"Hey, put that shit into your sleeve. You're now part of the worst forensic investigation in history."
"Sorry."
"It's okay, but it goes in the journal. If this gets stupid, you may have to give an exclusionary DNA sample."
"I'll mark it on my calendar."
Sasha mixed a fresh bottle of chemical, dropping the Bluestar tablets into the spray bottle. The first spray confirmed my suspicions. The floor glowed with circular swipe marks.
"Huh."
"I'm going to need more than that. Blood?"
"My guess is bleach."
"The floor's been cleaned?"
She didn't answer. Instead, Sasha got on her knees and examined the hardwood surface. After a few more sprays, she said, "Yes, but not very well. That accounts for the sour smell. Get me a Phenolphthalein kit out of my toolbox and a flashlight."
I held the light as she dabbed at one of the seams between the planks. She dropped the swab into a test tube and shook it to mix the solution. The cotton tip immediately turned pink.
"And that is positive for blood. When we can get it to a lab to type for DNA, it'll be confirmed, but it looks like you've answered your question. Get me a collection kit."
When the swabs were in the labeled bindles, I was ready to move on to the bedroom.
"Not so fast, we still have the UV light. I don't expect to find much of anything because of the bleach job. Since they were sloppy, let's take a look."
* * *
Adrenaline pulsed through me. It was the same buzz I felt in a courtroom when I was about to take a soft pitch downtown.
"They always forget the baseboard." The hard humor in Sasha's voice pulled me back to the dreary room. The handprint and brush mark glowed on the wood.
"Is it blood?" Maddie held the UV light steady while I helped Sasha with photos and notes.
"We can check. We have the technology. I need to document this first. I'm guessing that other pattern is transfer from her hair. You two lawyers need to cool your jets.
I knew she was right, and back in the day; I would have been the first one yelling if there'd been any shortcuts. It didn't stop me from holding my breath as she dropped the swab into the test solution.
"It's negative." Sasha held up the sample, so I could see there was no trace of pink.
My disappointment must have shown. The tech smirked as she took several samples from the wall. "Did you expect this to be solved in under an hour? Maybe she drew his name in her own blood? You know as well as I do that it could be anything from jizz to soap. The lab will science the shit out of this. It looks like you were right. That ugly ass rug had nothing to do with the murder. This room was staged."
* * *
I sat on Sarah Jean's bloodstained bed as Maddie and Sasha scanned the rest of the house. I was searching for a thread in this narrative I could pull. Someone murdered this woman and went to great lengths to frame her husband.
"No big surprises. The tests will likely show that the blood transfer is diluted with bleach. My guess is that they flipped the mop around on the walls and floor to fake spatter."
Sasha's voice pulled me out of my reverie.
"Sorry, I was a million miles away. An innocent man is scheduled to be executed, and I don't know what I'm going to do about it. Most of what we have is less than borderline admissible. To quote you, this scene was gorked long before we got here."
She made like she was going to sit next to me, but her face twisted at the sight of the brown bloodstain on the mattress. Instead, she turned the vanity chair around and straddled it. I had to admire her easy feline grace.
"I have to get the awkward part out of the way first. There's several thousand in lab work for this adventure, and I don't have the budget for it. I'm sure Maddie told you about the client and our firm. Hell, I had to pay for my own fuel to get here."
I was used to the bills being handled by accounting. I pulled out a pen and wrote a name and address on a page from the notebook I'd doodled in.
"No problem. Send it to this lab using this account number. Put pro bono in the space for the client name."
She pocketed the note and said, "Must be nice."
"It has its moments."
I expected her to leave. Instead, she crossed her arms over the back of the chair and rested her chin on her hands. She had one brown and one blue eye, and she accentuated it with eye shadow.
"Juliana, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Would you like to get a drink before I head back to the office?"
I was about to tell her that she was welcome at the club when it kicked in. She was asking me out. It wasn't the first time I'd been hit on by a woman, but it never failed to surprise me. I must have hesitated a second too long because she stood and kicked the chair back into place at the vanity.
"Sasha."
"No worries. I firmly believe that you if you don't risk, you don't get. You're, just...well; that hair of yours made me throw the pitch. I wasn't sure if you and the cop are a thing, or if he's only a hobby."
Trying to explain what Ethan and I are required more thought and energy than I had at the moment.
"While I only swing one way, I'll admit that I looked more than once. No harm. No foul."
Her smile dissolved any remaining tension between us. As she left the room, she wiggled her hips and said, "Just a drink."
CHAPTER 24
I said goodnight to Ethan around dawn. With a last kiss on the cheek, it was absurdly like he was heading off to work. We'd stayed away from talking about anything related to his assignment or the case. Instead, we watched a movie and got a couple of hours sleep. I could tell that the normality of it amused him as much as it did me.
In fact, I'd decided to put all the thoughts about anything except the club out of my mind. It was Maddie's day off, and I needed a break. Instead of fretting about timelines and confessions, I paid invoices, ordered supplies, and tinkered with the staff schedule. Around noon, I got tired of my own company, headed to the bar for a burger, and ended up covering the waitress stations so they could take breaks. When I came back to my desk, I knew my peaceful interlude was over. Next to my steadily blinking office phone, my cell phone alternated between the pinging of unheard messages and the buzzing of incoming texts.
