by Robin Caroll
Nettie Sloan. That was the name of the accuser in the Mark Hubble case. The name of the woman who’d slapped her yesterday.
Maddie sat across the table from Peter, each of them reading parts of the Hubble file. There had to be something there that was missed the first time. She had no doubt Nettie believed Mark Hubble had attacked her. But the DNA . . .
Science didn’t lie.
She had the motto inscribed on a plaque over her desk and on the posters hanging in various places in the lab. It was a fact. Eyewitnesses could—and usually were—mistaken, testimonies could be twisted, and facts could be distorted. But science? Science was the one steady . . . the one constant. It couldn’t be manipulated. Not when she broke it down to the barest and the DNA strands were the foundation of life.
“I’m not seeing anything.” Peter set down the page he was reading and rubbed his eyes. “If something was missed, I’m missing it too.”
“Thanks for getting these files from Memphis PD and reviewing them with me. I can’t accept not knowing who really attacked Nettie Sloan.”
“I understand, and you’re welcome.” Peter smiled. “Okay, let’s brainstorm. Look at the facts of the case. Nettie was at home, alone. Her electricity went out, so it was dark. In November at ten p.m., it’s dark. So she’s alone in her house and it’s pitch black. She said she didn’t have a flashlight, so she lit a single taper candle and set it on her kitchen table.”
Maddie pulled another document from the folder. “Her kitchen is separated from the living room by a wall with just a double-door opening. Between that single candlelight and the actual scene of the attack, there lay seven feet and a couch with a three-foot-high back.”
Maddie stood and paced. “Now, I’m scared, it’s dark, and I can only make out dim outlines because the only candlelight source is in another room, and tapers don’t give off much light anyway. I hear something. I start to cry and my eyes fill with tears. So everything I see at this point is a blur.”
Peter nodded. “A man storms in through the front door and pushes her off the couch. He attacks her on the floor of the living room.”
“With the couch now blocking most of the light from the candle in the kitchen.”
“She’s crying harder now.”
“Which blurs her vision even more.”
Peter pushed his glasses back up his nose. “So there’s no way she could make a one hundred percent positive ID on visual.”
Maddie sat down and grabbed another file. “He had no alibi. Said he was hanging out at his house, having a drink or two.” She flipped pages. “So why did the police focus on you as a suspect, Mr. Hubble?” Although, she’d looked into his eyes in the courtroom and seen the evil lurking there, that didn’t mean he’d committed this crime.
She turned the page. “Because he has a record of breaking and entering a sorority house, indecent exposure to a bunch of college girls, and being a Peeping Tom at a girls’ dorm. Minor charges. Never did any time behind bars.”
“Did the police look at anyone else?” Peter shoved papers about. “Yes. Matter-of-fact, their primary suspect was one Bobby Rust.”
He shifted as he read. “Bobby was seen lingering around the Sloan house in the weeks before the attack. Had asked Nettie out on a date but been rejected. And get this: he and Conrad Sloan used to have a small-time drug business on the side together until Conrad did some time for possession and supposedly cleaned up his act.”
Sounded like a primary suspect. “Did he have an alibi?”
“He was with friends. Verified by two ex-cons.”
“Such reliable witnesses.”
“Bobby Rust doesn’t have a rap sheet at all.” Peter flipped page after page. “He’s clean. Not so much as a parking ticket.” He shook his head. “Not even a single drug charge.”
“That is odd.” A guy like that, he should at least have some sort of record. But nothing? “Nettie picked Hubble out of a police lineup.” She pulled the photo of Hubble and set it beside Rust’s picture. “They have similar haircuts. Are about the same height and build.”
She stood and tacked the pictures side by side, on the wall, then stood with her back against the opposite wall. “I’m not crying to blur my vision, it’s not dark in here, and the only way I can see is through shadows, and I’m not scared, and those two men look really similar to me.”
Peter straightened papers and slipped them back into the file. “Since Bobby Rust had an alibi, weak as it is, and has no record, the police didn’t even put him in the lineup against Hubble.”
Maddie leaned against the table and stared at the two photographs. It was here. She could feel it. What was she missing?
She flipped through papers again. “What does Rust do? For a living, I mean? Nine years ago when Nettie was attacked.”
“Uh . . .” Peter flipped through papers. “He worked as a mechanic at a chop shop.”
Something about that . . .
“Hang on a second.” She rushed into the lab and accessed her computer. She ran an Internet search for Memphis news regarding a drug bust nine years ago. Four clicks later, and she set the article to print.
Her adrenaline surged as she returned to the meeting room down the hall from the lab. “Peter, have you ever had a CI before in an investigation?”
“A confidential informant? Sure. Once or twice. Why?”
“As a matter of courtesy, when all is said and done, don’t most law-enforcement agencies clean the CI’s record of minors like misdemeanors and such?”
“Most times, but not all. Why?”
