by April Henry
“Then why are you wearing booties?”
“Because I don’t want to haul back biohazards on the soles of my shoes.”
Biohazards was what they called all the stuff that leaked out of dead people. Nick only now registered that the bottoms of Harriman’s booties were stained reddish-brown. He swallowed hard and looked away. “This is so weird. I drove right by here last night.”
Harriman stepped closer. “What?”
“We had a callout last night near Gresham. Little girl who disappeared. Turned out she had chased after a kitten and gotten lost.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Harriman waved his hand impatiently. “But what about here? When did you drive by here? What did you see?”
Nick tried to remember what he had seen. Parts of last night were a blur. What had happened after he left the sheriff’s office? He remembered being angry at Alexis and Bran, feeling left out and lonely. He remembered punching the buttons on his mom’s car radio, trying to find some music to match his mood. But the drive? That part he didn’t really remember. Something about someone driving too slow?
“It was around eleven. I don’t think there was anything out of the ordinary. Otherwise, I would have remembered it.”
Harriman took out his phone, clicked a few buttons, and then held it out to Nick. A dark-haired young woman stared back at him with a half smile. She had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin. “Have you seen this woman?”
“Last night?”
“Ever. She lives in some apartments a few blocks from you.”
Something about her was familiar. Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER 17
RUBY
MONDAY
JUST LOGICAL
Ruby regarded the two rows of yellow crime scene tape, one inside the other. On three sides of the vacant lot, there was only one length of tape, but on the side where the van had let them out, two lengths of tape ran parallel to each other, about thirty feet apart. Why? Part of the space between had been portioned off into a large square that held three adults: a man with a notebook, a woman with a microphone, and another man with a TV camera.
Nick was already here, talking to Detective Harriman. Ruby had felt a pinch of jealousy when he had texted her that he had persuaded Mitch to let him walk to the scene. Shoot, she could have driven here in half the time it had taken her to get to the sheriff’s office and then take the van. It could have been her talking to Detective Harriman.
“Put your packs over there.” Mitchell lifted the first row of tape for them and pointed at a spot that already held Nick’s pack. “Next to the box for the media.” Ruby, Alexis, and the eight other teens who had been in the van set down their backpacks. The female reporter, who was wearing a long red quilted coat, pointed at them. “Get some footage of the kids, Frank. It’ll be good B-roll.”
Mitchell led them to the far side of the square, where Detective Harriman and Nick waited with Jon. “Okay,” Detective Harriman said without preamble once they had joined him. “Before seven this morning, a guy was biking to work down this street. He saw a boot near those blackberry bushes behind me. When he went to check it out, he found a girl. She’d been stabbed once in the back. We believe the stabbing occurred near that evidence marker”—he pointed at a plastic placard marked with the number seven—“and then she ran, fell, and was bashed in the back of the head and dragged to the spot where she was found. We’ve already located the brick we believe was used, but we haven’t located the knife.”
Ruby listened to him as she watched a crime scene detective measure and photograph the drag marks. The trail of laid-down weeds was skinny, about forty feet long and a little over a foot wide. It started near one blackberry bush and ended near another on ground that sloped steeply to a tiny creek.
“When the passerby found her, she was still alive, although unconscious. 9-1-1 dispatched an ambulance, and an officer rode with her in case she said something.” Harriman sighed. “But we got word a little bit ago that she died without ever regaining consciousness.”
Ruby knew that if the victim had said anything, it would have been a dying declaration, one of the few times hearsay was allowed in court.
“If the knife was discarded in this lot, we need to find it. That’s where you guys come in.”
“Why can’t we just get a metal detector?” Nick asked.
Ruby rolled her eyes. Nick was standing next to her, but she didn’t care if he saw. Sure, he was her friend, but his question was uninformed.
It was Mitchell who answered. “A metal detector would just distract us. A knife is a big enough target that if it’s here, we should have no problem spotting it by eye. This lot used to hold an apartment complex, so there’re still pipes and gas lines underground, as well as whatever garbage has been dumped or buried here over the years. If we used a metal detector, we’d get hundreds of hits that would end up meaning nothing.”
“Besides,” Detective Harriman cut in, “it’s not just the knife. There could even be another weapon, like a gun, that was used to get her to this point. We’re also looking for anything the killer might have left behind in a struggle—a glove, a torn piece of clothing, even a clump of hair. We need you looking for anything and everything that can help us solve this murder, whether it’s a cigarette, a discarded beer bottle, a piece of gum, or a footprint.”
“That’s why we can’t take any shortcuts,” Mitchell said, looking right at Nick. “I know a lot of you were on that search last night and are tired, but remember that we only get one chance to get this right. There are no do-overs. We can’t put the evidence back in place and try again. Anything we don’t discover today could be lost or damaged—which means it can’t be used to get the person who did this.”
