George cleared his throat and nodded his head. “That’s the most plausible story to me. I can think of several people who would have loved to see both of them dead. Greenpeace supporters, left-wing terrorists… you name it.”
“Wishing McAlester dead and killing him are two different things.”
“Indeed.”
Kate pondered the idea for a few more seconds.
“Why would my uncle be framed?”
George thought for a moment and then said, “Wrong place at the wrong time, or at least his genes were.”
“So, we keep getting back to the idea that somehow someone robbed a lab or another place where DNA is stored,” Kate said before leaning back in her chair. “I don’t even recall my uncle doing any kind of DNA test. A hair sample? What for?”
“But don’t forget that anyone could break into anybody’s home, or be invited into it, and get a hair sample from a hairbrush or a comb. No one would ever notice.”
“Nah,” Kate replied, shaking her head. “Nobody’s broken into my uncle’s place. The only guests he has are his neighbor and me. The neighbor’s an old lady, so I doubt she’d be able to come up with such a diabolical plan. And other than the DNA sample that got him into the system a decade ago, I don’t think he’s even provided anyone with a sample.”
“Lots of people willingly donate ‘samples’ of themselves,” George said, using air quotes. “Blood banks are a perfect example.”
Kate thought about it, but nothing came to mind.
George tossed his hands up in the air. “I know, faaar-fetched. Thinking out loud. You seem to have a good investigative mind, so I’m sharing more with you than I normally would. Maybe together we could come up with an alternate scenario that I could present to the court.” He grabbed her hands in his and continued. “To be bluntly honest, the facts we have are not enough to save him. But if we both keep our ears and eyes open, who knows?”
Kate left George’s office feeling a little more hopeful, yet overwhelmed and confused.
She stopped at an ice cream shop on the way home for a minor celebration. She ordered her uncle’s favorite: pistachio gelato in a white-chocolate covered waffle cone with white almonds on it.
When she sat at one of the picnic tables outside the shop, she remembered Kenny had once taken her for ice cream after donating blood. But that was a long time ago. Lucy was still alive back then.
He did have blood samples out there, but wouldn’t they have been used by now? And what about hair samples? Could he have given hair samples to see if his DNA would have been a match for some sort of cancer treatment for Lucy?
Kate finished her ice cream while watching a couple walk their dogs in the park across the street. She was not sure if it was the ice cream, the view, or just her thoughts that were exerting their comforting effect, but she felt a little better now. She now had leads, or at least the closest thing to one in this situation.
She could look into nosy Maude’s past, just in case, and research political murders and reported thefts at labs or blood banks. It would be a lot of work, but one of these unlikely scenarios could lead her somewhere.
It had to.
Kenny’s freedom depended on it.
Chapter Seven
June 30, 2015
Kate Murphy
Roxbury Police Station, Boston
For some reason, Kate’s morning on the job was quiet. Bostonians were behaving, or so it seemed.
When lunchtime came around, she stopped by the food court at Quincy Market to grab a lobster roll. Kate tried to go once a week, whenever she had a not-so-busy day that could accommodate it. So far, she’d had about a fifty percent success rate of finishing her lunch there without being interrupted by a call.
She paid for her meal and asked the young man working the counter if he could give her a few extra napkins and packets of pepper. While waiting, she turned around and looked for a table where she could sit.
The market was busy, which was no surprise since it was just past noon. Very few seats were available; most were occupied by mothers with screaming kids or office workers enjoying their lunch breaks.
Kate was still looking for an empty table when her eyes landed on a couple holding hands. But it wasn’t just any couple. It was Luke, her Luko, with an elegant brunette. He had on the same beige jacket and Dockers pants she’d seen him wear the other day at the lab. The woman wore a plain, black, tight-knit turtleneck with strings of white pearls hanging on it. Her long dark hair and square bangs framed her ivory face perfectly. She sat there somberly while Luke held her hands tightly, his eyes locked onto hers as he spoke. The sight of them with their hands together in the middle of the table sent a sting to Kate’s chest.
“Guess I got my answer,” she muttered.
Kate turned around to grab the extra items she’d requested then marched toward the parking lot.
By the time she reached her patrol car, she had calmed down.
Who was she to feel so possessive and so hurt by the sight of Luke with another woman? After all, they’d only shared a kiss, nothing more. Maybe the pang in her chest was merely a sign that she was ready to move on and start dating again.
Whatever.
She had more important things to take care of right now, like freeing her uncle.
She checked her phone and saw a red dot on the call icon. She clicked her way to the voicemail screen: one message, left by Smitty.
“Gorgeous, are you free this weekend?”
Well, if she wasn’t Luke’s type, at least she was someone else’s type. Maybe she’d find another guy someday. Probably not Smitty, but at least not all hope was lost.