“If that CI was extremely valuable to you in your case but he was a suspect in a different, minor case, is it plausible someone might have pushed a different suspect?”
Peter shook his head. “Don’t think so, Maddie. I think you’re off base.”
She waved the printout. “Am I? This is the news article from nine years ago, a mere three months after Nettie was attacked. It’s about an undercover operation by Memphis PD narcotics unit in which they worked with DEA to uncover a drug-trafficking ring where drug suppliers from foreign countries were hiding drugs in vehicle parts and shipping them to auto shops in the United States.”
She tossed the paper onto the table. “The article stated that undercover agents and confidential informants were vital in bringing down this drug ring.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Think about it for just a minute. You’re working undercover alongside a vital CI. You’re right there, elbow-to-elbow with criminals. If you help bust this ring, you’re a hero in the eyes of your superiors and the DEA. This is huge.” She paced, gesturing with her hands as she talked.
If only her glasses wouldn’t keep slipping. She shoved them back to the bridge of her nose. “But now your vital CI has gone and done something stupid, like attack a girl who rejected him and whose brother just happens to have a little bad blood between them. But hey, the girl’s basically okay. But if your vital CI gets charged, your undercover operation is done.”
“I see where you’re going, Maddie . . . I just can’t believe this could happen.”
“Oh, this kind of stuff can and does happen. Hello? Innocence Project? Even my testimony at Hubble’s hearing.”
“But it wouldn’t work.”
“Okay, back to my scenario. You can’t let your operation go bust. The girl’s okay, on the outside. If your CI can’t do it himself, you help get some lowlifes who’ll agree to back up the CI’s alibi. You find someone who looks enough like your CI, who has a record for something similar to attacks on women, and have him put in the lineup in place of your CI.”
“That’s reaching.”
Maddie stopped and faced him. “You think?” Because everything in her said she’d hit the nail square on the head.
She needed to ask Nick for
his help.
Just after lunch, Agent Timmons escorted Adam Alexander into the interrogation room. Not much to look at, honestly. Brown hair cut short but not a crew cut. Green eyes that were a little too close together. He had a high forehead and his mouth was a little too wide. Nick didn’t see the attraction for him to be such a womanizer.
The district attorney stood beside Nick on the other side of the two-way mirror. “You better make sure he doesn’t have an alibi. This familial DNA thing is too new.”
“I’ll ask for the sample. He might give it up.”
“If he doesn’t, remember I can’t get a warrant for his DNA sample if you blow this.”
“I got it.”
The DA nodded. “You’re up.”
Nick headed into the room. “Hello, Mr. Alexander, I’m Special Agent in Charge Nick Hagar.” He set the large stack of file folders he’d borrowed from the records room on his side of the table, then made a point of sliding them to the end.
“The agent who brought me here said you wanted to ask me a few questions about the murders of two of our students at the university where I teach.”
Nice work, Timmons. “That’s correct. You are an . . .” He shuffled through the top folder, set it aside, then did the same with the folder beneath. “Ah, you’re an Earth Sciences teacher, correct?” He stared at the man across the table from him.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been a teacher at the University of Memphis for how long?”
“Almost ten years.”
Not quite enough to have tenure, so he could easily be fired with a third complaint. “Was Hailey Carter in any of your classes?”
He shook his head. “No. My particular class is an advanced one, for seniors and the occasional junior.”
Nick closed a file and reached for another. He opened it slowly and moved his eyes back and forth, then looked at Alexander. “What about Gina Ford? Was she in any of your classes?”
He nodded. “She was in my Thursday class.”
Leaning back, Nick let the folder fall facedown against his chest. “What was your impression of her?”
Alexander blinked rapidly. “Excuse me?”
“Your impression? As her teacher, what was your impression of Gina Ford?”
“Uh, she was smart. Friendly. Everyone seemed to like her. I didn’t know her that well. She made straight As in my class.”
“I see.” Nick sat up, closed the folder, and grabbed another that he opened and pretended to peruse. “Ah, what about Cynthia Mantle?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly. “What?”
“Cynthia Mantle, Gina Ford’s best friend. She’s also in your class, isn’t she? The same class as Gina?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“And your impression of Ms. Mantle? As her teacher?”
“Uh, she’s bright. Completes all her assignments. Makes good grades in my class.”
Of course she did.
Nick transferred folders again. “Mr. Alexander, where were you last Friday morning between eight and ten?”
“Excuse me?”
“You. Friday morning. Eight and ten.”
“I teach at the university.”
“You have no classes on Friday. None at all.” Nick shoved the folder he’d been holding back onto the stack. “I’ll ask again, Mr. Alexander. Where were you between eight and ten last Friday morning?”
“Um . . . should I get a lawyer?”
Nick leaned forward, tenting his hands over the table. “Do you need a lawyer, Mr. Alexander?”
“No, but the way you’re questioning makes it seem like I do.”
