“Wow.” Journey takes my phone and scans the article. “That’s like—whoa!”
“It might be a long shot, but if you believe your father is telling the truth, show this to Victor. There’s a machine called CERA which extracts prints from the cylindrical shape of a bullet casing and process it so it can be run through AFIS.”
“Victor probably knows about this, right?” he says.
“Probably, but he’s been so scattered lately, a reminder couldn’t hurt,” I say.
Journey shakes his head. “No kidding. Getting this camp up and running has been insane.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. “Anyway, I hope you’re not mad.”
Journey kisses me on the forehead. “I’m not mad at all. This could be an excellent find. And you can read up on stuff all you want. Just don’t …
“I know … cause any problems.”
Coach Wilkins finishes his packets and wanders over to join us. “Wow. Fingerprints etched into the brass. That forensic stuff is wild, isn’t it? I remember this one story where they found a frozen Viking in a glacier and not only managed to get his DNA, but they figured out he had been murdered. A Viking! Can you imagine that?”
Clay comes out of the lab. “My favorite one is the guy who killed a whole family and then ordered a pizza, but got caught because he didn’t eat the crust.”
The coach brightens. “I know. Totally stupid.”
I exchange side-eye with Journey. This is stuff we like to talk about too. It’s just a little weird to see adults as enthusiastic about it as we are.
“Yeah, your uncle is really bringing it to our little city. Criminals better beware.” The coach checks his watch. “I’m going to take off. Tell Vic I left the registration packets for his campers on the counter over there. I know he’s busy and I figured as long as I was doing mine I could do his, too.”
“That was nice. I’ll tell him. Bye.” I wait until the coach leaves and the door completely closes before I turn to Journey and Clay. “It’s not just my imagination. There’s something weird about that guy, right?”
“What do you mean?” Clay asks.
“Well, at the camp sign-ups he was like brutally competitive with Victor, and now he’s acting like Victor’s best friend.”
“He just thinks your uncle is cool, that’s all. And, frankly, I think he’s pretty cool as well.” Clay goes over to the steel mesh door and gestures to Journey. “I’m ready to work on the desk and I could use your help.”
“I’ll be right there.” Journey turns back to me. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done, but I have to get back to work.”
“Me too.” I nod toward the storage room.
Journey glances back at Clay, who holds up his thumb. “Oh, that’s right. Duh. You can’t get in there without me.”
Journey goes to open the door for Clay, and I slip into the storage room.
Lysa and Spam are handing items to Lyman for him to stack on the shelves. Lyman’s shelves are a thing of beauty. Everything is precisely lined up and arranged in a way that will be easy to find and use.
“Lyman,” I say, “how are we ever going to keep these shelves straight without you?”
“Maybe Victor should hire Lyman as a counselor for next year,” Journey says.
I had no idea he walked into the storage room behind me.
Lysa, Spam, and I all share the same freaked-out, harried expressions.
Even Lyman seems a little bit frozen in time.
No one dares to speak.
“What’d I say?” Journey asks.
I shake it off. “Nothing. We’re just really impressed with Lyman’s mad organizational skills. Right?”
Lysa and Spam are all over each other agreeing with my statement.
Journey frowns. “That’s pretty much what I was saying too. Anyway, pizza’s here.”
We all rush for the door to try to leave this awkward situation as far behind as possible.
41
Aiding and abetting means knowing about a crime and not reporting it. The penalty can be equal to the penalty for the crime itself.
—LYSA MARTIN
I’m caught in the middle.
Spam wants a goodbye dinner for Lyman. Which is great. And she wants to pay for it with some of the money we’ve raised by selling the Bella. Which is also great.
My problem is that Journey will—understandably—want to come to the dinner with me. And I’m worried about him finding out about Lyman’s situation—specifically about Lyman’s mom. We all agree she deserves a chance to get away. But if Journey finds out about her, I know he’ll feel obligated to tell Victor. He’ll even say it’s to help her.
“Don’t worry,” Lysa says. “We’ll just be extra careful not to leak any critical information.”
“Right. We’ll just act normal,” Spam says.
Lysa and I just look at her.
“Okay. Maybe ‘normal’ wasn’t the right word,” she says. “But we can do this.”
I hope she’s right.
* * *
Lysa, Spam, and Lyman are already seated at a table when we arrive.
Because their backs are to us, I try to make some noise as we approach. I even walk in a wide circle so they’ll be sure to see us coming.
Lysa spots us first and nudges Spam. They abruptly stop talking as soon as we arrive. And it’s completely awkward.
“Hey,” Journey says to the group. Has he noticed their odd behavior?
The waiter comes to the table. Now that Journey and I have joined the group, he recognizes us as the crime-stopper kids he read about in the newspaper. He hurries off and returns with the owner. The owner insists on taking a photo of us to post on their blog.
“It’ll be good for business,” the owner says. “The whole city is so proud of you kids. Our restaurant is part of a national chain. This will look very good for us.”
Journey is psyched about the photo. He gets out of his chair and pulls me with him so we can pose behind Lysa, Lyman, and Spam.