Her appetite returned, along with a slightly more positive attitude. She was finishing her sandwich behind the wheel of her parked patrol car when the dispatcher requested her assistance with a traffic accident involving injuries.
She radioed in, “I’m on my way.”
On Wednesday evening, while Kate was picking up a few items at the grocery store, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
It was Luke.
She declined the call, not wanting to be “the other woman.” She’d already been a victim of that evil species. Not that Matt’s other woman had been the main reason for their marriage crumbling apart, but she had played a significant role.
No way, Jose.
She was never going to do that to another human being.
Another beep came in a few seconds later, indicating he’d left a message. Although she was mad at him, curiosity got the best of her.
She hit the play button.
“Katie, Luke here. Not sure what to say. I had fun on Friday. Don’t know if you’re upset at me for... for what happened... or for what didn’t happen. Call me back. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee or dinner... whatever. Take care.”
“What the fuck, Luko?” Kate snapped, making a handful of people from the grocery aisle turn to stare at her, including a woman with a young child, probably around six or seven years old.
“Sorry,” Kate said, mostly addressing the woman who was now covering her boy’s ears.
I should stop swearing.
She could hear her dearly departed Aunt Lucy disapproving in her head.
Kate returned the phone to her pocket.
She didn’t feel like talking to Luke this very minute. She didn’t want to get involved with a man who was already spoken for, and she had better—and much more important—things to do with her free time right now.
She headed to the checkout, paid for her items, then returned to her apartment, spending the next three hours on her laptop, combing the web for other politically motivated murders that had recently occurred in the Northeast.
Tough thing to do. Google hasn’t mastered that part of its algorithm yet.
Could she run a better search through the databases at work? She checked the clock: 11:48 p.m.
Too late.
She turned off the computer and committed to running the searches tomorrow at
the station, after her shift.
Chapter Eight
July 2, 2015
Kate Murphy
Roxbury Police Station, Boston
Kate ran into Smitty as she returned her car keys on her way to query the police databases, a task she’d been looking forward to all day.
“Hey, there! You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said, catching up to her as she walked away.
“I don’t recall ever giving you my number.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to. You gave it to my partner. Whatever he’s got, I’ve got. We’re a unit,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “A unit just like you and I could be. We’d make a well-oiled machine, if you catch my drift.”
“Come on, man! I told you I wasn’t looking,” Kate said, rolling her eyes at him.
“Your loss,” he said, stepping away from her and grabbing keys to a patrol car. “What are your plans for tonight?”
“I’m staying here, doing some research.”
“Studying for the detective’s exam again?”
She eyeballed him with disdain. “No, personal research.”
“Maybe I’ll swing by later if you’re bored. Could bring you dinner. The two of us could have a picnic, get to know each other a bit.” He winked at Kate.
Mansbridge appeared behind Smitty, and, for the first time ever, Kate was happy she’d get a chance to talk to him. At least that would bring an end to the awkward conversation with Smitty.
“Hey, Mansbridge. How are you?”
“Wonderful, Murphy. How nice to see you again. How are things?”
Kate smiled at him. “Great, I was just telling Smitty here that I had to get going. I’ve got stuff to do,” she said, backing away toward the exit.
“Will you need me to switch to a few more day shifts for you?” Mansbridge asked, just as she was turning around to head out.
“Don’t think so,” she said, then stopped, turned to face him and smiled. “Nice catching up with you. You both have a great shift.”
Both disgusted at herself for taking part in non-productive small talk and pleased she had managed to pull it off, she hurried away to the elevators, shaking her head as if that movement alone could erase Smitty’s sleazy lines from her memory.
Now, alone at the computer, a large cup of black coffee and a yellow pad of paper in hand, she logged into the police database and began her search. She drew a table with the accused’s name, the victim’s name, the connection between them, the motive, murder date, the DNA type that was used to prosecute the accused, and the police case number. She noted any and all murder cases with a not-guilty plea that occurred in New England and other neighboring states over the past five years, with incriminating DNA where the victim and accused weren’t related, part of a lover’s triangle, or involved with gangs.
A couple of hours and three cups of coffee later, she realized that even with the information she had access to in the database, her search was a nightmare in and of itself.
How can I tell if there is a political angle in a murder if it isn’t noted in the database summary file?
She’d have to consult the detailed police files. Hopefully, they were saved electronically. She kept all of these uncertain cases for now; she could try to Google the victim’s names later and eliminate the irrelevant ones.
She had a long list of murders. Most of the convicted killers were now behind bars in various state prisons. But maybe some of these crimes had been “solved” by accusing and framing the wrong person.
Hard to tell.