Even though the girl was past talking, Ruby knew her body and her belongings could still speak for her. The autopsy would reveal the cause of her death. The toxicology reports would show whether she had been drugged or drunk, although not whether it had been by her killer or by her own choice. There could be fingerprints on her purse, fingerprints that could not only be matched to the killer, but could also have enough DNA to link them to the person who had left them. The girl’s clothes and even her skin might yield more DNA from her killer. Or a fiber or hair might be found on her that had actually started out on the killer.
“Locard’s exchange principle,” Alexis murmured next to Ruby, startling her. Ruby loved to talk about Locard, but she was used to people not listening. Locard’s exchange principle felt beautiful because it was so balanced. So logical.
A hundred years ago a French scientist named Edmond Locard had developed a theory that every criminal inadvertently left something at the scene of the crime, while at the same time taking something back with him. A criminal might leave all sorts of evidence, including fingerprints, footprints, even fragments of skin. And by coming into contact with things at a crime scene, Locard postulated, that criminal also took part of that scene with him when he left, in the form of dirt, hair, or other trace evidence.
In 1912 Frenchwoman Marie Latelle had been found strangled in her parents’ home. Her boyfriend, Emile Gourbin, was questioned by police but claimed that at the time of the murder, he had been playing cards with friends. The friends backed up his story.
But Locard went to Emile’s jail cell and scraped under his fingernails. Under the microscope, he saw skin cells, but in those days there was no DNA testing to show that they had come from Marie’s neck. He also saw a pink dust, which he identified as rice starch, the main ingredient of face powder. There was bismuth, magnesium stearate, zinc oxide, and an iron oxide pigment called Venetian red.
And luckily for Locard, in 1912, makeup was not being mass-produced. Marie’s face powder was prepared for her by a druggist in Lyon—using those exact ingredients.
Confronted by this evidence, Gourbin confessed to the murder. He also admitted that he had set the clock in his gaming room ahead and then gotten his friends drunk. Later, not realizing the time was
wrong, they had provided him with an alibi.
Locard’s exchange principle had worked.
Now Mitchell’s radio crackled. After a short conversation, he looked up at them. “Okay, guys, we’ve got a few more members from Team Delta who were able to come out on the search. We’re going to wait for them to get here.”
The other team members started talking to each other, but Ruby went straight up to Detective Harriman. “Why are there two perimeters on that one side, not one? There was only one perimeter when we did that evidence search in Forest Park.”
He sighed. “Aren’t you guys on break?”
Ruby said nothing. Normal people were as uncomfortable with silence as she was with looking people in the eye. And after a while, they gave in to the urge to fill it.
Eventually, the same held true for Harriman. “That’s because hardly anyone was going to hike all the way out to that crime scene. But this—it’s in the middle of the city. We’ve already got gawkers.” He indicated the people lined up along the tape. “That outside perimeter is for the general public. The inside one, that’s for the bigwigs and the press. They get to duck under the first crime scene tape. They feel special, like they’re getting better access. But really, they’re no closer than I would let them get if this crime scene were out in the middle of nowhere and no one wanted to see it. I set off the same initial perimeter. It’s just for a case like this, a case where you know there’s going to be a lot of demand to be treated special, I set up a second barrier outside the first one.”
“So how do you know where to set up the first perimeter?”
“My rule is you want to rope off at least one hundred feet from the farthest item of visible evidence. Since all we have right now is the spot where the girl was found and the brick and I’m hoping to find more, I had them set the crime scene tape 250 feet from there. We don’t need anybody destroying evidence by walking on it or picking it up. Some people will tell you this amount of space is too big, but it’s way easier to make it smaller than to make it bigger.”
“That makes sense.” Ruby appreciated the logic of it.
He was staring straight into her eyes. “Why do you ask so many questions, anyway?”
Ruby had to look away. What did Harriman think of her? More than once she had been accused of being shifty or dishonest.
After a pause, she said in a rush, “I want to be a cop. Actually, I want to be a homicide detective. Like you.” It was the first time she had ever told anyone.
After a pause he said, “You’re observant. So that’s good. But you need some better people skills. Maybe try not to be so blunt.”
Blunt was what people called it when you said what everyone was already thinking.
“I’m just logical. I’m aware that can cause problems because ordinary conversation doesn’t always proceed logically, and I’m working to improve that.” Ruby took a deep breath. “Besides, I’m no more blunt than you are.”
His laugh sounded like a bark. “You might be right about that, Ruby. You might be right.”
CHAPTER 18
K
MONDAY
BETWEEN MEMORY AND NIGHTMARE
A screaming siren had torn him from his dreams. Or not dreams, exactly. He had been someplace halfway between memory and nightmare. In a place where she had made that sound, a desperate intake of breath. In a place where his knife flashed silver in the moonlight. In a place where blood steamed in the icy air.
He lay panting on his pillow. It was real. It was real. What would his mother think if she knew?
