Two Parts Bloody Murder

by Jen J. Danna

  A hot flush of triumph ran through Leigh, immediately followed by the cold slide of horror for what this meant to Cabrera. And to the system. An innocent man wrongly imprisoned for over three decades. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “One hundred percent. I’m not basing this only on that one feature, but on a range of features. The only leeway here is that I compared the ten-print card on file as Cabrera’s. If you want to get fresh prints from him, prints that you take so you absolutely know they’re his, I’ll do the comparison again. But if we’re sure the card is right …”

  “Then Santino Cabrera was sent away for a crime he didn’t commit,” Matt finished for her. He sat back in his chair, his expression drawn in a combination of disbelief and discomfort. “I knew this was a possibility, but now that it’s a certainty …” He paused, rubbing his palms flat against his thighs before balling his hands into fists. “I’m having a little trouble wrapping my brain around it.” He met Leigh’s eyes. “What do we do?”

  The weight of this new victim settled heavily on Leigh, but she resolutely shouldered it. “We fix it, that’s what we do.” She turned to Claire. “Which means we have to prove his innocence beyond any possible doubt. I’ll get you a second round of prints. Are you on this weekend?”

  “No, but call my cell when you have them and I’ll meet you. You want to move on this right away, I assume?”

  “Yes.” Pushing back her chair, Leigh got up and started to pace the length of her kitchen, hands in her pockets, head bent, and her mind whirling. She maneuvered around the room with the familiarity of someone in their own space, but didn’t see any of it. Instead, her mind’s eye was fixed on the image of the Kain’s kitchen. Small table with four chairs, two teacups, ashtray with cigarette butts, avocado green stove and fridge, paper bags tipped over on the counter, oranges and tomatoes spilling onto the floor. The body in the hallway, sprawled in a pool of blood.

  “She okay?” Claire’s quiet voice drifted through her thoughts.

  “Yeah. She does this when she’s trying to work something out,” Matt said. “It helps her think.”

  Leigh reached her stove, whirled around, and came back. She cast a sidelong glance at Matt. “This works better in your lab; my kitchen’s too small. Okay, let’s work this through. Beside the fact we now have another murder to solve almost forty years after Mrs. Kain went into the ground, how did this happen? How did we send the wrong man to jail? Were the prints close? Did the tech simply make a mistake?”

  Claire folded her lips together, her eyes going ice-cold. “In my opinion, no. They’re too far off.”

  Leigh stopped dead, halfway through another lap of the kitchen. “Are you implying it was done on purpose?”

  “I can’t definitively say that. But unless the fingerprint tech on this case was drunk or stoned, the only other options are they were totally incompetent or dishonest. This isn’t a matter of a difficult comparison and stretching the truth. This isn’t the realistic risk we constantly live with of making a bad match. This is a giant leap off the cliff. They simply don’t match, not even at level one. And there was no second expert to corroborate a weak match. One tech did the match and Santino Cabrera went away based on that testimony.”

  “Who was the tech?” Matt asked.

  “Joe Emerson. I checked him out. He took early retirement in nineteen-ninety-six, but he still lives in the area.”

  “I’m going to need to check him out,” Leigh muttered. “Is there any way he might have been pressured to give false testimony? By Trooper Bern? By a supervisor? Because he thought he was putting away a ‘bad’ man?”

  “Leigh.” The gentleness in Matt’s tone made her look up. “You’re trying to justify what one of the good guys did because you can’t see the good in it. If he purposely made a bad call, there isn’t any good to find.”

  Leigh came back to the table and sagged into her chair, her shoulders slumping. “I know. But I don’t like that one of us could do something like this.”

  “Trust me, I don’t either,” Claire said, her clipped tone making her displeasure clear. “It gives us a bad name when ninety-nine percent of us put heart and soul into what we do. Part of the problem is the blind faith we put in the system. It allows mistakes to slip through sometimes. No one questions fingerprint techs, and when they’re presenting to a jury who doesn’t know how fingerprinting works, they can usually find enough similarities to sell it. And if the tech has a good rep, the chances of being questioned on it go down dramatically.”

  “Our first order of business, then, is to look into the tech, and that includes getting a warrant to look at his financials. Claire, I’ll get you fresh prints to work with. Then we look at reopening Anna Kain’s murder.” Leigh met Matt’s gaze across the table, seeing the same resolution there. “Someone got away with this crime and has been living scot-free ever since. It’s time to balance the scales.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: TWO-WINE THEORY

  * * *

  Two-wine theory: an alternative reinterpretation of 1 Timothy 5:23. Prior to the nineteenth century, the moderate consumption of alcohol was widely accepted by Christians. But as the Temperance Movement gained traction, some churches began to preach that the consumption of alcohol was sinful, and the characterization of alcohol as “Demon Rum” displaced the earlier Christian view that alcohol was the “good gift of God.” The Bible exhortation to “use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake” caused serious problems for Abolitionists who insisted that the Bible was actually advising people to rub alcohol on their abdomens.

  Saturday, 6:27 p.m.

