wanted to discuss a different case. One you processed last summer.”
His thin eyebrows snapped together over his nose and she could almost see gears turning in his head.
She clarified quickly, before he could toss out details on every crime scene he’d worked. “It’s a cold case. Wendy Paxton. The body was recover—”
“Recovered in Grave Gulch Park. Early July. The second or third. Everyone was gearing up for the Fourth of July, but it was definitely before the barbecue contest.”
Melissa pressed her lips together, then said, “That’s the one. The victim—”
“Midtwenties. Female. Blond hair, slender,” Ian interrupted. “Two gunshot wounds, one in the shoulder. Fatal bullet entered back to front at close range and went through the heart. Do we have more evidence to reopen the case?”
She ignored his question. “That’s right. I’ve read your field report. There were light scratches on her arms and legs consistent—” She held up a finger to prevent another interruption. “Consistent with walking through that part of the park. No defensive wounds.”
“Correct. She really should have worn more appropriate clothing for hiking.”
And this sort of tunnel vision was why she was glad Ian worked on the scientific side of criminal justice. He wasn’t suited to a public-facing role where a careless comment could alienate a grieving family.
“Reading your report from the scene, you made note of scratches that might also have occurred postmortem.” She tapped her pen to her palm.
“That’s right. Skin damage, but no blood. Not many, but they were consistent with the victim being moved through that environment.”
Which led her to believe that Wendy’s killer might have wrapped the body before moving it. She checked her computer monitor, where she glanced at the final forensics report signed by Randall Bowe, complete with pictures of the body.
“Anything else you can recall about the case?” she asked Ian.
“Yes, Chief.” Ian took a breath and she settled in for a long monologue. “At the scene we were all agreed that the body had been moved to the position in which we found it. A small amount of the victim’s blood was discovered less than one hundred yards away. Not enough for it to be the location of the fatal shooting, by my assessment.”
He paused, a frown on his face. “Feel free to speak your mind,” she prompted. As if anything would stop him.
“I work the scenes I’m sent to. I file my reports, and most of the time, I hear that the officers take that information to close cases. In this case, no arrests were made.”
“That’s correct.”
“Chief, there was a clear thumbprint on the body.” He pointed to the corresponding area on his throat. “Right about here. A print in the blood and based on the position and bruising around her neck. It appeared the person, presumably the shooter, had started to strangle her before shooting her a second time. I took pictures of that print and documented the findings in my report. That should’ve been enough to compare to any suspects questioned in the case.”
She shot him a look, enough to have him blanch and back down from doubting the work of her officers. Ian loved to overstep, believing he alone was responsible for finding the evidence to help them do their jobs efficiently. Most of the time he was right, but because he was so snobby about it, no one wanted to listen.
On the other hand, more amiable CSIs, like her cousin Jillian, were easier to work with and were always better received because they maintained confidence balanced by a dose of humility. There were layers to police work and, as Hannah McPherson so vehemently pointed out, evidence wasn’t always the whole picture.
Especially if mistakes had been made.
Melissa knew her own triggers after years of experience as a police officer and testifying in various cases from traffic court to felonies. The attorneys didn’t like to call Ian to testify because juries never warmed up to him, no matter what he said. She had to fight the same urge to dismiss him now, simply because he was too sure of himself, what he had found.
“The only pictures from the crime scene—”
“You mean the scene where we found the body,” he corrected her. “I wasn’t aware the actual scene of the shooting had been identified.”
“You’re right.” He was lucky she’d had two cups of coffee before this conversation. “The pictures in your report from the area where the body was found do not include any clear views of the print.”
“That’s impossible. I took the pictures. I documented each one and filed it appropriately.” Without any invitation, he popped up out of the chair and came around to peer at her computer monitor over her shoulder.
She resisted the urge to shove him back, out of her space. Instead, she slowly clicked through the available photos.
“Where did they go?” Ian was clearly perplexed and his expression indicated he was rushing headlong into being furious. “I know what I saw and how it was documented. There’s an error.”
“Relax and take a breath,” she suggested. “No one is blaming you. Didn’t you and Bowe argue about the state of that print?”
“He was wrong.” Ian snapped upright, bracing his hands on his hips. “That print was clear at the scene and in transit, and I documented it accurately.”
