Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  “Could you write down that phone number for me?”

  “Sam’s number?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sean slid his pad across the table and she scribbled down a number.

  “And how long have you known Sam?”

  “Only a year. But we talk almost every day. Sometimes twice. She’s my sponsor. You know, AA.”

  So, Brooke was right. “And how was she doing with the program?”

  Amy snorted. “Better than me.”

  “Do you know if she had any problems besides alcohol? Any drugs?”

  She shook her head. “Not Sam.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sean didn’t know how she could be so certain, but he wanted to move on, so he flipped to a clean page in his book. “Do you know if Sam has any family living in town?” They’d had trouble locating her next of kin.

  “I don’t know. If she did, she never said anything, and I think she would have.”

  “And did she have any children?”

  “No.” Amy dabbed her nose with the tissue. “She’s never been married.”

  That wasn’t what he’d asked, but he let it go. “Are there kids she liked to spend time with?”

  “Well, she spends time with Aiden.”

  He nodded. “Any others? Maybe kids of neighbors or friends from AA? Anyone she babysat?”

  Amy shook her head, looking confused now. “Why?”

  “We’re trying to get a picture.”

  “Sam loves kids. She’s great with them. Was.” Amy closed her eyes. “She went trick-or-treating with us this year.”

  Sean waited, watching her. He’d become an expert at reading people, and this woman looked genuinely shocked by everything. And she hadn’t been evasive with his questions.

  “Was Sam having trouble with anyone that you know about?”

  Amy shook her head.

  “Was she dating anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Seeing anyone casually?”

  The door opened and Callie poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Detective.” She gave him a too-sweet smile and then looked at Amy. “Someone brought in doughnuts this morning. Is it all right if Aiden has one?”

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  Callie disappeared, and Amy looked at him. “Sam didn’t have a boyfriend. Not since I’ve known her. Guys were always hitting on her, but she wasn’t into it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think she had a problem with someone in her past?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Amy tipped her head to the side. “I always thought she had some skeletons in the closet, but doesn’t everyone?”

  Sean didn’t answer that.

  “Come to an AA meeting, if you don’t believe me.” Amy shook her head, and he got a glimpse of some resilience underneath all the tears.

  “What about family connections?”

  “I think she mentioned her mom once, but it wasn’t like they were close.”

  Amy flipped her phone over and looked at the time. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to work soon.” She rubbed her forehead. “God, I really need to go to a meeting.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “The Cotton Gin. My shift starts at two.” She stood up, and Sean stood, too. “Can we finish this later if you have more questions?”

  “That’s fine.” He was sure he’d have more questions, but it would be good to let her mull things over. “If you think of anything else that would help, call us.” He handed her a business card.

  She looked at the card and bit her lip. “One more thing. The news said . . . they said she was stabbed?” Amy gave him a pleading look.

  Sean nodded, and her face crumpled.

  “Oh, that’s horrible. Horrible. Sam doesn’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this.”

  The door opened, and it was Aiden and Callie. The boy had a gold police-badge sticker on his T-shirt and icing on his chin.

  “Aiden tells me his ear hurts,” Callie said.

  “Come here, sweet pea.” Amy scooped him up and shifted him onto her hip. “We’ll get you your drops, okay?” Then she looked at Sean. “I hope you find the person who did this. I hope you find him and nail him to the wall.”

  • • •

  Brooke swept her UV light over the seat for the third time, and for the third time she found nothing. She crouched beside the car and examined the floorboards.

  “Any chance we can get some lights on in the next hour?” Roland Delgado asked.

  Brooke glanced across the lab at him. He was seated at his computer in the corner. His spiky dark hair looked jet-black, and the screen cast his face in a bluish hue. Up to now he’d been patient with the on-again, off-again lighting in the lab as Brooke examined Samantha Bonner’s car.

