“They’re analyzing proteins in the hair itself. Like keratin. Sequences of amino acids in proteins vary based on a person’s genetic code. So this information can be used as accurately as DNA to identify people.”
He eyed her. “What’s the catch?”
She arched her eyebrows. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”
“If there wasn’t one, you’d be using it and not just talking about researchers.”
“Oh, right. Most methods used today require several steps of grinding and heating the hair. This destroys much of the protein, and we might not detect enough variation in the remaining proteins to make a confident identification.”
He wouldn’t even pretend to say he understood her answer. “So how does this help us, then?”
“The researchers I mentioned did away with grinding and are heating the hair in a detergent solution. When they used mass spectrometry analysis to analyze their extractions, they discovered they’d recovered more proteins with that method. So, if we have a strong suspect whose hair appears to match, then we can get a sample of the suspect’s hair and send it, along with this hair, to the experts for analysis.”
“Strong suspect is the key, and our only lead right now is the swat caller.” He shared the news about the caller at the bar. “I’m headed over there next.”
She gave a quick nod. “Let’s hope someone saw him, and he has curly black hair.”
“If we have a suspect, can’t you just compare it using other techniques?”
She bobbed her head. “I can do a visual analysis, but this technique has been called into question of late, and I suspect soon it won’t be of any value in court.”
Odd. “But why not, if it matches?”
“We don’t know the proportion of people in the general population who might have the same hair characteristics as the hair I’m evaluating. Or even the probability of a coincidental match of two hairs. So we can’t offer probabilities of a match. Really, I can only rule on an exclusion—no conclusion, or association. Does that make sense?”
“Unfortunately, it does.” He looked at the window where she’d recovered the hair. He could easily imagine the shooter hunkered down there. Grady estimated the distance to the crime scene and mentally lined up the shot. A hundred yards give or take a few. His conversation with Murphy came back.
“You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear the words,” Sierra said. “What’s up?”
“These days, shooters think of a hundred yards almost as the minimum distance for modern rifle shooting and hunting. And we insist on a gun, scope, and cartridge combination capable of at least two or three times that distance at the very least.”
“Makes sense.”
“So why did our shooter miss at a hundred yards? Isn’t he familiar with guns? Not a good shooter, or like Sheriff Murphy, too proud to use high price optics?” He told her about his conversation with the sheriff.
She narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like we’re not looking at a trained sniper or sharpshooter.”
“Yeah, that’s my take, and I’ve been liking Wade Eggen for this since the shooting.”
“Really?” She eyed him. “Why’s that when we have zero evidence pointing to him?”
“He’s an arms dealer. I figured that meant he knew his way around a gun, and from what Nick’s report on him said, he’s cocky enough to try a shot like this with cops around.”
“But now you don’t think so.”
“Exactly. If an arm’s dealer is going to take someone out this way, he’d get his hands on the right equipment to succeed. Top of the line optics for sure.”
She turned to stare out the window. “Makes sense.”
“So I’m back to square one on suspects,” he said trying to hide his disappointment. “Which is no one. Absolutely no one.”
20
Grady waited for Ainslie in the bar that smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke that had permeated the walls years ago and still lingered. Nick had been given access to the small closet in the back housing the network equipment and was hard at work reviewing the wireless router.
Grady wanted to be doing something productive, too, but he’d promised to wait to question anyone until Ainslie arrived, so he paced the floor near the gleaming wood bar top. His boots stuck to the tile each time the soles connected. The bartender and the owner had filled a big yellow bucket with sudsy water and a tall mop but had started wiping down tables first.
Grady tuned the two men out and went to the window to look out on the lot. Drake had arranged for help from his brothers Aiden, the ATF agent, and Brendan, a Multnomah County deputy with SWAT experience. Both were very experienced law enforcement officers, and Ainslie was in good hands with them. Didn’t mean Grady could relax. Not one bit.
He heard the back door open and steps coming his way. He spun and waited. Ainslie stepped into the room in front of Aiden, and Grady watched her come in. She’d taken the time to change out of her soiled jeans and T-shirt from the crime scene dirt dive that had ripped her Tyvek suit and stained her knees. She wore skinny black jeans, a beige high-necked sweater, and short boots with very high heels, stretching out those amazing legs.
He let out a slow breath and took in a clean one. With the angst he’d been experiencing the last hour, it was time for him to admit he had some serious feelings for this woman.
“Thanks for waiting for me.” She gave him a dazzling smile.
Any angst, unease, worry, whatever he felt, melted from his body, and his only thought was to sweep her into his arms.