  Lowell Residence

  Brookline, Massachusetts

  “Matt, you’re wearing a path in the floor. Why don’t you sit down?”

  Halfway across the kitchen, Matt pulled up short, turning to look at his father where he sat at the kitchen table. “I just thought I’d see if anyone wanted more wine.” He reached for the decanter on the granite countertop. “Leigh?”

  “I’m good. You topped me up just five minutes ago,” Leigh said, swirling the wine in her nearly full glass. “Matt, it’s going to be fine.”

  Matt forced himself to lean against the counter, casually crossing his ankles. He felt twitchy, as if his skin was stretched too tight over his bones. “I know. It’s just … it’s been so long since I saw anyone from the unit.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear it,” Mike said “but this is all tied into the PTSD you do your best not to acknowledge.”

  Matt winced, knowing what was coming, but a quick glance at Leigh had him relaxing fractionally. Leigh had been with him through several recent PTSD episodes and knew his struggles.

  “Colin was with you for the worst of your experiences over there,” Mike continued. “Somehow, in your head, he’s become associated with those memories and the feelings they evoke. But he was doing his duty, just like you. You need to separate the man from those memories.”

  Matt blew out a breath, letting his head hang for a moment before resolutely straightening. “You’re right, of course. The logical part of me knows that I shouldn’t be apprehensive about Colin’s visit, but the rest of me isn’t—” The doorbell chimed down the hallway and his gaze shot to Leigh.

  She was already rising from her chair and holding out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go meet your friend.”

  When they reached the front door, Leigh gave his hand a final squeeze and then stepped back to stand beside Mike, who rolled to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

  Taking a deep breath, Matt wrenched open the door. A tall blond man stood on the other side, a man so familiar it seemed like it was only yesterday they embraced before Matt climbed into the Twin Huey to begin his final journey home. But this time, instead of desert camo fatigues, a small white clerical collar peeked out from the black shirt he wore under his jacket.

  “My God, you haven’t changed a bit,” Matt said.

  Father Colin Reid burst out laughing, stepping forward and catching Matt in an ea
sy, back-slapping hug. “And you haven’t changed a bit either. Still blunt as always.” The men stepped back and Colin gave him a quick once-over. “You look … good. Happy.”

  “I think I’ve found where I need to be. Come on in.” Matt stepped back, closing the door behind Colin.

  Matt laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. “This is my dad, Mike Lowell.”

  Colin stepped forward to shake Mike’s hand. “Mr. Lowell, I’ve heard so much about you. Matt told some pretty tall tales about your time in the Navy.”

  Mike fixed a beady eye on his son. “Did he now?”

  “Only the good ones, to help keep morale up.” Colin’s expression sobered. “I’m very glad to see you in one piece, sir. When Matt left camp … we weren’t sure what he was coming home to. My condolences on your wife.”

  “Thank you.”

  Matt slipped an arm around Leigh, coaxing her forward. “This is Leigh Abbott, the homicide cop I told you about.”

  Leigh held out her hand to Colin. “Nice to finally meet you. Matt’s told me about some of the times you shared overseas.”

  Colin glanced at Matt as he shook hands with Leigh. “I hope he told you about the many times my killer spike was the only reason we won those beach volleyball games.”

  Matt grinned. “And here, all this time, I thought it was my serve.”

  “So delusional.” Colin shook his head sadly, as if distressed by Matt’s words, but then ruined it with a wicked grin.

  Matt held out an arm toward the end of the hallway. “Come on back. Dinner is just about ready. Can I get you a glass of wine while we’re serving it up?”

  “I’d love one.”

  Colin and Leigh settled at the table while Matt and Mike finished dinner preparations.

  “Your email said that you’ve settled in D.C., but you didn’t say why you were coming to Boston.” Matt set a pan of bubbling lasagna on the table beside a large bowl of Caesar salad. “Business or pleasure?”

  “Happily now it’s a bit of both. But it was originally business. I work for the FBI.”

  For a moment, Matt simply stared at his old friend in shock. “The FBI? You’re Fox Mulder?”

  Colin let out a hearty laugh and had a long sip of wine. “No, not Mulder. Remember Dana Scully was the Catholic. But I’m not Scully either. I didn’t want to leave the Church. I just wanted to serve God in a way that was fulfilling to me. After being in the service, I knew a life of writing Sunday morning sermons wasn’t for me. Life in Afghanistan always seemed to be moments of extremes—boredom as we sat around waiting for our orders, happiness because we’d all made it through a battle alive, or devastation after we lost one of our own. And those long nights, when it sometimes seemed it was just the barest threads of Matt’s medical skills and my prayers that kept one of our men from fading for good.”

  Matt had a sudden vision of one of those nights: The medical station lights low to allow other patients to sleep. A soldier in the bed, burned, shot, or missing a limb. IV lines and EKG leads running from bloodless skin to beeping monitors. Colin in a chair by the bed, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes, an open Bible in his hands. In those moments when life hung in the balance, Matt couldn’t get Colin to leave, so together they stood vigil as if daring the Grim Reaper to take one of theirs. It felt like just the two of them against the world in those moments.

