by David Archer
They got their coffees and sat, and Summer graced him with another of her smiles.
“So,” she said. “You were going to tell me how you caught that terrible man?”
“Oh, yes,” O’Rourke said. “Well, do you know anything about police procedure?”
“Me? Oh, goodness, no. I’m just a waitress, the most I know about police stuff is what I see on TV.”
O’Rourke grinned. “I’ll go easy on you, then. You see, when we found Brenda’s body, we were able to get traces of something called DNA, from things the killer left on her body. Some hairs and stuff, and—well, some bodily fluids.”
Summer nodded. “I knew she was raped, so I figured something like that. What’s DNA?”
“Well, DNA is a way we can determine whether a certain sample of bodily fluids or hairs or other things came from a particular individual. We tested the samples we got from her body and got the DNA sequence, then compared that to a national database and got a match on Sam Prichard. That told us that he was the killer, so we got a warrant and went to arrest him. It was that easy.”
Summer narrowed her eyes. “Sam Prichard,” she said. “You know, a lot of people are saying that you might have made a mistake, because they don’t believe he would do something like this. I guess he’s some big shot detective or something?”
O’Rourke’s grin was suddenly tempered with a glare. “He used to be,” he said, “until he took a fancy to poor little Brenda. From what we were told, he was actually passing through here that night while he was working on a case for the government. I guess he was cruising around town, probably looking for someone like her, and snatched her right off the street. He took her out by the highway garage, raped her and then stabbed her to death.” He shook his head. “A terrible, terrible thing.”
He was carefully watching her face. He had learned early as a homicide detective that details about violent death could have a mild aphrodisiac effect on women, and he certainly wouldn’t mind if this woman were to find herself getting a little turned on. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, however, he felt guilty for using the death of such a young girl as a ploy to seduce a beautiful woman.
“That is terrible,” Summer said, reaching across the table and laying her hand on his arm. “I just can’t believe somebody like this Mr. Prichard would do something like that. I mean, from everything I’ve heard, he’s actually saved a lot of people’s lives. It just seems kind of strange that he would be so well-known for that, if he had this kind of terrible, perverted violence inside him. Do you run across that kind of thing very often?”
The guilt he felt dissipated almost instantly. “Not often, thank God, but it happens. Somebody you’d never expect turns out to be a pedophile, or a thief or something. We arrested a bank teller who’d been on the job fifteen years a while back, because she had been stealing just a little money at a time. Added up to over fifty thousand dollars, and she was the kind of person you’d never think could do something dishonest.”
“I know some people down at Denver,” Summer said, “and they all think you made a mistake. They say that Sam Prichard has spent too many years protecting people and even saving the country, that there’s no way he could ever hurt somebody like this.”
O’Rourke started to say something, but then his eyes narrowed. “You know, it occurs to me that I didn’t get your name. Are you a friend of Prichard’s, maybe?”
Summer grinned. “Okay, you got me,” she said. “I’m Summer Raines, and the truth is that I have spent most of the last year working with Sam Prichard. I’m an investigator with Windlass Security, and Sam was my boss until just a short time ago. And while you may be convinced by the DNA evidence you are relying on, I’m pretty certain there’s something else going on here. I know Sam Prichard, Detective, and there’s no way in the world he committed this crime.”
O’Rourke grimaced, but she noticed that he didn’t pull away from the touch of her hand.
“Ms. Raines, I know it’s hard to believe that a friend of yours could do something terrible…”
“Before you go there,” Summer said, “let me tell you something that I already learned that convinces me I’m right. Okay?”
O’Rourke stared into her eyes for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “Okay, go ahead,” he said. “Just don’t expect to change my mind.”
“I don’t think it will, but it’s worth telling you about. I was able to get a look at some of the evidence you collected from Brenda’s body. Those whiskers you found, inside her bra? They could not possibly belong to Sam Prichard, and I can tell you why. Sam’s beard doesn’t grow very fast, and he is an absolute fanatic about shaving every morning. By the end of the day, when most men have a five o’clock shadow, Sam’s face is still as smooth as mine. To grow whiskers that long, he’d have to go without shaving for three or four days at a minimum, and he never does. All of us at Windlass saw him that very morning, and I can tell you that there wasn’t a whisker showing anywhere.”
O’Rourke looked at her. “I hear what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “but have you considered the possibility that you’re only remembering him that way because that was the way you usually saw him? I don’t know the whole story about what he was doing when he came through here, but I know he had bought an old van for the trip because he didn’t want that Mustang of his to draw attention. Maybe he didn’t shave for a day or two, in order to change his appearance a bit, and you just don’t remember that.”
“Detective, I’m a pro. Believe me when I tell you that I’ve carefully examined my memories of that morning, and I even talked with all of my coworkers. We all remember clearly that Sam was clean-shaven. There’s no possible way those whiskers could be his.”