  Brooke shoved up her goggles and flipped on the light switch, illuminating the cavernous room. “This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t feel like a drug addict’s car to me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Roland didn’t take his eyes off his screen. “What does a drug addict’s car feel like?”

  “You know. Messy. Disorganized. Crap everywhere.”

  “Not everyone’s a slob.”

  “Okay, but two grams of coke in the glove box, and nothing anywhere else? I’d expect to find a trace of something. I mean, what do addicts do when they go make a buy? They pull over and get a fix, right? Or they race home to do it. Are we supposed to believe this woman went out and bought more than a hundred dollars’ worth of coke and then left it in her car overnight? Who does that?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Plus, she makes twelve bucks an hour. So why’s she buying cocaine in the first place and not something cheaper? The whole thing doesn’t add up.”

  Brooke crossed the lab to the fume hood and took another look at the plastic baggie inside the rectangular glass chamber. She’d fumed it again using cyanoacrylate, but hadn’t developed any additional fingerprints besides the one distinct thumbprint at the top of the bag.

  “And look at this baggie. One thumbprint, and it belongs to the victim.”

  “So?”

  “So, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Evidence doesn’t lie, Brookie.”

  “What about prints of whoever she bought it from?”

  “Maybe he wore gloves.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Hey, it can happen.” Roland still hadn’t looked up from his screen. “He could be one of those rare drug dealers who hasn’t fried half his brain cells.”

  “Okay, but one thumbprint and it conveniently belongs to the victim? I mean, how do you even hold a bag that way?”

  Roland swiveled around in his chair. “Are you saying it’s a plant?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why would someone plant coke in her car?”

  “I don’t know. To throw off investigators, maybe? To confuse them about motive?”

  Roland leaned back in his seat and laced his hands behind his head. “You’re the one who’s confused, Brooke. It’s the detectives’ job to figure out motive. You’re a trace-evidence examiner. You should worry about examining trace evidence. Full stop.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. They’d had this argument before. But Brooke couldn’t work a case—or couldn’t do her best work—unless she thought about the big picture. She discovered a lot more clues that way.

  Roland grinned at her. “You’re trying to throw the whole case into a tailspin, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not trying to throw anything into a tailspin. I’m trying to make sense of it. Her house is just as weird. No drugs there, either.”

  “Maybe she only recently had a relapse.”

  “We vacuumed the sofa, the chairs, the rug. We tape-lifted the tabletops. We swabbed the sinks. Nothing. All we found were some coffee grounds and a few dog hairs on the couch.”

  “So, she wins the Good Housekeeping Award. So what?”


  “No drugs in her purse. Not so much as an aspirin. But she did have three one-year sobriety chips from Alcoholics Anonymous.”

  Roland shook his head. “You’re determined to make life complicated. Why do I bother?”

  “Don’t you want to help solve the case?”

  “Yes. By analyzing trace evidence. That’s my job. Let the detectives do theirs.”

  Brooke sighed. “How’s that footwear impression coming?”

  “I submitted it. Still waiting to hear back. It’s only a partial, so it takes longer.”

  Maddie walked into the room. “Hey, I thought you guys would be gone by now.”

  “Gone where?” Roland asked.

  “Over to Schmitt’s. Didn’t you get the email? It’s Kelsey’s birthday. A bunch of us are meeting there.”

  “Kelsey’s birthday, huh?” Roland checked his watch. “Who all’s going?”

  “Gee, let’s see.” Maddie gave him a teasing smile. “Kelsey is going. And Ben. Oh, and I think that new woman in the forensic anthro lab? The young blond one? What’s her name?”

  “Sara Lockhart,” Brooke said. Roland had been ogling her for weeks and clearly saw his chance. He was already shutting down his computer as Maddie waved and ducked out.

  “You coming?” he asked Brooke.

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t feel like sitting at a beer garden tonight.

  “Oh, come on. One beer.”

  “I’ll probably stay here a while.”

  “Come on, Brooke. What time did you get here today? Seven?”