  He jolted back to the present as his father nudged his hand with a plate loaded with lasagna. Matt handed it to Colin and continued to pass out plates as his father served dinner. Then he took the empty chair beside Leigh. After Colin said a brief blessing, they all started to eat.

  “I knew I needed something a little off the traditional Catholic path,” Colin continued, “so I joined the FBI chaplains program.”

  “The chaplains program?” Leigh asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “For most of us that are involved, it’s a volunteer opportunity. Chaplains across the country work with FBI agents and their families during times of crisis. But they brought me on board to cover a slightly different need. I’m working in the Wounded Warrior Internship Program. We enroll vets that are disabled or on the mend, and bring them in on an internship during their rehab. Some vets join the FBI permanently. Some gain valuable working experience for their transition back into civilian life. I’m there to make sure that not only their physical needs, but also their emotional and spiritual needs, are met as well. And since I was there myself, they don’t need to explain to me what they’re going through.”

  “It sounds like an amazing program,” Mike said.

  “Sure does.” Matt set down his fork to stab an index finger at Colin. “But ’fess up. Having an office in the Hoover building has to be pretty neat.”

  Colin sat back casually, brushing a nonexistent crumb off the sleeve of his black shirt. “It really is.”

  Matt burst out laughing. “All these years later and you’re still full of it.” A thought occurred to him as he studied his friend speculatively. “But do you have security clearance?”

  Colin leaned in as if they were sharing a secret. “I can’t say,” he murmured.

  “Damn.” Matt sat back, shaking his head. “That probably means you have Top Secret clearance. You win, you have the cooler job.” The grin slid from Matt’s face. “But seriously, Colin, I’m impressed. You did great work with us overseas, and now you’re still helping people.”

  Colin’s face flushed scarlet, but he gave a single nod of thanks. “But that’s enough about me. Look at you. Ditching medicine and becoming a university professor? I’ll bet you didn’t see that one coming.”

  Matt chuckled, remembering how unexpected his own left turn had seemed back then. Looking back a decade later, it had just been a matter of finally finding the correct path. “Not really. But when I came back, I had a hard time readjusting. Dad was recovering from the accident and I needed a drastic change to kick-start things for me. Moving to Tennessee to study forensic anthropology at The Body Farm was the perfect solution. Now, I run a lab with three students and we’re working on identifying human remains in the columbarium beneath the Old North Church. When we’re not working with Leigh, that is.”

  “You referred very briefly to that in your email.” Colin turned to Leigh. “Your work sounds fascinating. And rewarding.”

  “It can be, but it can also be frustrating beyond belief. Don’t be fooled, this job is a lot more routine than it looks on TV. You know what they say about military service and police work: it’s ninety percent pure boredom punctuated by ten percent sheer terror. Matt can now attest to the boredom.”

  “I can also attest to the terror.” Matt flipped up the edge of his right sleeve, briefly revealing the pink, slightly shiny scar that ran along his biceps.

  “Is that from a bullet?” Colin pushed the sleeve back up to take a closer look. “I thought you left all that behind when you came home.”

  “Trust me, I did too,” Matt said dryly.

  “Solved any cases I might have heard of?”

  Matt glanced over at Leigh to find her amused eyes already on him. “Did you hear about Neil Bradford earlier this fall?”

  Colin’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “The serial killer case? That was you guys?”

  “It was. That was the first case we worked together.”

  “Talk about starting things off with a bang.”

  “No kidding,” Leigh said. “And it feels like it’s been nonstop since then.”

  “What are you working on now?” Colin glanced between Matt and Leigh. “Unless you can’t tell me.”

  “Well, I can tell you what my press officer has released. We have two murder victims this time.”

  “Two? So it’s another serial killer?”

  Leigh shook her head. “Not unless you have a killer who only kills once every eighty years or so.”

  “Eighty years?” Colin’s eyes snapped wide. “Oh, I get it. That’s why you have Matt on board. So, one of the victims is from … the
thirties?”

  “Exactly. Matt and his team have done their usual magic and we’ve already identified the victim and cause of death.”

  Colin’s eyebrows shot skyward. “In an eighty-year-old victim? I’m impressed. That was fast work.”

  “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly an unknown.” When Colin started to ask another question, Leigh raised a hand. “And that’s all I can say about it for now. Watch the papers. I guarantee it’s going to make a splash when it breaks.”

  “Now that does intrigue me.” Colin pushed his plate back a few inches and lounged back in his chair. “That was amazing.”

  “Hopefully you’re not too full for dad’s famous double chocolate cheesecake,” Matt said, grinning. “Yes, I remembered your obsessive love of chocolate. But first, let’s take our coffee into the living room and let dinner settle before we have dessert in front of the fire.”

  “Sounds great. But only if you let me help clean up.”

  As Matt carried plates to the sink, listening to his father good-naturedly giving Colin a hard time because guests weren’t supposed to do dishes, he felt something missing for a long time settle gently back into place. For too long he’d shut out aspects of his former life from his current existence. Suddenly it was crystal clear that he’d made a mistake in doing so.