"Jeez Simon, why didn't you take care of this for me? It can wait fifteen minutes more. Come on, time for a walk."
That got his attention and without one look at who was frantically trying to reach me, we headed out the back door for the last breath of fresh air I'd likely get today.
I had my game face back on and a pitcher of iced tea on my desk when I swiped the screen and released the explosion of notifications. Nothing from Ethan, but Max, Maddie, and Sasha had all blown up my phone.
Curiosity made me call Sasha first. It could be that there was more to the crime scene analysis than she'd originally thought. After making it through the short-tempered receptionist, I was connected.
"Grimes' Crimes. The grimier the better."
Her breezy delivery made wonder if I'd ever been that offhand and self aware.
"Hey, it's Juliana. You rang?"
"Yes, about a thousand times. Where the hell have you been?"
"Earning a living. Remember, less than a month ago I was no more than a meek mild-mannered manager of a hootchie club."
"You love this shit and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't have called me back first."
"Who says you're first?"
"Am I wrong?"
"Shut up. And tell me what's going on."
"The lab sent me an interesting email."
"There is no way the results can be back yet."
"Not the full chemical analysis and DNA reports. But, since you're paying the bills, I splurged and ordered mass spec and gas chromatograph on a few swabs. I have results. You know, if you want to hear them."
I immediately perked up. Mass spectrometry could give a quick chemical composition of a substance. Evident
ly, there was something more than blood and dirt at the scene.
"Remind me to never let you borrow my car. If this makes me happy, you're forgiven."
"The handprint on the baseboard is hair cream. Well, consistent with hair cream. There's mineral oil, beeswax, a dash of calcium, and some volatile organics. All consistent with a popular commercial men's hair care product. Let me just say that a little dab will do ya. That lab of yours has an MS/GC comparison database that made my panties wet just hearing about it."
I rolled my eyes at the jibe. I wasn't going to let her bait me into a conversation I wasn't in the mood for. Instead, I stuck to the facts.
"Okay, sometime in the fight, she grabbed her attacker by the hair. Why is this important?"
"Take a look at her husband's mug shots. You'll get it. That was the only interesting result from the quick survey. I'll email you this report and will call again when I get the rest. I put a rush on it. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Are you why the receptionist is so crabby?"
Her laughter came sharp and loud through my phone.
"Mostly, that's a yes. At this time of day, though, you're interrupting her game shows. The boss gets mad too, but she loves my cheating-husband sneaky-cam photography. Sometime I'll show you how the wings flap on an angel tramp stamp when you catch the action at precisely the right angle. Maybe over that drink."
"I'll take it under advisement. Maybe I'll invite Ethan."
"Buzzkill."
"Later Sasha and thank you."
"My pleasure. You'll see that this crime just got a lot grimier."
The connection broke and I started digging through the file looking for the police reports. Billy Ray's mugshot, a round face with a huge bald spot and a close-buzzed cue ball fringe, showed a man in no need of any sort of styling cream. For all her cheekiness, she was right. This crime is now officially a lot grimier.
I punched in Maddie's number. It was time to talk to her client about who wanted his wife dead.
CHAPTER 25
I traded Joey another day off of his choice to take care of Simon and run the bar while Maddie, and I went to Parchman to see Billy Ray. It was a five-hour drive each way, so I let her talk me into staying at the house she shared with the other members of her law firm. Since I hadn't been out of Biloxi overnight since I'd taken over as manager, Joey hadn't given me any hassle over it.
She was adamant. "C'mon, it'll be fun. You can meet Jo and join us for cocktail hour. That's too much driving for one day. We can use the time to talk about strategy. I need your help."
Since I wasn't much for slumber parties, I was prepared to bug out to a hotel if it got weird. She was right though, it was too much to drive, especially with a long intense conversation.
After I packed a bag, I called Max. I got his answering service and told him that my dad in Dallas wanted to sell his boat. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang.
"The boat business in Dallas must be good. I've been trying to get through all day." The amused tone in his voice told me that he was bringing me information, not more problems.
"Oh come on, you know I'd never sell my boat to anyone else but you." I punctuated it with an exaggerated kissy noise. Even with all the questions and information swirling in my head, I was in a good mood. Sasha was right. I love this shit.
He picked up on the vibe and said, "Oh lovely lady, were it only so. In case you're interested, I have preliminary lab results."
"The mass spec units must be working overtime."
"How'd you know?"
"I've been playing scientist today. You first, and then I'll explain."
"No man in history has ever refused a request to go first. Your designer drug is a compilation of volatile organic compounds commonly found in solvents. It's liquid in the vial and vaporizes quickly when you open it. The fumes get you stoned, wild and fast. It's like sniffing glue on steroids."
"I can attest to that. Solvents?"
The rattle of papers sounded clear through the phone before Max continued. "Yup, petroleum based. Most of it is pretty common. The magic is in how it's purified and mixed. My guy said that it isn't being cooked up by biker gangs in a bathtub. This takes a real chemist, not an internet one. The lab tests will confirm the mystery agreements, for right now, the carrier is a toluene-based industrial solvent."