She counted sixty-seven cases on her list, but some of them may not have had a political angle at all. She flipped her pad back to the first page and queried the detailed police case file for the top entry on her list. Just as the information popped up on the screen, her phone beeped with a message from Smitty.
Still at the station?
Yep
Hungry?
As much as Kate wanted to get rid of him again, she couldn’t ignore her rumbling stomach. She knew the vending machine had nothing that would satisfy her hunger, and she didn’t really have time to head out to grab anything.
What the heck. Why not take him up on his offer?
She sent him a reply:
Starving
We’re at Quiznos. I’ll get you a sub and swing by in 15?
Awesome :)
Well, he’s nice, after all.
By the time his Italian accent greeted her, she’d filled out all of the cases from the first page on her notepad.
“How you doing?” he asked, sitting down on the corner of her desk.
“Exhausted. Thanks so much,” she said, extending her hand to grab the sandwich he was offering, but he didn’t let go.
“This delicious meatball sub can be yours under one condition.”
“What?” she asked, a little annoyed, but her empty stomach was willing to agree to anything right now.
“Tell me what that personal research is all about. You’re running background checks on possible dates? Planning a crime of your own?” He smiled and winked.
“Nothing like that,” Kate said, pulling the sandwich, but all she could do was squish it. He wasn’t letting go.
He smirked. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”
“Okay, I’m trying to find cases similar to my uncle’s.”
He retracted the sandwich for a second before saying, “What’s up with your uncle?”
“He’s accused of murder,” Kate said flatly.
With his eyes now the size of two quarters, the smirk disappeared, and he let go of the sandwich.
“Thanks, how much do I owe you?” she asked, unwrapping the food whose aroma had triggered so much saliva she was almost drooling.
“What? Um? What?”
“For the sandwich,” she said, after swallowing the first bite.
“Forget about the sandwich. What’s going on? What murder?”
Kate gave him the CliffsNotes version in between bites.
When his radio crackled for his unit to answer a call, he stood up. “I gotta go. Mansbridge’s in the car waiting for me, but,” he said, shaking his head on his way out of the room, “let me know if I can help, okay?”
“Thanks, Smitty.”
She devoured the rest of the sub within a minute then was back to work.
By midnight, her eyes were dry from staring at the screen. She logged out of the system and turned off the computer. She sat back and took account of where she stood. She had a dozen pages’ worth of data, but some cases were still mostly blank. They’d only been archived in paper form. That meant she’d have to go through a lot of red tape to get Detective Fuller’s permission to access those files.
The thought of begging him for authorization made her skin crawl.
Chapter Nine
July 4, 2015
Kate Murphy
Roxbury Police Station, Boston
Independence Day meant lots of celebrations in and around Boston.
Today was Saturday, and all available police officers had been dispatched to ensure Bostonians were safe and well-behaved. With an understaffed department, that meant weird schedules and weekend overtime for most cops, including Kate. She didn’t mind, though. She could use the extra money, and she’d reached a dead-end in her research yesterday. She couldn’t gain anything else from querying the police database. Sure, she could spend a few more hours Googling things, but, to make real progress, she’d have to talk to Fuller and request access to the paper archives.
He’ll probably say no.
The long day turned out uneventful—no riots, no terrorist attacks, and nothing that would make headlines—but Kate was exhausted by the time she returned to the station. She was so drained that she didn’t even realize the annoying yells and whistles when she walked into the precinct were directed at her.
“Hey! Blondie!”
She still didn’t register that a man was shouting at her until a h
and grabbed her right shoulder.
“Hey! Are you all right?”
Kate turned around to see who the hand belonged to. “Oh... Smitty. Yeah, I’m good,” Kate said, refraining a yawn.
“How’s it going with your research?” he grinned conspiratorially and winked.
Kate took a deep breath then yawned, no longer able to hold it in. “It’s been a long day. I’m done now.”
“You’re done with your research?”
“No, I’m off. My research has taken me to a dead end. I’ve got to beg Detective Lt. Fuller to let me access the archives. I just don’t see how it’s going to happen. The guy hates me.”
“Archives, you say?”
“Yeah. Fun times.”
Smitty raised his eyebrows twice rapidly, grinning. “I may be able to help.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned in as if he had a secret to share. “I’ve got a way to access those files.”
“What? How?” Kate asked, all ears and excited for the first time today.
“Let’s just say that Sandy, the girl in charge, she, um, she likes me,” he said, winking and moving his hips forward and back in a suggestive motion.
Kate faked a puking sound and shook her head. “Man, do you ever stop?”
“Women like me, and I like to please them,” he said with, Kate had to admit, a charming smile. “Hear me out. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“What?”
“How about I grant you access to some of the files you need from the archives?”
“Why? How?”
Smitty had Kate’s full attention, but he wasn’t spilling the beans. She slapped her hand against his breast pocket.
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