"Not surprising, is it?" Jackson added.
"Anything else, Liz?" Sawyer queried her.
"Oh, yes. Lots of goodies. Prints. We used MDB, a compound which is particularly good at fluorescing latent prints under laser light. Also used a deep blue lens on the Luma-lite. Got really good results. We did elimination typing on the three victims. Their prints were everywhere. Understandably. Found a number of other partials, though, including one that coincided with those scratches, which seems natural enough. We also found one that was of particular interest."
"What's that?" Sawyer's nose was almost quivering with anticipation.
"Brophy's clothes were heavily spotted with blood and other human residue from his wound. His right shoulder, in particular, was covered in blood. Makes sense, since his right temple would have been bleeding heavily. We found a number of prints, thumb, index, pinkie, really examples of the entire hand, in the blood on his right shoulder."
"How do you account for that? Someone trying to turn him over?" Sawyer looked puzzled.
"No. I wouldn't say that, although I don't have firm evidence to support it. My gut is, judging from the palm print I was able to pull up, it was more like--and I know this sounds pretty bizarre under the circumstances--but it was like someone was trying to climb over him, or at least was straddling the guy. But the close placement of the fingers, the angle of the palm and so on, really strongly suggest that's what happened."
Sawyer looked highly skeptical. "Climb over him? That's kind of a stretch, isn't it, Liz? You can't really tell that from the prints, can you?"
"I'm not basing my conclusion simply on that. We also found this." She pointed at the screen again. A strange object appeared there. A shape or pattern of some sort. In fact, a couple of them. The dark background around the objects they were looking at made it difficult to understand what they were really observing.
"This was a shot taken of Brophy's body," Liz explained. "He's face down on the floorboard. We're looking at his back. You see in the middle of his back this shape pattern. Again, it's made possible by a patch of blood."
Jackson and Sawyer squinted and leaned close to the screen, trying to discern what the image was. They finally gave up and looked at Liz.
"A knee." She magnified the image until it spanned the entire screen. "The human knee does make a very unique shape, especially when you have a malleable background such as blood." She clicked another button and another image sprang to life. "We also have this."
Sawyer and Jackson again looked at the screen. This time the pattern was readily identifiable. "A shoe print, the heel," Jackson said.
Sawyer looked unconvinced. "Yeah, but why climb all the way over the dead guy, get blood and who knows what else all over you, leave trace of yourself behind, when you could just open the left-side passenger door and step out? I mean, the person we're probably talking about was seated right next to Goldman on the left side."
Jackson and Liz looked at each other. Neither one had a ready answer for that. Liz shrugged and smiled. "That's why they pay you the big bucks, guys. I'm just a lab rat."
Jackson smiled. "I'd love fifty more just like you, Liz."
She smiled at the compliment. "I'll have a written report on all this for you later today."
They all took off the goggles.
"I'm assuming you've already run the prints?" Sawyer looked at her.
"Jesus, I'm sorry, talk about leaving out the main course. All of the prints--the one we looked at on the screen, from the probable murder weapon, and all of the ones in the limo and leading from the limo and on to the eighth floor and back down--were from one person."
"Sidney Archer." Jackson said.
"That's right," Liz responded. "The office where the blood trail took us was hers as well."
Sawyer stepped over to the limo and peered inside. He motioned for Liz and Jackson to join him.
"Okay, based on what we know right now, can we assume that Sidney Archer was sitting about right there?" He pointed to a spot slightly left of the middle of the rear seat.
"Seems reasonable enough, based on the trace we've uncovered so far. The blood spray patterns, fiber and print evidence would certainly support that conclusion," Liz said.
"Okay, looking at where the body ended up, Brophy was most likely sitting facing the rear. You say he may have turned his head and that accounted for the heavy residue on the rear seats. Right?"
"That's right." Liz was nodding her head as she followed Sawyer's reconstruction.
"Now, Brophy's wound was of the contact variety, there's little doubt of that. How far would you say that it?" Sawyer was pointing to the space between the front and rear seats of the passenger area.
"We don't have to guess," Liz said. She walked over to her desk, pulled out a tape measure and came back over. With Jackson's assistance she measured the space. Liz looked at the result on the tape and then frowned as she now saw where Sawyer was headed with his analysis. "Six feet six inches from the middle of one seat to the other."
"Okay, based on the absence of residue on the rear seats, Archer and Goldman were sitting there, their backs flush against the seats, you agree?" Liz nodded, as did Jackson. "All right, is it possible for Sidney Archer, if she was sitting with her back flush against the rear seat, to have perpetrated a contact wound on Brophy's right temple?"
Liz answered first. "No, not unless her arms dragged the ground when she walked."
Sawyer was eyeing Liz carefully. "How about Brophy was leaning toward Archer, very close, and she pulls the gun and fires. His body falls on her, let's say, but she pushes him off and he lands on the floor. What's wrong with that picture?"
