Page 128 of Sharp Force

I try not to stare at the scratches barely visible on the left side of his face. The four linear abrasions are parallel and vertical. On his jaw and upper neck are slivered moon abrasions consistent with fingernails digging into his skin. I can tell he’s tried to cover the injuries with beige concealer.

“Best thing is to make yourselves scarce while I take care of this,” he tells us in a demanding voice. “I don’t want to open the door with you standing here. As you’re seeing, he can be violent.”

Peanut bounds around the greenhouse, wringing his hands at the sight of his keeper. He’s barking and howling, his fur lighting up fiery red each time it’s touched by UV light. I remember what Marino said about trace evidence analysis of the powdered chlorophyll and calcite.

Mixed with it are fragments of hair that aren’t from an animal found in any database. Peanut’s vocalizations aren’t in any database either.

“As you can see, he has something on him.” I go ahead and mention it to Duke Mansoni as alarms are hammering in my head. “Some sort of powdery residue that fluoresces bright red when he’s near the UV light.”

“Probably the proprietary dietary supplement we mix with their food,” he condescends, his demeanor cold and unsettling. “Right before Peanut escaped yesterday morning, he pitched a fit, tearing open a drum of the stuff and throwing it on everything and everyone. He can be a real little shit.”

“Well, he tracked it inside the greenhouse. I’m wondering what’s in it. And most of all if it’s harmful.” I play clueless.

“It’s benign. Something we have compounded for the lab.” Duke Mansoni’s eyes dig into mine, and he knows who I am.

He deployed his drone here last night, projecting the red orbs over the driveway while he stalked and spied. He was watching me just as he did Dana Diletti and everyone he’s harassed and terrorized.

“Chlorophyll and calcite fluoresce in UV,” I explain, and I can tell he didn’t know that before now. “It looks exactly like what we’re seeing.”

His angry silence is my confirmation as he glares at Peanut muttering and grunting near the pot plants, his hair shining neon red. I can feel Benton’s tension as he’s making my same connections. Fruge is too, her hand near her gun.

“People usually aren’t aware of the microscopic fibers, particles and such they carry around with them,” I explain.

“And it gets transferred to other locations without the person realizing it,” Benton tells him. “It could end up at a homicide scene, for example.”

“Or on the victim’s body,” I add. “Seems like you have some explaining to do, Mister Mansoni.” I refuse to call himdoctor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stares at me, the dart pistol cradled in his arms.

“How did you get the scratches on your neck?” I face off with him, my pistol down by my side.

“I work with primates. Obviously, they can be violent. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“DNA will tell us,” I answer, and it’s now or never.

Gripping my Glock in both hands, I point it at him while realizing the trouble I’m in if my suspicions are wrong.

“Get your finger away from the trigger, and put down the dart gun,” I tell him, my pistol aimed center mass.

“On your knees now!” Benton draws down on him.

“What the fuck?” Fear flashes in the scientist’s eyes, then rageful hate.

“NOW OR I’LL SHOOT!” Benton means it.

Mansoni drops to his knees, placing the dart gun on the sidewalk. It clatters over bricks as Fruge kicks it away.

“Hands behind your head!” she orders.

“I’m going to sue the shit out of you!” Duke Mansoni threatens.

“Don’t move!” Fruge has a pair of handcuffs ready.

“We know you were inside Georgine Duvall’s house on Mercy Island,” Benton tells him. “You left a residue of the dietary supplement inside.”

“And you left your DNA under her fingernails.” I state it as a fact while hoping for the best.

I hold the Glock steady, my finger ready. Two taps and he’d be done. Fruge grabs his arms one at a time, snapping on the heavy steel bracelets.