“Then how can you explain the DNA match? It was a perfect match, Ms. Raines, the kind that only comes from directly matching a sample to the precise person it came from. The lab says there’s a one in two billion chance that he’s not the person who raped and murdered Brenda Starling.”
“I’m aware of that,” Summer said. “However, there are a couple of distinct possibilities. First, your DNA samples that were recovered from the body could have been corrupted, throwing off the results. Now, since you had three distinct types of samples, that’s admittedly pretty far-fetched. The other possibility, however, might not be. We are looking into the possibility that Sam’s DNA profile in the database has been altered to make it match. If someone was trying to frame him, maybe someone looking for revenge against him for thwarting their plans of world domination, then that would be the most effective way to go about it. Change his DNA profile to match that of the person who then goes out and commits a heinous crime, leaving just trace samples behind that they know you’re going to collect and use this way. According to the FBI, this has actually happened before.”
“You’re grabbing at straws, Ms. Raines. The DNA database is incredibly huge, and it would be almost impossible to find a particular person’s DNA profile and change it.”
“Why would it be so difficult? It’s just a database. Any decent hacker can get into a database, change information, rearrange things so that the database presents only the information they want it to present. That’s the only explanation we can come up with for how your DNA samples could lead you to Sam Prichard. When you consider the fact that the whiskers could not be his, it’s just about the only explanation that makes any sense.”
O’Rourke chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t suppose you have video security inside your offices, do you? I mean, if you can show me dated video of Sam Prichard from that day where I can actually see that he was clean-shaven, then I might be willing to believe that it’s barely possible your theory could have merit.”
“Unfortunately, Sam only came into the lobby that day. The lobby doesn’t have video on it, because there’s nothing sensitive there to protect. Believe me, we already checked. I really wish he had come back to my office, because we do have video security back there. Unfortunately, he didn’t,
so all you’ve got is the word of six professional investigators and several other employees of the company. All of us remember Sam being clean-shaven that morning, when he stopped by. That means that we, at least, are absolutely certain he could not have committed this crime. You wouldn’t have found whiskers if he had, and then even we would probably think he was guilty.”
Summer’s hand was still laying on his arm, and O’Rourke seemed to be looking at it. He wasn’t pulling away, but he was chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Ms. Raines, I’ll confess that I would like to believe you, but… I’m sorry, I’ve never seen DNA evidence be tampered with. To my mind, we have a match, and we have the killer. If you could show me proof that Prichard was truly clean-shaven that very morning, then I’d have to consider the possibility, and I stress the word possibility, that there’s something wrong with this case. Until then, however, I’m going to let the evidence speak for itself.”
He pulled his arm away from her hand and got to his feet, then looked at her again.
“You get something serious that could throw doubt on that evidence, you call me. Just do me a favor and don’t try to play me again, all right?”
Summer grinned. “Deal,” she said.
O’Rourke turned and started to leave, then suddenly stopped and came back to the table. He looked at Summer for a second, then asked, “We’ve been trying to find that old van Prichard bought. I don’t suppose you could tell me where it is, could you? If we could check it out and be sure that it’s not the van the killer used, that might go some way toward helping me believe what you’ve got to say.”
Summer looked at him. “The van? Sorry, I don’t know anything about that.”
O’Rourke looked into her eyes for a moment, then took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If you happen to run across it, how about giving me a call?”
She took the card and glanced at it, then smiled at him. “Your cell number? Is that the only reason you want me to call?”
He turned and walked away without another word, leaving her where she was sitting.
* * * * *
At the same time, Jade and Darren pulled up at the crime lab. They identified themselves to the receptionist, and the lab manager, Gerald Crow, came out to lead them to his office.
“We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us,” Jade said. “We were hoping maybe you could shed a little light on the matter of the DNA evidence in the Brenda Starling case.”
Crow’s eyes grew wide. “The Starling case? I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can actually discuss any of that with you.”
“I’m sure we could get a court order for the information,” Darren said, “but since an arrest has already been made, and we are working for the suspect, I don’t think there will be any impropriety in sharing what you can with us. Do you?”
Crow seemed to think about it for a second, then shrugged. “Okay. What can I tell you? We were provided with several samples, including two different types of hairs and some bodily fluids that included semen. We ran DNA analysis and compiled a profile, which was then uploaded to the state, federal and public databases in search of a match. We found it in the state database, and the match was better than ninety-nine point nine percent. As you probably know, that constitutes virtual certainty that the samples we analyze it came from the individual whose DNA profile was such a complete match. We obtained the name of the individual, provided that to the authorities and a warrant was issued for Mr. Prichard’s arrest.”
“Yes, we understand how the process works,” Jade said. “We’ve actually used it ourselves many times. However, in this case, we have reason to believe that the match is in error. Now, your lab has a very good accuracy rating, so we are not implying that you made any mistakes. Besides, with three separate samples to analyze, the chance of all of them coming up with the same erroneous match would be just about impossible, am I right?”
