Page 54 of The Fragile Ones

John grabbed a couple of papers and turned on his stool. “Here you go.”

Katie began to read down the list. Everything appeared correct, except…

“What’s the matter?” said John.

“This small photo album.”

“What about it?”

“It wasn’t at the house when we searched and documented everything. I saw this album when I visited with Mrs. Mayfield the day before. It was in the girls’ room. But it wasn’t there yesterday. I remember noticing as I’d asked her to ID the people in it…What do the notes on it say?”

John found the evidence bag. “It says it was photographed and collected from the top of the desk in the living room.”

“That’s not possible,” said Katie.

“What’s the timestamp?” he asked.

“It says it’s at the same time everything else was collected.” Katie reread the list carefully. “I don’t understand. That’s not true. It wasn’t there when I looked around the crime scene.”

“Who collected the evidence?”

“The local police officers, but I directed them and I’m telling you, I know what was at the house.” Katie looked around the room as if an answer would materialize. It didn’t. “Someone must have put it in with the rest of the evidence. Either the morgue technician, one of the two police officers, or the chief.”

“Anyone else have access?”

“No. Just me and McGaven.”

John put his hand on her arm. “I know this is weird. Let’s move forward for now and then come back to the photo album later, okay?”

Katie looked at John. He had always been a good friend and held her in high regard—they shared the fact they were military vets. There was some type of chemistry between them, but neither had acted on it. It was simple. Katie loved Chad. He was the love of her life.

“You okay, Katie?” he asked.

“Sorry. This case is taking some unexpected turns. That town, Rock Creek, is really bothering me. Things are strange…”

“Spooky,” he said, and laughed.

“I know…something is off.” Katie pulled herself together and focused on the evidence. “Okay, what do we have?”

John stared at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly rolled his stool to another workstation, pulling up what looked like a magnified photo of a rope. “This is a magnification of the photo of Tessa Mayfield wearing her necklace. Luckily, in terms of the comparison to the wound, it’s a thick chain and has a distinct pattern.”

Katie leaned in to get a better view. “It’s a heavy ‘s’ pattern.”

“And look at this,” he said, as he flipped to a split screen with a close-up of Tessa’s neck wound. Even though her small neck was bruised, the skin partially missing, there was a clear and definite pattern.

“Wow, that’s a perfect imprint of the chain.”

“Just about perfect,” he corrected.

“I know you can’t say it’s 100 percent, but that’s remarkable,” she said. “She was strangled with her own necklace, or it was ripped hard from her neck…It wasn’t found anywhere at the crime scene. It’s probably lost, but I can’t help but think—”

“Think what?” said McGaven as he stood in the doorway, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Hey, Gav, glad you’re here. I was saying…I can’t help but think the killer might have taken it as a souvenir.”

“It’s possible,” he said.

“I’m curious about the fabric in Tessa’s hand,” said Katie.