Aiden stepped up to them, his piercing gaze breaking the mood. He had the same blue eyes as Drake, and they seemed to cut right to the quick when pinned your way. Dressed in tactical pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he was an inch or so shorter than Grady and in great shape, even after recently recovering from donating his kidney to his father.
“I’m gonna keep an eye on things from the parking lot.” He tipped his head at the door. “Brendan has the back. I’ll take the front.”
“Hey, man, thanks for doing this,” Grady said, thinking it would be great to have guys like the Byrd brothers around to help with Veritas clients who found themselves in danger. “Tell Brendan thanks, too.”
“Sure thing.” He looked at Ainslie. “Just give a shout out when you’re ready to leave.”
She smiled at Aiden, and a bolt of jealousy hit Grady.
Her gaze remained on Aiden as he strode off, his boots thudding on the floor, and Grady didn’t like the fact that she was watching another guy. There wasn’t any interest burning in her eyes like when she looked at him, but man, he wanted all of her attention.
“We should get started,” he said, more for himself than anything. He gestured at the owner, who was squeezing water out of the mop in a large wringer.
She flashed that smile at Grady again, gave a nod, and crossed the room. “I’m Ainslie Duncan, and I have some questions for you.”
The owner—a short, stout guy in his fifties with buzzed salt and pepper hair—swiped his hand down his pant leg then stuck it out. “Donald Quincy. Owner. Bartender. Flunky.” He laughed, but he had a nervous glint to his expression as he lifted a chair off a nearby table. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Sure.” She dropped into the chair.
“C’mon, Freddy, sit with us,” Donald said. “She might need to talk to you, too.”
The string-bean of a guy with shaggy dark hair, baggy T-shirt, and sloppy jeans hiked up his pants and sauntered to a chair.
“This is Freddy.” Donald straddled a chair, his short legs stretched to the max. “Been working here a few years now. Good bartender, and despite the hair hanging in his eyes, a keen observer of what goes on here.”
“Nice to meet you, Freddy.” Ainslie smiled, but Freddy didn’t respond. “So we’re here because on Monday night around nine, a guy used your Wi-Fi to make an internet phone call from this location.”
“Yeah, so the guy in the back told me,” Donald said.
“But he made it sound far more complicated than that with all the technical details he gave.”
Grady leaned against a wood support post by the table where he could see both entrances. “Nick likes to be thorough in his explanations.”
“Yeah, well, I got the gist of it.” Donald rested his arms on the back of the worn wooden chair. “And I been thinking about that night. I was here. But I don’t remember anyone with a computer.” He looked at Freddy. “You were here. Did you see someone with a computer?”
He shook his head.
“It wouldn’t need to be a computer,” Grady said. “Could be a phone or tablet.”
Donald furrowed his forehead. “People are using their phones all the time in here, so that wouldn’t even stand out.”
“I get that there’d be a lot of texting,” Ainslie said. “Maybe internet access. But how many people actually make calls these days?”
“Yeah.” Donald tapped his chin. “Yeah. That might narrow things down, I suppose.”
Ainslie nodded. “And he wouldn’t want to be overheard, so he probably stepped away from other people.”
“Could’ve gone to the john to make the call,” Freddy said.
Grady shook his head. “He’d risk someone walking in and overhearing him. If it was me, I’d step outside or take up a spot near the door where I could bail if I needed to.”
Freddy tilted his head, and his eyes suddenly brightened. “Yeah. Yeah. I saw a guy like that. Rita probably saw him too cause it was her area that night.”
Ainslie sat forward. “Do you remember him well enough to describe him to a sketch artist?”
“Sure, yeah. Sure. He was kind of odd looking. He had this really curly black hair that stuck up on top and was cut in a mullet in the back.”
A bolt of excitement shot through Grady. “You’re sure about his hair being black and curly?”
“Positive. It’s a look you don’t forget.” Freddy shook his head. “What kind of guy still has a mullet? I hate those things.”
Ainslie’s eyes brightened and she motioned for Grady to join her by the door. “Wade has curly black hair. Not sure if it’s a mullet, but we can ask Ethan.”
“He does?” Grady’s excitement over the lead built in his gut. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I talked to him at the hospital, remember?”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Sierra recovered a curly black hair in the shooter’s hide.”
“Wade? Wade shot at me?” Her tone shot up.
Grady wanted to say yeah, it had to be him, but his gut still said the guy should’ve made the shot.
“You don’t look like you believe it’s him,” she said.
“It could be. But if it is, I’d be surprised. He has access to quality weapons, and he missed the shot. Still, if he is lying about Ethan shooting him, he must be hiding the real shooter’s ID for some reason. Maybe he doesn’t want you to find out who it is and is trying to stop you.”