Liz thought for a moment. "If he was leaning forward--and he really would have had to almost leave his seat--then given the distance, the shooter would still have to be doing about the same thing: They would sort of meet in the middle, so to speak, for the contact wound to be possible. But if the shooter is leaning forward, then the spray patterns would be different, more than likely. The shooter's back is not flush with the seat. Even if her body caught most of the residue, it would be highly unlikely for some not to have ended up on the seat behind her. For her to remain flush against the seat when she fired, Brophy would most likely had to have been almost in her lap. That doesn't seem too probable, does it?"
"Agreed," Sawyer said. "Let's talk about Goldman's wound for a minute. She's sitting next to Goldman on his left side, okay?
Wouldn't you think his entry wound would have been to the right temple and not in the middle of the forehead?"
"He could've turned to face her--" Liz started to say, and then stopped. "But then the blood spray patterns wouldn't make sense.
Goldman was definitely looking toward the front of the limo when the bullet hit him. But it could still be possible, Lee."
"Really?" Sawyer pulled up a chair, sat down in it, held an imaginary gun in his right hand, coiled it around and pointed it backward as though he were about to shoot someone sitting on his left, in the forehead as that person stared directly ahead. He looked at Liz and Jackson. "Pretty awkward, isn't it?"
"Very," Jackson said, shaking his head.
"It gets even more awkward, guys. Sidney Archer is left-handed.
Remember, Ray, her drinking coffee, handling the pistol? Left-handed."
Sawyer repeated his performance, this time holding the imaginary firearm in his left hand. The result was almost laughable as the bulky agent contorted his body.
"That would be impossible," Jackson said. "She'd have to turn and face him to inflict a wound like that. Either that or she pops her arm out of the socket. Nobody would fire a pistol in that manner."
"So, if Archer is the shooter, she somehow shoots the driver in the front seat, jumps across to the rear seat, blows away Brophy, which we've already shown she couldn't have done, and then supposedly nails Goldman using a completely unnatural--in fact impossible--firing angle." Sawyer got up from the chair and shook his head.
"
You've made some good points, Lee, but there's still a lot of indisputable trace tying Sidney Archer to the crime scene," Liz rejoined.
"Being at a crime scene and being the perpetrator of said crime are two different things, Liz," Sawyer said heatedly. Liz looked pained at the agent's sharp rebuff.
As they were leaving the lab, Sawyer had a final question. "You get an answer on the gunshot residue test yet?"
"I hope you realize the bureau's firearms section doesn't really do the GSR tests anymore, since the findings weren't typically turning up anything relevant. However, since it was you requesting the test, of course no one balked. Give me one minute, Agent Sawyer, and I'll check." Liz's tone was plainly antiseptic now. Sawyer didn't seem to notice as he moodily studied the floor.
Liz went back to her desk and picked up a phone. Sawyer was staring over at the limo, looking for the world like he wanted to make it disappear. Jackson watched his partner carefully, a trace of concern filtering through his eyes.
Liz walked back over. "Negative. None of the victims had either fired a gun or handled a recently fired weapon with their bare hands in the six hours before their death."
"You're sure? No mistake?" Sawyer asked, his brow laced with furrows.
Liz's usually pleasant face quickly turned to a scowl. "My people know how to do their job, Lee. A GSR test is not that complicated, although, as I said, it's not routinely done anymore because a positive finding may not always be that accurate; there are so many substances out there that could, in practice, give a false positive.
However, that nine-millimeter would have thrown off a good deal of residue, and the test result was negative. I'd say the confidence level in that finding should be very high. However, just in case you didn't catch it, I did add a disclaimer about their bare hands. They could have worn gloves, of course."
"But none were found on the dead men," Jackson pointed out.
"That's right," Liz said, looking at Sawyer triumphantly.
Sawyer ignored the look. "Were there any other prints found on the nine-millimeter?" he asked.
"One thumb print, partially obscured. It belonged to Parker, the chauffeur driver."
"No one else's?" Sawyer asked. "You're sure." Liz said nothing.
Her expression plainly answered the question.
"Okay, you said Parker's print was partially obscured. What about Archer's prints? How clean were they?"
"From what I recall, fairly clean. Although there was some smudging. I'm talking about the grip, trigger and trigger guard.
Her prints on the barrel were very clear."
"The barrel?" Sawyer said this more to himself. He looked at Liz.
"We have a report on the ballistics yet? I'm real interested in the trajectory patterns."
"The autopsies are being performed as we speak. We'll know soon enough. I've asked to be advised of the results. They'll probably call you first, but in case they don't, as soon as I hear, I'll buzz you." She added with a trace of sarcasm, "You'll want to make sure they didn't make any mistakes, of course."