“Wait until you hear about the forensic camp for kids that we’re starting next week,” he says. “That will really be newsworthy.”
“Oh. That sounds very exciting,” the restaurant owner says.
While Journey is carrying on with the owner, the rest of us are kind of freaking out. The last thing Lyman needs now is publicity.
The owner readies his cell phone and tells us to squeeze together.
Lyman abruptly jumps up. “Excuse me.” He tries to slip past me.
“No. Wait,” the owner says. “One second for the photo.”
“Oh, I’m not with them,” he says.
The owner and Journey frown at his comment.
“I mean, I am with them, right now. Tonight,” Lyman stammers. “I just wasn’t one of the crime stoppers.” He tries for a humble smile before slipping away from the group.
Journey grabs Lyman’s jacket.
“Stay,” he says. “You might not have been part of the team then … but you are now. I can tell just by the way the girls act toward you.”
Lyman is caught. He has no choice but to pose for the photo.
The owner shows us the photo on his phone. It’s a great shot of all of us. Lyman looks particularly good, as he was standing directly under a floodlight fixture.
“Great,” Lyman says with a smile that’s really more of a grimace.
Not wanting to stand out any further, we quietly order our food.
Only a space alien who had never seen a group of human kids have dinner before would think that our actions and conversation were anything close to normal.
Spam and Lyman sit woodenly next to each other and barely touch their food, even if they are holding hands under the table.
Lysa tries to get a conversation going, but her attempts sound a lot more like interrogations.
I’m hoping for a juicy topic to come along and distract us, but I can’t think of anything.
“Oh, I talked to Victor,” Jour
ney finally says after a very long lull in the conversation. We all lean forward, anxious for something to soak up the awkward. But we’re so suddenly and unbelievably attentive to Journey that, for a moment, we throw him off his game.
He pauses, staring at his plate.
“Yes?” Lysa asks.
Journey shakes his head. “Sorry. I forgot what I was saying.”
“You said you talked to Victor…” I try prompting him.
Lysa and I make desperate eye contact across the table. This dinner might have been the worst idea ever.
“Oh. Now I remember,” Journey says. “Before we left the lab tonight I told Victor about that article you found and I reminded him there were brass shells collected from the property. He agrees that’s exactly the kind of thing we’re looking for. Something they didn’t know to test for back then, that we can test for now. He thinks it could be an important break for my dad.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Journey says. “He’s even tracked down one of the machines and is working on seeing if we can borrow it.”
“That’s great.” I scan the table. “Doesn’t that sound great?”
“Yeah, great,” Lysa says.
“Sounds great,” Lyman says.
“Really great,” Spam says.
Journey looks around the table. “Seriously, what’s going on with you guys?”
We all shake our heads and deny that there’s anything going on. Spam stares at her plate.
“I’m totally not buying this,” Journey says. “And I’m starting to get mad, so whatever is going on, I need you to tell me. Just so you know, if it’s something with Victor or the lab, I’m not going to promise to keep my mouth shut, either, because they’re transferring the evidence from my father’s case into our evidence room tomorrow. So, if you guys are pulling anything shady, I need you to tell me now and I need you to knock it off. I can’t afford to let anything derail my father’s case. Not when we’re this close.” Journey’s breath is coming in hot gasps now. He wads up his napkin and drops it in his plate.
We are stunned into silence. None of us dares to look directly at him or even at each other. Awkwardness hangs over us like a thick layer of fog.
When no one speaks, Journey shakes his head and looks directly at me. “Please. Please don’t do something to screw up the evidence from my father’s case. The reading and giving me information is fine. It’s good even. But you promised you wouldn’t do anything more.”
I take his hands in mine and look deeply into his eyes. “Don’t worry. I haven’t and I won’t. We haven’t done anything to affect the lab and we’re not doing anything that could compromise Jameson’s case. Right?” I scan the faces at the table.
Everyone nods, but no one dares to speak.
Our refusal sounds pretty lackluster, and even if we do mean it, Journey’s not buying it.
42
Sign up for CSI camp. You’ll gather evidence, unravel a mystery, and play with gross stuff. Deductive reasoning skills are a known side effect.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
We are in full-on camp countdown mode.
Today is the last regular work day before camp starts on Monday. I ride in with Victor, and Journey’s already waiting in the lab when we arrive. I can tell from the wary way he looks at me that he’s not completely comfortable with how we left last night.
Clay shows up a few minutes later, lugging a heavy toolbox in each hand. Both Lysa and Lyman are coming with Spam and they should be here soon.
Victor scrawls rambling to-do lists all over the glass window and we waste no time getting to work.
By midmorning, everything is progressing perfectly.
Thanks to Lyman’s incredible organizational skills and attention to detail, the four of us finish assembling thirty-two camper crime scene kits, which include a mini fingerprint kit, flashlight, disposable camera, and instruction cards outlining each activity. They’re stacked on the display counter behind the instructor’s desk.
Victor has approved our schedule and activities, so I’m typing up the hour-by-hour official schedule on Victor’s computer.