  “Six.”

  “Jesus, you trying to make us all look bad? Pack it in. Go home already. Or better yet, come have a brew with your friends.”

  “I should get home.”

  “Your loss.” He clamped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a serious look. “But know this, Brookie-Brooke. You used to be fun.”

  He walked out, leaving her alone in the huge room. She looked at her worktable, blanketed in case files. Four open cases right now, including the still-fresh homicide that had consumed her since last night when she’d first gotten the call.

  Brooke looked around the lab. It was still and quiet, and the smell of cyanoacrylate hung in the air. Usually, she liked working at night because she could concentrate better.

  But a break sounded tempting. So did spending time with her friends. Problem was, Schmitt’s was a cop hangout, and she could easily imagine bumping into someone she didn’t want to see.

  You used to be fun.

  “Screw it,” she muttered, pulling off her goggles and tossing them on the table. Roland was right.

  • • •

  Within five minutes of arriving at Schmitt’s, Brooke saw that Roland had no interest in Kelsey’s birthday and every interest in hitting on Kelsey’s new lab assistant. Sara Lockhart had pretty green eyes and a friendly smile. Brooke liked that Sara had no trouble holding her own when Roland tried to talk her into a game of pool.

  “Not now, thanks,” she said, and then jumped back into the conversation at the far end of the table. Despite the chilly weather, Kelsey had chosen to sit outside at a picnic table under the oak tree wrapped in twinkle lights. Most of the guys from work were inside playing pool, which left Maddie, Sara, and Brooke with the birthday girl.

  A waiter delivered Brooke’s beer and walked off.

  Maddie lifted her eyebrow. “He’s cute.” She gave Brooke a hopeful look.

  “Yep. Too bad he’s not on the meal plan.”

  “Meal plan?” Sara asked.

  “Brooke’s on a man diet,” Kelsey explained.

  “It’s more of a fast.” Brooke slurped the foam off her Guinness. “I just got out of a bad relationship. Two, actually. I seem to have a talent.”

  Sara nodded. “I see. Bad as in . . . commitment-phobe? Cheater? Man-child? Just reciting what jumps to mind based on personal experience.”

  “Hmm . . . The most recent one, I’d say, is in the man-child category. The one before that . . . probably commitment-phobe. But it wasn’t just me. He was afraid of commitment in all its forms. Jobs, bills, personal hygiene.”

  Sara made a face.

  “He was an unemployed drummer,” Brooke said.

  “I think that’s redundant.” Maddie looked at Sara. “My first boyfriend was a drummer, so I can relate. Sort of. Actually, I traded him in for a doctor, who turned out to be even more of a toad, so I probably shouldn’t be chiming in.”

  “But she’s now happily married to a very hot FBI agent, so it all worked out,” Kelsey said.

  Maddie smiled. “Yes, it did.”

  Sara turned to Brooke. “So, what happened with the drummer?”

  “Joshua. Basically, I woke up one morning and realized I’d been paying his bills for a year while he smoked pot on my couch. So I broke up with him. And I decided I was done with guys that had no motivation. Then I went to the other guardrail. Matt.”

  “This is the recent guy?”

  Brooke nodded. She felt a knot in her stomach, which shouldn’t still be happening. It had been four months. “He had a job and everything. Actually, two. He’s a cop and a volunteer firefighter. But he was a little intense.”

  “Controlling,” Kelsey said.

  “Intensely controlling.” Brooke sipped her beer. “So, what about you?”

  Sara smiled. “I’m very single. And very happy that way.” She clinked Brooke’s glass. “No offense to all the newlyweds. There seem to be a lot at Delphi. There must be something in the water.”

