Page 120 of Kismet

“I could have helped you relax.”

“Don’t tempt me. I can be at your house in under fifteen minutes, then neither of us will sleep tonight.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“How did the autopsy go? Anything I should know?”

“I’ll have a preliminary report in your inbox tomorrow.” I took my tea to the table, sitting in the shadows of the kitchen as I peered into the snow-covered backyard. Cosette’s tracks from earlier were illuminated by the faint offering of the crescent moon.

“Is there anything you can share now?”

“Several defensive wounds this time. We took samples from under the nails and swabbed an area on the back of his hand. It appeared to have been impaled by a tooth.”

“So I might get DNA yet?”

“Possible.”

Kobe seemed to hesitate, then lowered his voice. “Question, and this is off the record.”

I stilled, my mug halfway to my mouth, skin crawling with anticipation. Setting the mug down, I urged him to continue.

“If I gave you a hair sample, could you tell if it matched the one we found today?”

“That’s a fundamental part of why we collect samples, Kobe. Although nuclear DNA analysis is best performed on a root for inclusion or exclusion purposes, a microscopic analysis of a rootless hair can provide comparative characteristics such as color, texture, or the presence of damage. Alongside one another, it’s not unreasonable to determine if two samples came from the same source. Do you have another sample? I can send it along and request that the lab perform—”

“No. Dominique, listen. Canyoudo it? Is that within your skill set?”

“Oh.” I rolled the question around, unsure where he was going with this.

“I know the results wouldn’t be admissible in court, but I don’t care. I know you aren’t the expert, and there might be a margin for error, but I’m asking on a personal level. For me and no one else.”

My heart thrummed. My ears rang. “Why?”

Silence, and I got the sense Kobe’s internal debate roared as loud as mine.

“Inclusion or exclusion, right? I want to know which way to steer the investigation.”

Away from the culprit or toward them? What exactly did he mean?

I could make the excuse that I wouldn’t know what to look for, but it would be a lie. The process was simple enough. In the end, my heart decided for me. Kobe and I had built a relationship on the ashes of our damaged pasts. He’d blown new life into my deflated lungs, drawing me from the pits of grief and despair, showing me joys I’d forgotten existed.

Kobe was passionate and sensitive. He was strong yet emotionally compromised in many ways. If he chose to define justice in a way that didn’t support the rules of society, I would embrace that decision. I would protect him however I could to ensure he walked away unharmed.

I had never claimed to be a saint, and he had never claimed to be without fault.

“It’s within my skill set. What do you have?”

I couldn’t see it, but I sensed the boyish smile taking shape on his lips. “I played the respectful gentleman after my interview with Fatemeh and helped her with her coat. It enraged her, of course, but it got me what I wanted.”

“A strand of hair.”

“Yep.”

32

Kobe

Laurent St. Pierre exudeda calm vibe the following morning as he sat at the table across from me in the same interview room where I’d chatted with Fatemeh the previous day. Hands folded in front of him, St. Pierre wore slacks, a long-sleeved button-down under a knitted vest, and no tie. His exposed throat showed a prominent Adam’s apple, and a nick from a recent shave highlighted his jaw.