Spam is creating slide presentations. Every morning we can run a new set of slides as a way to introduce the activities and get the campers excited.
Lysa is putting together the master list of the campers’ names, ages, contact information, and allergies. She’s also working on name badges and a seating chart.
We are perfectly on schedule. And we’re going to look amazing from day one.
Unfortunately, the crime lab and Clay’s to-do list aren’t in quite as good order. But Victor said they didn’t have to be.
“As long as there isn’t a sudden crime spree in Iron Rain we’re okay,” Victor says. “As long as there isn’t a sudden crime spree we have a little more leeway with the lab. The important thing is that the classroom is ready for the inspector tomorrow morning.”
Clay is feverishly installing the fire alarms and the brackets for fire extinguishers. “All the alarms and extinguishers will be in by this afternoon,” he says.
Meanwhile, it turns out that Lyman is pretty creative. With lots of weird suggestions from each of us, he’s arranging the crime scene tableau.
The first day of camp is going to feature the weirdest Halloween display ever.
Lyman started with a life-size plastic skeleton from Miss P’s old classroom. He’s dressing it in some old clothes and sunglasses Spam brought from home. He sprawls the skeleton dramatically across a chair near the front of the room.
Journey makes prints of his shoe and tapes them to the floor.
I leave an obvious fingerprint on the lens of the skeleton’s sunglasses.
Lysa has made up a batch of Miss P’s fake blood. She puddles some on the floor and splatters some on the side of the desk. She’s also added a few additional props: a bottle labeled POISON and a jar labeled DRUGS.
Clay is so impressed by our scene that he donates an old hammer. He says we should make it look like the murder weapon. Spam manages to wedge the clawed end of the hammer in the skeleton’s eye socket and moves the sunglasses up on his forehead.
By the time we’re done, the scene is authentic and scary enough that Miss Blankenship actually lets out a tiny shriek when she stops by unexpectedly and click, clicks right into it.
On the heels of Miss Blankenship, two police officers show up in the classroom on official business, looking for Victor. Lysa summons Victor by tapping on the glass.
I recognize the older one. It’s Officer Baldwin. He was the first one I talked to after finding Miss P’s body. And he told me then that I was going to be okay.
“Hey, Officer Baldwin,” I say. “Do you remember me?”
He brightens into a big smile. “Well, there’s our girl,” he says. He looks around, making a sweeping gesture around the classroom and lab. “Looks like you’ve got some fancy stuff going on here.”
“It’s going to be interesting,” I say.
Officer Baldwin sets the file box on one of the desks. It’s labeled COLTER, RODNEY.
“Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” he asks.
“Not me,” I say. “But yes. My uncle has been waiting for it.”
Victor thanks the officers, signs a receipt, and takes the box. Journey uses his thumb to unlock the steel door of the evidence room.
We watch as Victor opens one of the lockers and puts the box on a shelf. I move to the steel mesh wall between the lab and classroom so I have a better view of what they’re doing.
Victor lifts the lid on the box. On top are a few sheets of paper—it looks like a list. He runs his finger down the list of items and stops.
He shows the list to Journey, pointing to a particular line.
Victor reaches into the box and runs his hand around. When he pulls his hand up, he’s holding a plastic bag with some spent shells in the bottom.
Journey makes eye contact and gives me a strong nod.
Victor leaves the
bag of shells in the box, and slides the box into a locker. He and Journey step out of the evidence room. Journey tests the door to be sure it’s closed and securely locked.
43
Most of the children who have been abducted by a family member are returned alive. But they frequently suffer harmful and damaging memories.
—MISSING CHILD WEBSITE
Lysa and I force Spam to come out with us.
Tonight’s the night. Lyman’s leaving. We agreed that none of us will know how or when. That way, if we’re questioned afterward, we can honestly say we didn’t know.
Plausible deniability, Lysa calls it.
They’ve already said their goodbyes, so there’s no reason for Spam to mope alone, at home, when she could do her moping out with us. After plenty of prodding, the three of us are in line for tickets to the latest chick flick and my mouth is watering from the smell of freshly popped popcorn.
“I hope you guys don’t mind, but I gave him four hundred dollars from the Bella money,” Spam says. “That should be enough to get him there safely.”
“He’ll be fine, Spam,” I promise.
“He will,” she agrees. “It’s me I’m worried about.”
“You’ll be fine too,” Lysa says.
Just as Lysa moves to the front of the line, I get a text from Journey. HAVE THE CERA—ON OUR WAY BACK. V SAYS MEET US AT THE LAB AT 8 AND WATCH US RUN THE TEST.
OK. COFFEE? I text back.
YESSSSSS, he replies.
“Forget the movie,” I say, waving my phone. “They’re on their way back. Victor’s running the test tonight and we can watch.”
“In that case, drop me off at home,” Spam says as we head back to the car.
“No. You want to be there when Victor proves that Journey’s dad didn’t kill that poor kid, right? This is historic.” I nudge Lysa. “Tell us, Counselor. Has Iron Rain ever exonerated an inmate before?”
To Right the Wrongs Page 22