Page 64 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘– Hairs can transfer, Jet. Synthetic ones too.’ His mouth twitched, watching Jet’s eyes spin, like he was scoring points, firing back. ‘Just because this wig hair was at the scene, doesn’t mean the perpetrator had to be wearing the wig. All it could mean is that they had contact with somebody wearing that wig, that a hair transferred to them, and then to the scene.’

‘Oh,’ was all Jet could say. And all she could think was:You stupid fuck, thinking you were good at this.

‘You said you spoke to JJ at the fair, when he was wearing that wig?’ Ecker asked, taking aim again. ‘Did you have any physical contact with him?’

Jet shrugged. ‘He might have touched my arm. I can’t remember.’

‘Right.’ Ecker nodded, the winning shot, eyes softening, but smug all the same. ‘So the hair might have transferredfrom JJ to you, and you’re the one who transferred it to the scene.’

Jet didn’t like this, being on the receiving end. She wanted to be the smug one, and now she felt … flat, the win snatched from her, arms too tired to snatch it back.

‘So, you’re saying the killer could be anyone who had contact with either JJ or Andrew Smith at the fair. Or if the hair was transferred from JJ to me, then the killer could be … well, anyone?’

Ecker exhaled, put his notebook away.

‘Please don’t get in the way of the investigation again,’ he said.

‘Cool.’ Jet blew out her lip. ‘Good talk. Always a pleasure.’

She sidled over to her family.

‘Oh, Jet, look at you, sweetie,’ Mom said. The past day must have been hard on her, her face grayer and gaunter somehow. ‘You’re filthy.’

‘Yep.’ Jet’s arms slapped down to her sides.

‘Why don’t you come home? I’ll run you a nice bath.’

‘No.’ Jet sniffed, sleeve to her nose, rubbing more dirt on than off. ‘I don’t have time for anice bathand I’m not coming home. I’m not giving up, not this time, Mom. I can do this. I’mdoingit, see. I just found the murder weapon. Not the police,me.I have to do this. I’m supposed to do this.’

‘But, Jet –’

‘– It’s supposed to be hard,’ Jet said, trying to convince herself too. A lot harder now, her suspect pool shifting, opening up from two to … anyone. No, not anyone. Someone who had a connection to this construction site, who knew that the concrete was going in the morning after, that this would be a perfect place to hide the phone and the weapon. That narrowed it down a bit. Maybe a lot.

‘Dad.’ Jet turned to him. ‘Can you get me a list of allMason Construction employees? All contractors and subcontractors, anyone who could have known about this site?’

He nodded, hand pressed to his side, knuckles white. Jet knew what that meant, knew the unrelenting pain.

‘Luke can get that for you, honey,’ Dad said.

Jet turned to her brother, eyebrows raised. ‘As quick as you can, Luke.’

He sniffed. ‘This project was already delayed, and now it’s shut down. Now it’s a crime scene.’

‘It’s not a crime scene because I smashed up your foundations, Luke. It’s a crime scene because the killer came here to bury the evidence, probably someone you know or someone you employ. Be mad at them, not me.’

‘Luke’s not mad at anyone,’ Dad said. Because Dad had no idea. None at all.

‘Sergeant Finney!’ Ecker called. ‘A word?’ Beckoning him over.

Jet pursed her lips, shot Jack a look, saidsorrywith her eyes as he wandered away.

She pulled out Billy’s phone, still in her pocket, swiped into the photo reel.

‘This is the hammer, Dad.’ She showed him. ‘See the brand. Coleby. Is that one you use at work, that your employees have?’

Dad took the phone from her for a closer look, squinting at the screen.

‘No, it’s not the kind we usually order in.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But contractors will often use their own tools.’