“I believe you,” she responded. “However, none of that documentation is with the file. Only a picture of a smudged print in the area you indicated.” She pointed to the monitor.
“That’s the same case?”
Was he actually accusing her of
manipulating the file now? “It is.”
“That’s not at all what I saw then.” He started to lean in again, to reach for her keyboard. At her hard look, he backed off. “Check the database.”
Each word was delivered with razor-sharp precision, and though she didn’t comment, she took note of his lack of a “please.”
“I’ve checked the database,” she assured him. “I even pulled the hard copies, but the photos you describe are not part of the digital or physical case file. Please take a seat.”
“You’re going to tell me I’ve confused facts, mixed up this case with another. That simply isn’t true.”
In fact, she wasn’t going to tell him that, because she didn’t want to deal with the fit she knew he would throw at hearing it. “No.” She sipped her coffee, holding the mug in both hands, doing her best to put him at ease. “I was going to ask if you kept a backup of your files anywhere.” At his blank stare, she continued. “The cloud, a private computer, anything?”
“No.” He blinked slowly. “Police business stays here, on the official servers. Any other precaution would be a breach of security.”
An answer she appreciated as it implied he had the same confidence in the GGPD database as he had in himself. But if he hadn’t misfiled the photographs, where were they? His written report referenced a clear print, but in the lab, Bowe contradicted that finding, claiming the print was smudged, useless. This put Bowe at the crux of two questionable findings in two different murder cases.
“Did you know Wendy Paxton?” she asked.
“Of course not. If I had, I would’ve recused myself at the scene.”
Because Ian followed every protocol to the letter. “Great. Thank you for your time.”
“That’s it?”
He didn’t look any happier than she felt. “One more thing,” she said. “Did you review or process any evidence in the Fritz Emerson murder case?”
“No. That was Jillian. In my opinion, a rookie should never be on a murder call.” He cleared his throat. “I understand she is a relative, Chief Colton. I still stand by the statement.”
She didn’t react. Ian would always be arrogant. He’d always believe he was right. There were several people who shared her last name on the GGPD. Nepotism, contrary to Ian’s inference, had nothing to do with it. Other than Grace, she hadn’t hired any of the Coltons currently on the GGPD.
“You were on the team that processed the evidence for the kidnapping case at the McPherson home Saturday night?”
“Yes, I was. I’m filing my reports this morning.”
“Then I’ll let you get to it. Please send me a copy directly.”
She stopped short of asking Ian to back up his information and photos somewhere other than the GGPD as she had with Jillian. Though Ian had never been a gossip, she wasn’t in the mood to listen to his opinion on the security risk of cloud services. Nor did she feel that being candid with him about a potential problem within forensics worked in her favor.
She might not like Ian much personally, but she was confident he wasn’t the problem downstairs. Bowe was the common denominator in the Emerson case and the Paxton case and she needed to speak with him immediately.
She scowled at her cell phone. Bowe still hadn’t returned her calls and she’d been clear that she expected him to call her back at the earliest opportunity. His silence raised her suspicions, though he was a stickler for keeping to business hours barring his presence at an active crime scene. It seemed as if he was the only person in town who didn’t realize they were a department in crisis.
* * *
Antonio set aside his cell phone, having completed another call with his insurance adjuster. He appreciated how quickly they were processing his claim. Now all he needed was confirmation from the police that he could start cleanup and repairs.
That made him think of Melissa and the resulting smile was a pleasant surprise. He could always drop in and check on the progress personally. Her interest in the fire was likely just a courtesy after he’d helped them find Danny. Still, he enjoyed talking with her, watching those blue eyes blaze with humor or intense interest.
He picked up his cell phone, already anticipating her smile for his unexpected arrival, when his desk phone rang. “Antonio Ruiz,” he answered.
“Mr. Ruiz, this is the front desk. Desiree Colton is here, requesting to speak with you for a few minutes.”
Antonio smiled again. “Is her son with her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let her know I’ll be right down.”
Since moving to the secure suite, he’d been borderline paranoid about security, but he was confident his staff could keep Orr away from the hotel. Antonio regretted every tour he’d given Orr, every drink they’d had in his office or meal they’d shared in the main restaurant. He felt like a fool to have called the man a friend at any point in their history.
