Page 9 of Crime Lab Cold Case (Pacific Northwest Forensics #2)

Natalie had already jumped up from her chair in anticipation of collecting the files. At Nicole’s words, she dropped back into her seat, disappointment washing over her. She’d wanted to get those files herself. She’d wanted to take a look at the evidence room.

She took a deep breath. She still had the right and the obligation to inspect the evidence-receiving room. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Nicole. I suppose I can arrange a look at the evidence room another time.”

Silence.

“Of course. Give me a heads-up, and I’ll show you around.”

“I’ll give you a heads-up, but I’d rather have a look on my own. I’ll be doing the same in all the labs, and I apologize in advance for the intrusion, but that’s kind of what an audit is all about.”

“I know that. Don’t worry about it. Just let me know when you’re ready for your inspection.”

“Thanks, Nicole.” Another pissed-off customer .

If she couldn’t go down to the evidence room to grab the files herself, she could at least help Jacob unload. She opened the conference-room door and kicked the doorstop into place.

Five minutes later, a young man with long, dirty blond hair came out of the elevator pushing a dolly stacked with boxes in front of him.

Natalie almost salivated at the sight of the boxes.

This is what she did, or had been doing for the past few years—inspecting case evidence, looking for anomalies, contradictions, gaps.

By the time Jacob reached the conference room, Natalie was rubbing her hands together. “You must be Jacob. I’m Natalie.”

He gave her a shy grin and pointed to the open door. “In here?”

“Yes, please.” She swept a hand along one wall. “I made some room here.”

Jacob parked the dolly and hoisted the first box from the top of the stack, making it look easy, but she knew how heavy those boxes could be. “Do you want them in any particular order?”

Rapping on the second box with her knuckles, she said, “By case number. See the number in the upper-right corner of the box? Try to match those up. That’ll order them by date, too.”

“Should be easy. That’s how Ms. Meloan had me load them. She’s kinda particular.”

Natalie released a sigh. She couldn’t imagine anything going awry under Nicole’s watchful eye…or Michael’s, for that matter. This lab had put its troubles behind it when Michael took over, although Dr. Butler seemed to have some doubts.

“It’s a good thing she is kinda particular. Makes our job easier.” She reached for the next box.

“No, no. Leave it.” Jacob settled the first box on the floor and walked back to the dolly. “I’ll get all of them. Some are pretty heavy, and you don’t know which ones until you try to lift them.”

“Okay, I’ll do the directing.”

As Jacob lifted each box, she checked the case number on the side and pointed to a spot on the floor. The kid didn’t even break a sweat.

When he finished, he rested his arm on the dolly’s handle. “Better you than me.”

“I know.” She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the stack of boxes. “Looks like a lot of work.”

“Yeah, it’s not just that.” He scratched the blond stubble on his chin. “It’s what’s in those boxes—pictures and stuff with blood on it. Yeah, no thanks.”

Tilting her head, she said, “You are working in a forensics lab. You’ll have to get used to it if you’re going to pursue a career in forensic science.”

“Me?” He thumped his skinny chest. “I’m no science major. I’m majoring in journalism. I’ll write about these cases, not investigate them.”

“If you’re on a crime beat, the blood and gore may be unavoidable.”

“I plan to avoid crime. Politics, a different kind of blood and gore.”

Natalie perched on the edge of the table. “So this is just a part-time job for you, not an internship.”

“Yeah, my dad got me the job. He’s a deputy with King County.” He pointed at the boxes. “You’ll probably see his name in there a few times—Reynolds.”

Natalie’s stomach dropped. Reynolds was the name of one of the cops that worked on Katie’s case. In fact, Reynolds interviewed her when she’d reported what happened in the woods. She nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out for it. Thanks, Jacob.”

She held the door as he wheeled the dolly back into the hallway, and then closed it behind him with a decisive click.

It was bound to happen. Marysville was a small town.

People might know her. They wouldn’t know her married name, Brunetti, but there were probably a few of her high-school classmates that might remember her.

She twirled a curl around her finger. Maybe she should wear her hair straightened, and dye it blond, although she doubted Deputy Reynolds would recognize her.

Maybe nobody would. She’d been a Goth girl with heavy, black eyeliner, burgundy lipstick, wearing all black and chunky Doc Martens.

Her parents saved her from dying her hair black at the time by refusing to allow it.

Huffing out a breath, she snapped on a pair of gloves and grabbed a notepad and a pen. Crouching in front of the first box, she tipped off the lid. She lifted several items from the box and spread them out on the conference-room table. Then she pulled up a chair and got to work.

In this first case, the cops had found the murder weapon, a knife, but something had gone wrong during the chain of custody and any fingerprints from the knife had become inaccessible and unreadable.

Understanding where the chain of custody had broken down posed difficulties. There were failures at many levels.

She took notes on the case and created a file for fingerprints. If all the cases featured print errors, this might go faster, but she had a feeling the cops would’ve picked up on that immediately.

The next case she grabbed was one of the closed cases, but only because the Creekside Killer, a notorious serial killer in the area, had confessed to it. The investigation still contained anomalies in the finger printing.

So many law-enforcement agencies had lined up to speak to Avery Plank, the Creekside Killer, hopeful they could close out some of their cold cases with a confession from him. Plank did not disappoint. Unfortunately for those cops, a psychopathic serial killer couldn’t be trusted. Who knew?

Plank had confessed to one homicide near Kitsap College, and as it had turned out, he was lying. The real killer was only too happy to have Plank take the credit for his crime. There could be more of those right here.

Natalie gave an involuntary shiver. Had the Creekside Killer been stalking her and Katie that night? They’d already been scaring themselves silly in the woods with witchcraft rituals designed to speak to the dead. Turned out they had more to fear from the living than the dead.

The next box contained some bagged evidence—probably the bloody clothes Jacob Reynolds had mentioned earlier. She opened the paper bag carefully and pinched a plastic bag between two fingers, pulling it out. It swung from her fingers as she held it up to the light.

A woman’s top, but no blood. It must’ve contained DNA or hair on it. She dropped the plastic bag onto the table and reached into the other one again. She felt like a kid reaching into a candy jar for a treat, except that the treats were ghastly reminders of long-ago murders.

Natalie plucked up another plastic baggie, a smaller one, and cupped it in her hand. The shiny object inside caught the overhead light and she gasped.

She recognized the necklace…because it was hers.