Crow nodded. “Absolutely. There’s no possibility that all three samples could have the same error turn up in them. Our chain of custody on DNA samples is one of the best in the country, and we take every possible precaution to avoid any type of contamination of those samples.”
“We are absolutely certain that you do. Our concern is based on something that we know that you don’t, however.” Jade explained why they believed the whiskers could not belong to Sam, and Mr. Crow narrowed his eyes as he listened. “For that reason, we are considering the possibility that Mr. Prichard’s DNA profile may have been altered in the database, to ensure that it would match the samples you were given.”
“Is that even possible?” Crow asked. “Forgive me, of course it’s possible, but how likely would it really be? Those databases have some pretty strong security. I mean, after all, you are dealing with the genetic information of thousands of people. In order for DNA evidence to be reliable, you’ve got to be able to believe that the profiles in the database are legitimate. If you can’t believe that, then DNA evidence becomes almost worthless in cases like this.”
Darren made a half shrug. “I’m certain it is quite reliable in most cases,” he said. “However, I know of a few cases when DNA profiles have been altered. I worked on a couple of them when I was with the FBI. In those cases, foreign hackers were able to change the DNA profiles of certain people who were suspected of terrorism. As a result, the DNA samples we recovered did not match our suspects. It wasn’t until a serious analysis of the database that it was discovered that the changes had been made.”
Crow stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I will run the samples again, just to see if there’s any possibility that I get a different result. When I get the analysis, I’ll run them with a different case number. That way, if I get the same results back, it will definitely mean that the DNA of Mr. Prichard is matching my samples. After that, it will be up to you to prove whether or not that profile had been tampered with. Will that help anything?”
Jade smiled. “It’s certainly a start.”
* * * * *
Indie, Ron and Jeff were waiting in the lobby of the jail when Sam came out, dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. He went straight to Indie and threw his arms around her, then turned and shook hands with both of his friends.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” he said. “I never would’ve thought I’d ever be in this position, and I can’t thank you enough for getting me out.”
“You’re out of jail,” Ron said, “but you’re not out of the woods. Sam, none of us believed for a minute that you could have done this, but then Indie showed us enough last night to prove it as far as we are concerned. The problem is going to be proving it to a jury. The team is looking hard at the case, but unless we can figure out how the DNA from the victim matched your profile, this is not a good thing.”
“You’re telling me this? Ron, I don’t know what to think. Based on what they told me about the evidence they’ve got, I would think I was guilty if I didn’t know better.” He glanced around to make sure no one else was listening, then leaned close and whispered. “The big problem is the van,” he said softly. “I haven’t told O’Rourke yet, but I had it crushed because it was falling apart. Once they find that out, they’re going to be all the more convinced of my guilt.”
Ron and Jeff looked at each other, then turned back to Sam. “We’ll deal with that when we have to,” Jeff said. “For right now, we have to get you back to the office and fitted for an ankle monitor. We have some, so that won’t be a problem. You’ll just have to plug it in every couple of nights to recharge the battery while you sleep.”
“I can deal with it,” Sam said. “I just want to get busy on trying to figure out how this could happen.”
“Don’t we all?” Indie asked. “Come on, Sam, let’s go get your ankle bracelet and then go home. There’s a couple of kids at home that really want to see their daddy.”
SEVEN
The old van had seen many better days, but C.J. kept it running. Sometimes he thought the only thing that made it go was his determination not to let it die, but it was his skill with tools and automobiles. His daddy hadn’t given him much, but at least he’d taught his boy how to keep an old beater running.
That was a lifetime ago, he thought. The old man had been gone close to twenty years, and C.J. still felt a small tingle of fear whenever he had an unkind thought about the old bastard. He had gotten many a beating for daring to question whether his father cared about him, and they stuck in his memory. Hell, he could still feel some of them, even after all these years.
He’d been seven years old when his daddy started him working in the garage. He was taught some of the simplest jobs at first, like changing headlight and tail light bulbs, checking oil and transmission fluid and radiator levels, things like that. As soon as he got out of school and made it to the shop, he changed into the work clothes he kept there and got busy. He did his homework in the office between the jobs he had to do, and he managed to get some decent grades in spite of it all.
“Don’t matter,” his father had said. “Ain’t none of that school learnin’ gonna do you any good, anyhow. You want to make a living in this world, you want to survive, you just concentrate on learning how to keep these old cars running. That’s what’ll put money in your pocket and food on your table, not knowing how to talk fancy or work them big math problems. Now get your head out of your ass and let’s show you how to rebuild a carburetor.”
C.J. grinned, because it was the carburetor from the van that was sitting on the picnic table in front of him. The old motor had started spitting and sputtering, and he instantly recognized the sound of a vacuum leak on the carb. A new one would cost him a couple hundred dollars, but a simple rebuild kit was only twenty bucks. His father had taught him to be frugal, so he had gone for the cheaper option.