Page 34

34

In a Tyvek suit, Stella oversaw the forensic team in the empty warehouse, quietly bustling with focused activity. Several portable compact lights operating off generator power had been placed throughout the space to ward against the onset of the evening.

Downstairs, the young police officers had taped the entire building off, though there were no civilians to protect the site from. Off-site, Ander and Anja were with another forensic team, who were bagging items from David Broad’s stolen Toyota Tacoma before hauling it to the lab for sampling.

She was expecting a call from either of them at any moment, giving her an update on their findings.

Stella joined Hagen, also in protective gear, who was standing over the single ratty mattress with the lead forensic specialist, who’d introduced herself as Marsha Donnelly, and a crime scene photographer.

She touched Hagen’s shoulder. “What do we have here?”

Hagen indicated the mattress. “Agent Donnelly here has been performing a scene search for biological evidence.”

Agent Donnelly nodded. “That’s right. I’ve already collected hair samples from the mattress, the sleeping bag, and these garments here.” She pointed to what appeared to be a hoodie and a blanket.

“Any preliminary observations?”

“Well, and of course I can’t say for certain until we get the evidence back to the lab, but I’d speculate that we collected hair samples from at least two individuals. But I also found hair samples from what appeared to be a rodent of some sort. My guess was that whoever was sleeping here found the mattress in a dumpster or similar.”

Stella wrinkled her nose and was glad the suit covered her face. “Do you think there were two people sleeping here?”

Agent Donnelly shrugged. “It’s impossible to say right now. In addition to the hairs, I also found evidence of seminal stains on the mattress, in the sleeping bag, and on the blanket.”

If the mattress had been used by many people, Stella wasn’t sure how that might help. “Is it possible to give an estimate of how long the suspect has been in this location?”

Agent Donnelly considered. “Again, I can’t give you an exact time until I process the evidence. But from the hair samples, the urine and human feces we found over in the corner, and the protein bar wrappers by the side of the bed, I’d say a week at least. Maybe more.”

“What else?”

“Shall we?” The forensic specialist motioned to the large reddish-brown stain on the floor beneath the rope hanging from the ceiling. “I did a quick test with luminol and confirmed my suspicion. All this material is blood. But it’s so dried out, I’d estimate that it’s been left out here in the elements for a week. Possibly more. Considering that DNA and other components in the blood decay rapidly if not stored properly, a delay of even forty-eight hours may make the sample useless.”

Stella mentally crossed her fingers. “Will you be able to perform any kind of blood type match?”

Agent Donnelly shrugged. “It’s cold in here, so that might help, but I won’t know for sure until we perform tests back in the lab.” She pointed to the cuneiform on the walls, brightly lit by their own portable studio light. “Luminol also confirmed that these marks were made in blood.”

Hagen nodded. “That’s not surprising. It looks just like the marks we found in the alley right before the shooting.”

“Indeed. And we’ll need to inspect the photographs in more detail, of course. But what’s interesting is the spatter. Do you see the way the blood has been, for lack of a better word, ‘flicked’ onto the wall here?”

Stella took a closer look. All around the cuneiform marks were speckled streaks of blood, like a macabre Jackson Pollack painting. “I see it. What does it mean?”

“I reviewed the case file before arriving, and what stands out is that these blood spatters don’t align with the victim’s injuries. When the carotid artery is severed, we typically see high-pressure arterial spray…distinct, forceful projections of blood. Even if the victim was positioned against this wall and allowed to bleed out, we’d expect broader, more concentrated patterns, not these finer spatters. That’s assuming the victim remained on their feet throughout the process. The blood is concentrated at about five feet from the ground, which raises questions about positioning and movement at the time of injury.”

“What are you saying?”

Agent Donnelly hesitated for a moment. “My suspicion is that the killer was playing with the blood.”

A surge of anger filled Stella. “Playing?”

Agent Donnelly nodded. “That’s correct. I’m thinking the killer used a paintbrush to throw liquid blood onto the wall. Like a kind of twisted painting.”

Hagen chimed in. “That makes sense. We discovered a paintbrush in his vehicle.”

“Indeed. Well, in any event, we found additional spatter near the bottom of the wall next to where that rope is hanging. That’s where your victim bled out.”

Stella’s phone rang in her pocket. “One sec.” She stepped out into the hall and took off her mask. It was Ander. “What’s the latest?”

“For the most part, it’s what you might expect. We’ve taken hair and fingerprint samples from the Tacoma. We also found some gunshot residue.”

Yeah, from when the bastard was shooting at us.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, there was a plastic water bottle. It was filled with this kind of sludge that we’ve identified as blood. There was a paintbrush in it too.”

Stella rubbed her temple “We saw that too.”

“Wild, huh? We also found a backpack containing several chargers, a laptop, and a bunch of protein bars, among other things.”

Her phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. Stella glanced at the screen and experienced a hint of surprise. “Ander, sorry, I’m getting another call. I’ve got to take this.”

She’d been expecting a call from Claymore Township. But she thought it would be from the sheriff.

“Stella. How are you? It’s Bill.”

“Dr. Silow.” The administrator of Claymore’s psychiatric hospital and the town mayor. “I’ve actually been needing to speak to you. Do you know if Maureen King knew a person by the first name of Trevor?” She went to the doorway and waved Hagen over.

Dr. Silow chuckled. “That’s actually why I’m calling. Trevor McAuley was one of Maureen’s students. Must be about nineteen years old now. She talked about him sometimes after she started teaching again.”

“And she taught history, yes?”

“Correct.”

“What did she say about him?”

“Nothing but positive things. Trevor was one of her star debate students, apparently. He was also on the football team, I believe.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she would almost gush over him. She seemed quite taken.” He cleared this throat and lowered his voice. “If I’m being honest, there were times when I thought she was a little inappropriate, that perhaps their relationship wasn’t on the up-and-up.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have no real reason for saying so. But let’s just say, when you’re in my line of work, you need to be able to read people. I’ll just come out and say it. I suspected they might’ve been having an affair.”

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this after everything that happened?”

Dr. Silow exhaled. “I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t really remember it, until he called me just now. And now that I do, I feel like I’m betraying Doug somehow.”

Stella tensed. “I take it Trevor’s not in Claymore at the moment.”

“That’s right. How did you…anyway, I haven’t seen him around town for a while. Maybe a few weeks? Though I can’t say for certain. But yes, he just called. He’s in Nashville and wanted to know if I could put him in touch with the FBI agents who were in Claymore. He’d like to meet you.”

Stella gripped her phone tighter. “We’d like to meet him too. How would we recognize him?”

“White male, short brown hair, about six foot tall.”

“Any distinguishing marks? Like a scar or a tattoo? And what color are his eyes?”

“I’m sorry, Stella. I don’t know, on both counts. He looks like a regular young adult male, pretty basic.”

“Did he say where he was?”

Dr. Silow perked up at that. “Yes, in fact he did. He said he was calling from a soup kitchen in some part of Nashville called Idlebrook. He’s been volunteering there apparently. He always was a good-hearted young man. Do you want me to?—”

Stella hung up. Hagen was looking at her with a puzzled expression. “What was that all about?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s go. We’ve got to move.”