Sawyer looked at her for a moment. "Thanks, Liz. You've been a big help." His sarcastic tone was not lost on either Liz or Jackson.
Lost deep in thought, his massive shoulders sagging, Sawyer trudged away slowly.
Jackson stayed behind for a moment with Liz. She watched Sawyer leave and then looked over at Jackson. "What the hell's eating him, Ray? He's never treated me like that before."
Jackson didn't answer right away. He finally shrugged and turned to leave. "I'm not sure I can answer that right now, Liz. Not sure at all." He quietly followed his partner out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Jackson climbed in the car and looked over at his partner. Sawyer was sitting there, his hands on the wheel, staring off into the darkness.
Jackson looked at his watch. "Hey, Lee, how 'about some grub?" When Sawyer didn't reply, he added, "My treat? Don't pass that offer up. It may not be repeated in your lifetime." Jackson gripped Sawyer's shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze.
Sawyer finally looked over at him. For an instant a smile appeared on his lips and then was gone. "Springing for a meal, huh? You think I'm seriously screwed up over this case, don't you, Raymond?"
"I just don't want you to get too skinny," said Jackson.
Sawyer laughed and put the car in gear.
Jackson attacked his meal with vigor while Sawyer merely played with a mug of coffee. The diner was in close proximity to the headquarters building and was thus a popular one for FBI personnel. The pair greeted a number of colleagues either grabbing a bite before heading home or fortifying themselves before going on duty.
at the lab. But you could've cut Liz some slack. She was just doing her job."
Sawyer's eyes suddenly burned into his partner. "You cut some slack when your kid misses curfew or puts a ding in your car. If somebody wants slack, then I would strongly suggest they don't seek employment with the FBI."
"You know what I mean. Liz is damned good at her job."
Sawyer's face softened. "I know, Ray. I'll send her some flowers.
Okay?" Sawyer looked away again.
Between bites Jackson said, "So what's our next move?"
Sawyer looked over at him. "I'm not really sure. I've had cases change on me in midstream before, but not quite to this degree."
"You don't believe Sidney Archer killed those guys, do you?"
"Aside from the fact that the physical evidence says she couldn't have, no, I don't believe she did."
"But she did lie to us, Lee. The tape? She was helping her husband.
You can't get around that."
Sawyer felt the guilt seep in again. He had never withheld information from a partner before. He looked over at Jackson and then decided to tell him what Sidney had revealed. Five minutes later, Jackson sat back stunned. Sawyer glanced at him anxiously. "She was scared. Didn't know what to do. I'm sure she wanted to tell us from the get-go. Damn, if we only knew where she was. She could be in real danger, Ray." Sawyer smacked a fist into his palm. "If she would only come to us. Work together. We could bust this whole case, I know it."
Jackson leaned forward, a determined expression on his face.
"Look, Lee, we've done a lot of cases together. But, despite it all, you kept your distance. You saw things for what they were."
"And you think this case is different?" Sawyer's tone was steady.
"I know it's different. You've been sticking up for this lady almost from the start. And you've damn sure been treating her differently than you ordinarily would a major suspect in a case like this. Now you tell me she spilled to you about the tape and her talking to her husband. And you kept that info to yourself. Jesus Christ, Lee, that's grounds to get your butt kicked right out of the bureau."
"If you feel you need to report it, Ray, I'm not stopping you."
Jackson grunted and shook his head. "I'm not pissing away your career. You're doing a good enough job of that."
"This case isn't any different."
"Bullshit!" Jackson hunched forward even more. "You know it is and it's messing you up. All the evidence points, at minimum, to Sidney Archer being involved in some serious crimes, and yet you go out of your way at every opportunity to put a positive spin on it. You did it with Frank Hardy, with Liz, and now you're trying to do it with me. You're not a politician, Lee, you're a law enforcement officer.
She may not be in on everything, but she's no angel either.
That's for damned certain."
"You disagree with my conclusions on the triple homicide?"
Sawyer shot back.
Jackson shook his head. "No. I think you're probably right. But if you expect me to believe that Archer is just an innocent babe caught up in some Kafkaesque nightmare, then you're talking to the wrong FBI agent. Remember what you said about slack? Well, I'd have to cut you a ton of it to even begin to believe that Sidney Archer, beautiful and intelligent as she might be, shouldn't spend a considerable part of her rem
aining years in prison." Jackson sat back.
"So that's what you think it's all about? Beautiful, brainy babe turns veteran agent to mush?" Jackson didn't respond, but the answer was clearly painted on his face. "Old, divorced fart wants to jump in her panties, Ray? And I can't do that if she's guilty. Is that what the hell you think?" Sawyer's voice was rising.
"Why don't you tell me, Lee?"
"Maybe I should throw your ass through that window over there instead."
"Maybe you should goddamn try," Jackson shot back.
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