  Brooke looked around the table at her friends. Sara had only just met everyone, and she’d already noticed that their friendship group at Delphi was mostly newlyweds. Slowly but surely, everyone was meeting their soul mate and pairing off. Brooke was happy for them. Truly. Every one of her friends had been through some sort of relationship trial by fire to get to their current state. Brooke didn’t see those same things in her future, though. She didn’t know if she ever wanted to be married, and she was sick of thinking about it, sick of dealing with relationships at all. Hence, the man diet.

  A few minutes later Roland reappeared, and Brooke could tell he’d won by the deflated expression on Ben’s face.

  “Okay, who’s next?” Roland asked. “Brooke, how about you and Ben versus me and Sara?”

  Ben slid onto the bench beside Brooke. “I’m out.”

  “Same.” Brooke lifted her beer. “I’m still working on this.”

  “Come on. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I’m out, too,” Sara said. “I’m having too much fun talking.”

  Roland took the spot across from Sara and signaled a server.

  “Whoa.” Maddie put her hand over Brooke’s. “Speak of the devil,” she whispered.

  Brooke followed her gaze to the bar.

  Where Matt was pulling up a stool.

  Brooke’s stomach clenched. “Unbelievable.”

  “You think he saw your car?”

  “Ha. Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

  Matt ordered a drink and pretended not to see Brooke as he chatted up a pair of women beside him. He was in his typical off-duty attire of jeans and cowboy boots. Brooke turned away and sipped her beer.

  No doubt he’d noticed every person she was with, including Roland. He’d never liked that she and Roland worked together. Matt had a jealous streak and had frequently accused her of having a secret thing with Roland, even though Brooke had never cheated on anyone, ever.

  Maddie leaned closer. “Has he been following you?”

  “No.”

  Maddie lifted her eyebrows.

  “He hasn’t. He just keeps . . . showing up places. The grocery store. My gym. Our gym, I should say. Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “Or maybe he’s following you.”

  “No, sometimes he’s there before I am. Small town, right? I should get used to it.” Brooke pulled a twenty from her purse. “Listen, I need to head out. Throw my money into the pot, will you?”

&nb
sp; Brooke slid from the picnic table and said a quick good-bye to Kelsey, trying not to put a damper on the birthday festivities.

  When Brooke started to leave, Maddie was at her side. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “I’m fine. I’m parked in the front row.”

  “Really, I insist.”

  When they were on the sidewalk, Brooke spotted her little Prius. Matt’s oversize pickup was parked right beside her car, making it look like a toy.

  “Subtle, isn’t he?”

  Maddie gave her a worried look. “Are you sure everything’s okay with him?”

  “Actually, no.” Brooke glanced back at the door. “I thought maybe he installed a Snitch on my car or something. I took it to the shop, but they didn’t find anything.”

  “Oh, my God, Brooke. That’s insane. Let me talk to Brian.”

  “No. The last thing I need is an FBI agent confronting him.”

  “But if he’s harassing you . . .”

  “I’m being paranoid.”

  “Maybe you’re not. Maybe he’s tracking you some other way. Like your phone.”

  Brooke’s stomach sank. She hadn’t thought of that. “I’m so fucking done with this.” Gritting her teeth, she popped her locks and managed to get the door open just enough to squeeze through.

  “You should have Alex take a look at your phone. If there’s anything on there, you can bet she’ll find it.” Alex Lovell worked in Delphi’s cybercrimes unit and had plenty of tricks up her sleeve.

  “I’ll get her to take a look.”

  Brooke slid behind the wheel, and Maddie watched her leave. As Brooke pulled out of the parking lot, she let out a sigh of relief. No unwelcome taillights in her rearview mirror. And she was headed home.

  She felt tapped. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was only 8:35. Almost exactly twenty-four hours since Samantha Bonner had been ambushed on her back porch.

  Brooke rolled to a stop at an intersection, vividly remembering the blood-soaked crime scene. That poor woman. Brooke wondered if she’d had enough time to realize what was happening to her.

  When the light turned green, Brooke pulled a U-turn. She wasn’t ready for home yet.

  CHAPTER 5