Another siren. And another and another.
Before he even got out of bed, he called in sick to work. It wasn’t really a lie. He was sick, especially when he thought about what might happen to him.
And then he waited. Waited until there were dozens of people lined up along the crime scene tape. All of them there because of what he had done, but none of them knew.
In his ball cap, he blended in. Just one more gawker. One more lookie-lou. He moved among them, but they did not know him. They had no idea. No idea of what he was capable of.
Until last night, even he hadn’t known.
He took his hands from his pockets and looked down at them. They weren’t shaking at all. Last night his hands had done what had to be done. Had done it before his brain or his heart could give a different order.
He was just lucky that he had been wearing gloves. Afterward, when he got home, he had thrown them into the woodstove, ignoring the stench, poking at them until they were nothing but ash. Just like his life.
His mind kept returning to what had happened, playing it over and over.
One minute he had been offering her some comfort. The next she had given him a tremulous smile as she reached for the paper towel to wipe her face, her cheeks streaked with mascara.
Then he stepped forward and tried to put his arm around her. He hadn’t meant anything by it, just one human being comforting another in crisis. But her face changed. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled back. And then she had turned and run. Run in those ridiculous boots of hers.
He imagined what was going to happen. She was going to call the police. And she was going to claim that he had attacked her. When that was not what had happened at all.
He ran after her. In less than a dozen strides, he caught up with her and grabbed her wrist. She snapped back to him like the final roller skater in a game of crack the whip. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Only each of her breaths ended with a whimper.
“Calm down and listen to me.” His voice was an urgent hiss. “Listen to me!”
But she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t even be still. She twisted and turned in his grasp, looking at him like he was a monster. Then she opened her mouth and sucked in her breath, getting ready to scream.
How could he persuade her to be quiet? And then he remembered the knife, the knife that was as much a part of him as one of his fingers. He slipped it free, the blade glinting in the streetlight. He just meant to scare her into silence.
Looking back, he was nearly certain of this.
Her eyes were so wide they showed the whites on either side. She twisted her arm and suddenly she was free and making a run for it. He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back.
So hard that he pulled her into him. Into him—and into the knife.
He didn’t have time to think about what had just happened before she rabbited off. The knife still in her back. He chased her. In the dark. Through the vacant lot. And then her feet tangled and she fell.
The brick was in his fist before he was even aware he had picked it up from the ground. And then it came down on the back of her head.
After it was over, he let the brick fall and braced his hands on his knees, gasping. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened.
His gorge heaved, but he clamped his lips closed. There must be some way he could fix this.
Some way that didn’t end with him strapped to a gurney and a prison doctor injecting him with poison.
Nothing he could do would bring this girl back.
A car went down the street. He froze. Had they seen him? Or—more important—had they seen her? Seen him with her?
He had to get out of here. Right now. But if he left her here, she was in clear sight of the street. He grabbed her under the arms and started to drag her. Then he saw the knife. He was wearing gloves—thank goodness for that—but the knife might still be traced back to him. He had to step on her back to wrench it free. Not knowing what else to do with it, he put it back in its sheath.
He started pulling at her again. He lifted heavy boxes all day, but this took every ounce of his strength. When he got to the part where the ground began to slope, he let go. She tumbled, boneless, until she was half hidden by a blackberry bush. She might not even be found for a while.
Shaking, trembling, he had left. Burned his gloves, soaked his knife in bleach, scrubbed his skin raw in the shower. He didn’
t even know her name. There was nothing to connect them.
Was there?
CHAPTER 19
ALEXIS
MONDAY
HOW A RABBIT FELT
After the people from Team Delta arrived, Mitchell clapped his hands. “Okay, people, line up and count off!”
Alexis was standing between Nick and Ruby, which meant Nick was eleven, she was twelve, and Ruby was thirteen. Jackie, a certified, was number one, so she would guide off the edge of the crime scene tape. Max, number seventeen, was at the other end of the line, wearing the string pack. It was a giant roll of string that buckled in front and rested on the back of his hips. He began tying the string to the street sign. When they made the second pass it would serve as Jackie’s new guideline.
Detective Harriman cleared his throat. “In addition to the knife, we’re especially interested in footprints. The drag trail seems to have gone over the killer’s footprints, effectively wiping them out. The guy who found her skidded down to where she was, which may have lost us some more prints. The girl was wearing boots with a round heel about two inches across, so that’s pretty distinctive. We’re not sure what type of shoe the killer was wearing.”
Mitchell added, “Remember that we are looking for anything God didn’t put here. It’s not your job to decide if something is too old to be connected to what happened here last night, or even if it’s evidence at all. Your job is just to find it.”
Alexis and the others nodded.
“Okay, then.” Mitchell raised his voice and looked in the direction of the TV camera. “Team forward!”
“Team forward,” they echoed. Together, they dropped to their hands and knees, so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder.