Page 10 of Crime Lab Cold Case (Pacific Northwest Forensics #2)

Michael knocked on the conference-room door. After a few seconds of silence, he peered through the slats of the blinds pulled down over the window. He expected to see Natalie on the phone or hunched over her computer. Instead, she was staring at an object in her hand, her mouth slightly agape.

He tapped on the window, and she jerked her head up, her eyes round in her pale face. “C-come in. It’s open.”

Poking his head in the door, he said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m heading out for lunch and wanted to invite you to make up for sending you out on your own for dinner last night.”

“I could use a break.” As she dropped a plastic bag into an evidence bag, she tipped her head toward the boxes lining one wall. “Got started on the deep dive today.”

His glance swept the desk in front of her. The paper evidence bag sat on one side of her laptop and a grubby box sat on the other side, its lid on the floor.

She folded down the top of the evidence bag and dropped it into the box. Bending over, she swept up the lid and secured it on the box. Then she jumped to her feet, and began peeling off her blue gloves. “In fact, I’m starving. Same place as yesterday?”

“If you like, but there’s a Thai place you should try before you leave.

” His gaze darted toward the box containing that paper evidence bag.

What had she been looking at, and why had she been so anxious to put it away before he entered the room?

Maybe she’d just found some incriminating evidence that implicated the lab and everyone in it.

While she fussed with her coat and purse, he cocked his head to the side and memorized the case number and name—Conchas. No regulation that said the investigated couldn’t investigate the investigator.

She spun around, her stylish raincoat hanging over one arm, and her expensive leather purse strapped across her body. “Walking or driving?”

“This one’s a drive but not too far.”

They stepped out of the conference room, and she turned to lock it up with a silver key hanging from a keychain. She tucked the keychain in a side pocket of her purse and patted it. “Got the key from Sam this morning.”

“That’s a good idea, especially since you now have the case files and boxes from the sheriff’s department in here.”

“I was going to pick them up, but Nicole had already arranged for Jacob to deliver them to my office, and they were all in order by date already. I never did get a look at the evidence-receiving room, though.”

“Nicole is organized. I’m sure she’d be happy to give you a tour of evidence receiving anytime you like.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing.” They stopped in the lobby, where Natalie hung her coat around her shoulders. “She offered, but I told her I didn’t want a tour. I’d like to go through the evidence room on my own. I’ll be recording my visit, too. I may have ruffled Nicole’s feathers.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held the front door open for her. “She’ll get over it. They all will.”

“Are you trying to tell me everyone is not as gung ho about this audit as they’re pretending to be?”

“Think about it. Someone comes into your place of work where you spend countless hours trying to get it right, and that person pokes into everything and tries to prove you’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Except it’s not you, is it? Your predecessors made the mistakes. The FBI is just trying to find out how it happened so that it doesn’t happen again here or at any lab.”

“We know that, but it doesn’t stop anyone from feeling accused and maybe unsettled.” When they reached his car, he opened the door for her and went around to the driver’s side.

When he slid behind the wheel, she said, “I hope I’m not making anyone feel that way.”

“It’s not you. It’s the situation. You’ve impressed everyone, so if Nicole has a problem, let me know.”

“She absolutely did not have a problem. Just a little hesitation, which I totally understand.”

“Good. Feel free to access any areas of the lab you need.” As he started the car and pulled onto the street, Michael glanced at Natalie, who was staring out the window.

He hoped that his openness would encourage her to be upfront with him.

He’d checked out the online case file for the Katie Fellows disappearance.

The case was still open, but the lead detective had put it down as a runaway.

What did the case mean to Natalie today? If it were just a coincidence, she should’ve mentioned that she’d gone to high school in the area and had been with a friend when that friend had gone missing. Why the secrecy?

The FBI conducts a background investigation when hiring agents, so surely, this must’ve come up in her past. Of course, departments didn’t look at a background every time they gave an assignment, so the Bureau probably hadn’t realized her connection to this area when they gave her the gig… and she hadn’t told them.

He pointed to the restaurant’s red-and-gold awning as he rolled past, looking for a parking spot on the street. “That’s it.”

Once settled at the table, menus in hand, water in front of them, Michael asked, “Did you get a lot of work done this morning? It looked like you were engrossed when I peeked in the window.”

“Engrossed?” She took a gulp of her water. “Yeah, there’s a lot to cover. Going over fingerprint mishaps now.”

The waitress saved Natalie from any more of Michael’s questions, but he had no intention of giving up on this.

If she wouldn’t tell him what had her so spooked about that file, he’d needle her until she did.

Didn’t he have a right to know who was going through his lab with a fine-tooth comb and why?

Michael took a sip of his spicy Thai iced tea and stirred the ice with his straw, clinking it against the glass. “I saw you had the Conchas file. Cold case murder of a young woman about fifteen years ago, right?”

“Thirteen. It was thirteen years ago.” She picked up her glass quickly, and some of her drink sloshed over the rim, creating a puddle on the table. She dabbed it with a napkin.

“I guess law enforcement couldn’t get Avery Plank to confess to that one.” He caught a bead of moisture trailing down the side of his glass. “Although I’m sure they tried.”

“Plank turned out to be a boon to departments with unsolved murders everywhere, didn’t he?” Natalie planted her elbows on the table. “Do you think he was toying with law enforcement by confessing to crimes he didn’t commit and leaving them to wonder about crimes he did commit?”

Like Katie Fellows?

“Instead of trying to take credit for everything, he was messing with their heads and playing coy about murders he was responsible for.” He rubbed his knuckles across his chin.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He likes to play games.

In the end, detectives have to look at the proof and not just take his word for it.

They got burned before with that cold case out at Kitsap College. ”

“Terrible, how that turned out.” Natalie moved her water and tea glasses out of the way, as the waitress delivered their plates of spicy basil fried rice.

“Does the Conchas case have fingerprint issues.”

She glanced up from her plate. “I—I really didn’t get a chance to delve into the case, yet. After lunch.”

Michael gave up for now, and changed the subject to why she chose the FBI and how she liked it so far, although he was sure her choice of career had something to do with what she experienced as a teen.

She managed to skirt her motivation for joining the Bureau with trite statements about looking for justice and doing the right thing.

Who didn’t want those things? Not everyone went in for law enforcement.

As they finished up their lunch, Nicole came sailing into the restaurant and waved when she saw them.

Michael murmured under his breath, “Here’s your chance to set Nicole straight on when you’re going to invade her space.”

Natalie tossed her napkin at him and waved back at Nicole.

Nicole made a detour to their table on her way to the counter. “Work lunch?”

“Always. If I’d known you were coming here, I would’ve invited you along.” Then he wouldn’t have had the chance to grill Natalie about the Conchas case—not that he’d gotten anything useful from her.

“Last-minute decision.” She waved a piece of paper in the air. “I took a lunch order at the office. Not everyone can afford the luxury of a sit-down lunch outside the office.”

“Ouch.” Michael clapped a hand over his heart.

“I’m joking. You deserve a break, boss. You know, he’s had a rough six months.

” Nicole patted his shoulder. “But you shouldn’t be the only one tasked with making sure our visitor is wined and dined.

Natalie, I’d like to invite you to my house for dinner tonight—nothing special, probably takeout and a bottle of wine. ”

“I don’t want to put you out, Nicole. I really don’t need wining and dining. I think Michael felt guilty last night, but you all are going to get sick of me at work. You don’t need to see me in your homes, too, intruding on your family time.”

Nicole’s eyes shimmered as she held up one hand. “Well, I live alone, so I’d welcome the company. We don’t even have to talk shop.”

“If you’re certain. I’d love to come over.” She pushed away her almost-empty plate. “Just no Chinese.”

“I’ll surprise you, unless there’s something you can’t stand.” Nicole pressed her fingers to her lips.

“Surprise me.” Natalie plucked the check from the edge of the table. “And you’re right about it being a luxury to eat out. I need to get back to work.”

“We all do.” Michael made a grab for the check, but Natalie snatched it away.

“If the staff is going to be inviting me home for dinner, the FBI can cover a few lunches.”

They left Nicole waiting for her take-out order, and Michael drove back to the lab. As they parted at the stairs, Natalie turned toward him. “I think Nicole invited me to make up for her hesitancy when I told her I needed to have a look at the evidence-receiving room.”

“I think you just caught her off guard earlier. She’s not much of a cook, though, so I don’t know that you’re getting such a good deal.”

“You’re a terrible boss.” She flicked her hair and sauntered back to her office.

She didn’t know the half of it.

As soon as he pulled up the chair to his desk and logged in to his computer, he did a search for the Conchas case. He skimmed through the awful details.

Sierra Conchas was a young woman, barely twenty years old, who disappeared on her way home from her part-time job at a gas station’s convenience store.

Cops discovered her broken-down vehicle on the road that followed the woods.

Signs of a scuffle outside the car but no other tire tracks in the vicinity.

Hikers found the body in a ravine days later, partially clothed, bloody, a torn T-shirt beside her. Stab wounds. Michael brought up photos of the crime-scene evidence, which had been processed through this lab at the time.

No knife was found. No DNA. Fiber from a black beanie or maybe a ski mask, but no DNA on that, either. The blood on Sierra’s shirt belonged to her. No rape, so no bodily fluids left behind. Torn fingernails, as if she put up a fight, but no skin cells beneath the nails.

Damn. Not much to go on here. Also, not the MO of the Creekside Killer, who usually strangled his victims and left them beside water.

But what had Natalie found so interesting about this case?

It didn’t mimic Katie’s case in any way, except for the setting.

And to face facts, in the Pacific Northwest, most murder victims were dumped in the forests, down ravines, off trails, in the water.

He clicked through the pictures on his computer and stopped at a baggie containing jewelry, or at least a silver pendant shaped in a circle with four knots through it.

He skipped back and forth through the file to discover that the pendant was around Sierra’s neck, but Sierra’s mother had never seen it before. He checked the date of Sierra’s death against the date of Katie’s disappearance. Sierra had been murdered about seven months after Katie disappeared.

Could the pendant have belonged to Katie? Had her parents reported any jewelry along with the clothing she was wearing when she went missing? Maybe Natalie thought the two cases were linked?

He jumped when his phone rang. He’d become as absorbed in the case as Natalie had been.

When he glanced as his display, knots tightened in his gut. A call from Detective Ibarra, the detective investigating his wife’s murder, usually brought bad news.

He closed his eyes as he answered. “Wilder here.”

“Michael, it’s Gil Ibarra. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me.”

“That’s not true, Vince. I want to hear from you when you call to tell me you’ve found the person who killed Raine. Is that what you’re calling about?”

“Afraid not, Michael.” Ibarra took a breath, and Michael’s shoulders tensed. “Full toxicology report finally came back on Raine’s autopsy.”

“Thought you had that already.”

“Preliminary toxicology. She had a lot of substances in her system.”

“I’m aware.” Michael’s hand gripped the arm of his chair. “What did you find this time around?”

“You said your wife, er, Raine had been on antidepressants, and we found a bottle of Lexapro in her purse—ten-milligram pills. Do you know if this was her regular dosage?”

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure what she took or how much. She hid that from me, so it wouldn’t come up in the custody dispute.”

“The medical examiner said the usual dose is ten milligrams, and those are the pills Raine had.” Ibarra made a clicking noise with his tongue. “But Raine had a lot more than that in her system, probably five times that amount.”

“What are you saying? Raine took an overdose of her meds? You can’t be suggesting suicide now, right? She was strangled with some cloth tie, or did you get that wrong, too?” Michael’s heart was raging in his chest.

“She was strangled, so not suicide, but if someone was able to ply her with an overdose of meds before taking her out to that trail before killing her, we’re not looking at a stranger here. No, Raine’s killer knew her. Knew her very well.”