Nick waved to all the folders on the table. “If you’d like to call a lawyer, I’ll bring you a phone and be happy to wait for him to get here.”
Alexander jerked his head a little, as if popping it. “No. I’m good.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer?”
“No.”
Nick stood and faced the two-way mirror. He winked before turning back to Alexander. “I’m a little confused.”
“About what?” Alexander jutted out his chin.
Good. His defensiveness was kicking in. About time. “If you had to leave the University of Tennessee Health Science Center campus here in Memphis because of alleged improper behavior with a student and had received two similar warnings from the provost at your current place of employment, why would you start a relationship with your student Cynthia Mantle?”
“I-I—”
Nick sat up straight. “Isn’t it true that you knew Gina Ford threatened to go to the provost about you and Cynthia after she found out the two of you had used her home as a meeting place?”
“That was just once!”
“Weren’t you so desperate to keep your job that you’d do anything to shut up Gina Ford?”
“No! Are you implying I had something to do with her death? You’re crazy. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Then where were you last Friday morning?”
“I was . . . I was . . . I think I was with Cynthia.”
“No, you weren’t. She was on the phone with Gina before Gina’s murder, then at a gas station, then in Professor Emmel’s class. Unless you two were working together and she called Gina to make sure she was where you could kill her.”
“That’s a lie!” He raised his voice as he jerked upright in the hardback metal chair.
“Then where were you?” Nick leaned across the table, invading Alexander’s space.
“Give me a second to think.” The man’s voice remained loud and higher pitched than normal.
Nick turned and stared at the two-way mirror. He needed more. He could feel the DA shaking his head, letting him know Alexander hadn’t incriminated himself or proven he didn’t have an alibi. Nick turned back to Alexander. “So? Where were you?”
“I can’t remember. I can’t remember right now.” Alexander had turned a little pale. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with Gina’s death. Nothing.”
Moving in for the kill, Nick sat in the chair beside him. “Listen, let’s make it easy.” He made his voice low, his tone conversational. “Voluntarily give me a DNA sample and we’ll compare it to what we found at Gina’s crime scene. If you had nothing to do with her murder, as you claim, then there won’t be a match.”
He had no alibi. That combined with his motive and the familial DNA match, should be enough to get a warrant for the DNA sample. He almost clapped his hands and rubbed them together. Charging this character would be the highlight of his Tuesday.
“Okay.”
He coul—“What?”
“Okay. You can have the DNA sample. Blood? Hair? What do you need?”
He’d agreed! “You just wait here. I’ll get someone to collect a sample from you here.” He turned and rushed from the room.
The DA and Timmons met him in the hallway.
“Un-canny-believable.” Timmons shook his head. “I can’t believe he agreed.”
The DA clapped Nick’s shoulder. “Hurry up and get someone to get his sample before he has time to think about it and lawyer up.”
Not Maddie. He’d call Eva.
Nick nodded. “Let me make a phone call.”
Agent Martin waved his hands. “Agent Hagar.” He rushed toward Nick.
“Not right now, Mar—”
Maddie came rushing down the hall beside Agent Martin.
He took the biggest sucker punch in history right square in the bread box.
Maddie grinned. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have something I need your help on.”
Timmons joined them. “Perfect timing, Maddie. We were just about to call someone to collect a DNA sample for us. You saved us some time.”
“Maddie Baxter, TBI, forensic scientist.” She shook his hand, then smiled at Nick. “Happy to help out. What kind of sample do you need? Your crime scene unit should have everything I need.”
Nick swallowed hard. “Maybe we should just have one of our team collect it.”
Jones gave him a quizzical look. “No. We need to get that sample now, before he changes his mind.”
“It’s fine, Nick. I don’t mind.” She smiled. “What kind of sample do you need?”
“Which one is best for DNA extraction that will be compared against DNA from blood?”
“Any will work for comparisons, just a matter of preference.”
“Get blood. It’s easier to explain DNA to a jury when you’re comparing blood against blood,” Jones said.
“Okay.” She looked at Timmons. “Just call your CSU and tell them I’m taking a blood sample and to send me a pack. They’ll know.”
Timmons nodded.
“Oh, and tell them to make sure there are gloves too.”
Timmons acknowledged and headed to the office.
Maddie turned back to him. “Is there a place I can set this?” She held up a purse-briefcase combo thing.
He had to tell her but didn’t want to in front of Jones. “Over here.”
She frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Please excuse us,” he said to Jones, then took her gently by the arm and led her a little away.
“What’s wrong, Nick?”
“About that DNA sample . . .”
“Yeah? You know I can take it.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Maddie, we need it from Adam Alexander.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’ve tried to lead a straight, clean life,
not set any kind of a bad example.”
Elvis Presley
“Adam’s here?” Maddie nearly swayed, but she forced herself to stand firm.
Nick opened a door off the hallway. The room was dark, but there was a big window and Adam sat on the other side. Nick led her inside. She set down her briefcase and hauled in a deep breath.