"Great, you can get that at a hardware store. I was hoping we'd get something we could track."
"Hold your horses. The lab is breaking down all the unknown ingredients. This result spiked on the VOCs. It's only a fraction of the story. I should have the rest of it in two or three days."
"More mysteries."
"Okay, that got my attention. Tell me."
I filled him in on my news, including another lab test that spiked on hair cream supposedly left by a man who is nearly bald. I finished up by telling him that I intended to talk to Billy Ray directly and get his side of the story.
"He might have information useful to us. Some lead we can follow."
"They don't let anybody wander into Death Row."
"Maddie set it up that I'm a visiting lawyer who wanted to interview him before entering my appearance in his case. Since she's his lawyer of record, it was approved. They don't want anybody squawking that his rights were violated while they're loading up the syringes."
My disdain for the death penalty must have broadcast because Max's response didn't have any humor in it.
"Be careful. I hate that your name will be in the visitor records. I do not like this sheriff's office of yours."
I'd forgotten that I'd asked him to check into Sheldon and his deputies.
"What did you find?"
"Nothing specific, it's just a bad feeling. I'm still digging. Did you know that he's cheating on his wife with your Billy Ray's ex?"
"No, I did not. It's not like we have couples' night here. That's interesting."
"She's Irene Connor. She took back her maiden name when they divorced. Six months later, Billy Ray married the victim. They'd been married a year when she was murdered."
"Great. This needed another hanging thread. Thanks a million." The big sigh that punctuated my words wasn't completely melodramatic.
"Anything for you, my dear. Have you heard from Ethan? How is he?"
"He was here last night. The Colonel is an asshole and the club is making trial runs of Shine before branching out as far north as Chicago. They are fixing to touch off a new drug epidemic in the entire corridor."
"Yeah, that's what we need. For today, have a safe trip. I sense we may need a sit down after we have all the results. We need to find the source of this. Goodnight."
I didn't reply and broke the connection. Something he said stuck with me.
This takes a real chemist, not an internet one.
I didn't blame Max for not twigging to the obvious answer. He wasn't from around here. There was only one place that employed professional scientists who would have access to materials and equipment.
The Hawthorne Chemical Plant.
CHAPTER 26
The old-fashioned sign reminding us that tools, saws, axes, hacksaw blades, chisels, picks, and knives were not allowed on the grounds of the penitentiary amused me.
"Whelp, I'm glad I left my big purse home."
Maddie maneuvered into one of the visitor parking slots. We were early. The vintage Miata convertible had chewed up the miles. It was more fun than I wanted to admit.
"Agreed. Canceling the cake was probably a good idea as well."
Our humor was a guard against the omnipresent chill that permeated the grounds. It was something that even the combination of the heat and the well-trained politeness of the reception staff couldn't dispel. I've been to a lot of prisons, but none with the history and reputation of the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman.
The review of our documents and the extremely thorough pat down didn't yield any hacksaw blades, so we were granted entry. After a silent shuttle ride, a matron led us to one of the attorney
interview rooms. I never know what to expect when I meet an inmate client for the first time. Until then, he or she has been an abstract represented by a flat poorly lit mugshot or crime scene photo. They were strategy and tactics rather than human beings.
The buzz of the electronic lock and rattle of chains told me it was go time. Neither of us said anything as the guard gestured a red-faced stocky man in prison grays into a straight-backed chair.
"Remove the shackles." Maddie had more syrup in her voice than usual.
"Are you sure, ma'am? You know our response time can well be over a minute."
"We have this same discussion every time I come here. Unshackle him. I need his signature on papers. Legal papers."
I smiled inwardly at the get the fuck out of here contained in the last two words.
Another buzz of the lock and the three of us were alone. Maddie made the introductions like a good southern hostess. The tension was almost as thick as the humidity in the poorly ventilated room. I was regretting the decision to wear my usual club uniform of black jeans, t-shirt, and boots. Sweat already prickled between my shoulder blades.
Billy Ray broke the silence by hawking and spitting on the floor.
"You don't look much like a lawyer. You look more like some kind of dyke."
I'd absorbed so much inmate shade over the years that this pathetic insult barely registered. I let a hint of amused mockery seep into my voice. I wasn't going to take this from anyone.
"You don't look much like a cop. You look more like some kind of killer."
The standoff broke when we both caught Maddie's horrified expression. Billy Ray ducked his head and picked at the cuticle on a fingernail that was, like all the others, gnawed down to the quick.
"Don't worry Miss Hyatt, I'll be nice. You've got to understand that after three years of this, I'm not too excited to have much truck with more lawyers."
I decided to let him off the hook. The harsh regimen of a prison like Parchman coupled with the stress and solitude of Death Row could strip the hope and civilization off of any person, leaving only the raw core, like his chewed nails. Modulating my voice, I said, "I can totally understand that, Mr. Simpson. I read your case file. Honestly, I have only a few questions for you. Some about Sarah Jean and others related more to your cop days."
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