Page 26 of Long Way Down

“Missy.” Mama pinched her leg, and she jerked a nod.

“Very good,” Pastor Keith said, and his gaze swept across his congregation. Pews cracked, bible pages rustled. “Welcome, friends,” he said into the microphone.

“Hello, Pastor Keith,” a hundred voices said as one.

~*~

Lunch was burgers eaten in the car between interviews. Melissa didn’t have much of an appetite, after talking to Jason, but forced hers down, knowing she’d need the calories for the rest of the day.

All of Lana’s coworkers at the steakhouse were properly appalled and concerned. No one stuck out as suspicious, and all readily offered fingerprint and DNA samples for elimination purposes.

Melissa scheduled for them to meet the study group at their usual Starbucks at five.

Forensics called at one, and they found themselves standing side-by-side at a wide, backlit table in one of the meat-locker-cold lab rooms.

Jeff Deming stood on the far side of the table, white lab coat hanging open over a Dave Matthews Band t-shirt. He fanned out a series of clear plastic evidence bags before them like playing cards.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “your guy was meticulous. No prints, no fluids. We found a few fibers: dyed black cotton.” He tapped the first bag, threads visible in the light coming up through the opaque plastic of the table. “Heavy, most likely from a soft-shell jacket or hoodie. We could match them if you found the hoodie, but.” He shrugged.

“Everybody in the city has a black hoodie,” Contreras said.

“Right. And I’m guessing he used gloves, leather, probably, ‘cause we didn’t find so much as a smudge or a partial print. The hospital came back with the rape kit,” he said, moving on to a spread of print-outs. “Vaginalandanal tearing and bruising are consistent with forcible rape.”

Melissa made a quick, cut-off sound before she could catch herself, and clamped her lips tight, shook her head when both men sent her a questioning glance.

Contreras got one of those careful looks in his eyes again, like he had last night. “If you need to step outside–”

“No.” Then, more calmly: “I’m fine.” To Deming: “Please continue.”

He shrugged and said, “We found condom lubricant – a popular brand the perp could have bought anywhere. The vic had the contusions you’d expect from being pinned down, wrists and hips and shoulders, along with the facial contusions and a not-insignificant concussion. Basically, he beat her unconscious and she was out for hours. The hospital wants to keep her another couple days and do a second set of head CTs.”

Contreras nodded, mouth set in a grim line.

“Butthen,” Deming continued, sidestepping down the length of the table and touching the next baggie with a gloved fingertip. Inside, the creased orange Post-It glowed like neon against the table lights. “Things get interesting.” For a moment, his face filled with the thrill of the hunt – lab techs, bored to tears with the usual prints and fibers and fluids, always lit up a little in the face of an anomaly, glad to break the monotony – but he caught Melissa’s gaze and quickly sobered. She didn’t blame him for that bit of relish; everyone who worked on their side of crime got jaded, interest always snagged by a unique case.

He cleared his throat and said, in a more subdued tone, “As we expected, there weren’t any prints on the note, either, but we didn’t find any orange Post-Its in Lana and Hannah’s apartment, which meant he brought the paper with him, rather than using what was at hand.”

“He’d been thinking about this,” Melissa said, and despite the humming AC, she flushed hot; felt the itch and prickle of sweat at her hairline and swore her next breath carried the algae tang of stagnant water. “Not just a spur-of-the-moment assault.”

“Him waiting in the apartment for her points to that already,” Contreras said, nodding. “But the note – bringing the note with him – adds another layer to his intent.”

“Like I said, we didn’t get any prints – not even a skin cell – but the note did yield something. On two edges, we found evidence of dry acrylic resin. Paint thinner,” he explained, when they sent him questioning looks. “So it means he works with paint in some way.”

“Well that sure narrows it down,” Contreras said dryly. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Vic’s tox screen was negative. So were all the drains and traps in the apartment. We found some hairs, but those all proved to belong to the vic and the roommate. Picked up a variety of soil samples in the carpet, but–”

“That’s the same as you’d find in anybody’s house.”

“Yeah.” Deming lifted both hands, palms-out. “Wish I had more to give you, but that’s it for right now. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Jeff.”

Melissa murmured a belated “thanks,” head full of the scent of wild-flowering honeysuckle, ears buzzing with the drone of cicadas. Her shirt clung to her back beneath her jacket; a bead of sweat trickled between her breasts. When Contreras took a step back from the table, she was all too eager to turn and lead the way out of the lab.

In the hallway, she shucked her jacket and folded it over her arm.

“You good?” Contreras asked, and she realized he’d had to lengthen his stride to catch up with her.