He reached the wide, sweeping stairs that curved into the lobby and spotted Desiree and her son right away. The little boy was gripping her finger and dragging her around the central fountain, giggling with every step.
Antonio’s stomach cramped, his heart in a cold vise as the sadness of what he’d lost washed over him. Karen would’ve glowed like that, a combination of pride and exasperation, all tangled up with endless love for their child. He’d never even allowed the doctors to tell him if she’d been carrying a boy or a girl.
“Ms. Colton,” he said, approaching the pair. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
In a smooth, practiced motion, she scooped Danny up into her arms and settled him on her hip. “Mr. Ruiz.” She extended her hand to shake his. “We came over to say thank you.”
The little boy stuck out his hands and threw all of his body weight at Antonio.
Desiree rolled her eyes. “And now you see why Mrs. McPherson had no trouble sweeping him out of the wedding reception. He doesn’t know the concept of strangers.”
“May I?” Antonio asked. He’d been so excited about becoming a father before he’d lost everything. It had taken years for him to be comfortable around children again, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to bear the risk of attempting to have a family with another woman.
The sweet hands were already grasping his fingers and the little guy was making it clear he wanted out of his mother’s embrace.
She picked up on his intention. “Yes, of course, you can hold Danny,” she said clearly.
Her son didn’t seem to care that she was trying to send him a message about safety and strangers. Danny beamed and patted his new friend’s face before dropping his head to Antonio’s shoulder, much as he’d done before he’d gone into Melissa’s arms at the McPherson home.
The gesture didn’t last as long. The boy wasn’t at all sleepy right now. He sat up again and touched Antonio’s close-cropped beard.
Touch. Giggle. Touch again.
Desiree started to laugh and Antonio joined in.
“He’s a goofball sometimes,” Desiree explained.
“All children should be,” Antonio agreed. He started to walk, just meandering through the lobby, and pausing when something caught Danny’s eye.
It surprised him to feel so relaxed with a child. Sure, he’d had similar experiences with nieces and nephews, but today there seemed to be soft buffer between the past grief and the present moment.
“So, as I said, thank you.” Desiree beamed at her son. “I was out of my mind with worry. Melissa said you were instrumental in finding him.”
“Instrumental is overstating it.” He wasn’t comfortable with the high praise. “I’m glad I could help, though I don’t believe your son was in any danger.”
Her eyes widened for just a moment before she averted her gaze. “Melissa didn’t say it in those words, but I think she agrees with you.”
He wisely withheld comment on that. “Mrs. McPherson was q
uite desperate for the chief’s attention.”
“Clearly,” Desiree said. “There’s another reason I came by. You were there and, well...” She pressed her lips together. “I’d like the DA to drop the case against Mrs. McPherson.”
Antonio stopped moving and the toddler strained against his hold. An orchid, swaying in a nearby floral arrangement, had captured his attention. It was just out of reach, but he was determined to touch it.
Antonio took a step away and the toddler fussed. He tickled his round tummy, effectively distracting him. “Maybe we should discuss this privately,” Antonio suggested.
“That’s not necessary.” Desiree looked around the mostly empty lobby. “I just wanted your opinion. Do you think that sweet old grandmother should go to jail for taking Danny?”
“She committed a crime. You’re part of the GGPD,” he pointed out.
“Part-time sketch artist,” she said. “Full-time mom. My son’s never been accused of a crime and let’s hope it stays that way. But if I knew he was innocent? Well...”
“What exactly are you asking?” Antonio queried.
“I thought maybe if we both wrote to the DA she would consider dropping the charges.”
Antonio was astounded by this woman’s capacity for forgiveness. In her shoes he was sure he would want to throw the book at the kidnapper, no matter how benign the appearances. “That may not be the best precedent,” he cautioned. “Or even the right thing for the city as a whole. As I told your cousin, I’m prepared to testify to what I saw and heard at Hannah McPherson’s home. The hotel has already received an official request for the security footage of any suspected instances of her on the property.”
“You have to turn that over,” Desiree said, nodding. “I’m not asking you to impede the investigation or anything.” She sighed, then smiled when her son blew her a kiss. “I should be angry.”