She wrung her hands together. “I wish we had a picture of him to show to Freddy and Rita.”
“Blake can probably get his mugshot.”
“But that was from several years ago. He could look different now.” She frowned, but it evaporated in a burst of excitement. “Wait. Can Kelsey sit with Freddy to do the sketch? Then, I can look at it and see if it’s Wade.”
Grady caught her sudden enthusiasm and nodded. “Let me check in with Nick to see what he’s finding, too. If he located that MAC address, then Flores can compare the number to Wade’s phone, and we’ll have him.”
“This could be it. It could really be it.” Ainslie grabbed Grady’s arm. “Not only will we likely have Wade for Neil’s murder when the DNA comes in, but we’ll be able to prove he’s behind the threats to my life. And then, hopefully Flores will have enough ammo on him to get him to admit to who really shot him, and Ethan can go free.”
Ainslie gaped at Blake from a table in the trace evidence lab. “Are you serious? Wade confessed and turned himself in?”
“Yes,” Blake replied. “Flores just called to say Wade Eggen came in and confessed to killing Neil Orr.”
Still unable to believe the news, she shook her head and dropped onto the nearest stool.
Grady fixed his narrowed gaze on Blake and took a seat next to Ainslie. He seemed as confused as Ainslie by the turn of events.
“This makes no sense,” she said. “There’s no evidence against Wade at this point. Just Ethan’s word against his. So why confess after all these years?”
Blake shook his head. “That I can’t tell you. He’s being processed, and Flores hasn’t interviewed him yet.”
“Maybe the guilt finally got to him, and he had to say something,” Ainslie said. “You know, like Ethan did. I mean if I kept something like that a secret for all that time, I’d want to get it off my chest. Not that I could ever imagine myself keeping such a thing secret.”
Grady met her gaze. “You have no idea what you will or won’t do unless faced with that kind of situation.”
“I suppose.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “But I couldn’t live like that and can’t understand anyone who could. I’m still trying to come to grips with Ethan having done it.”
Grady’s face went slack, but he didn’t speak. He clearly didn’t agree with her. Maybe he was disappointed in her rigid statement.
Didn’t mean she would back down from her opinion. “Maybe I’m being close-minded here, but keeping secrets that others have a right to know about is just plain wrong.”
Grady winced. “And yet good people do it all the time.”
She flashed him a look. “You’re saying Wade’s a good person?”
He held up his hands. “Just speaking hypothetically.”
Blake leaned forward. “Let’s not get off track here.”
She continued to watch Grady for a moment longer then swung her focus to Blake. “With Wade in custody, can we get his current mug shot to show Freddy?”
Blake nodded. “Flores has agreed to text it to me when they’re done processing him.”
“And what about the MAC address Nick found?” Grady asked.
“Flores will get Wade’s phone information, too. Hopefully, that will connect him to the swat.”
Grady planted his hands on the table. “If he was behind it, then I hope Flores will try to pin all attempts on Ainslie’s life on him.”
Blake nodded. “She’ll do her best, but her top priority is working with Sheriff Murphy to nail down Wade’s confession so they can get murder charges brought.”
“I never thought I’d say this.” Ainslie shook her head. “But it’s a good thing Matt came back with us. Charging Wade can move forward faster.”
“Might Flores get a hair sample from Wade for comparison to the one found in the shooter’s hide?”
“And what about a weapon?” Grady asked. “Can’t Flores get a warrant for his apartment and car and look for the rifle?”
Blake looked like he wanted to sigh over all their questions. “Yes to both, but, like I said, she has her priorities. Means we need to keep working this investigation as if Wade hadn’t turned himself in.”
Ainslie thought about the implications of Wade’s arrest. “But one thing’s changed. I’m safer. I mean, it really looks like he’s the one who’s trying to take me out.”
“It does indeed,” Blake replied. “But I still urge caution.”
“So I can’t go home just yet.”
“No!” Grady’s voice shot up. “You’ll stay here until we prove Wade’s involvement.”
Blake gave Grady a careful study before he stood. “For what it’s worth, I agree. Maybe we’ll know more once you get a chance to evaluate the slugs Sierra recovered at the scene. She’s back, and I’m heading to her lab to distribute the evidence.”
“Good.” Grady looked uncomfortable under Blake’s scrutiny. “I want to get my eyes on those slugs.”
“I’ll drop them in an evidence locker for you and keep you updat
ed on Flores’s progress.”
Ainslie smiled up at Blake. “Thank you for all your help.”
“Almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ainslie’s phone. “Ran into Nick in the hallway. Your phone is clean—no tracking apps installed—and ready to use again.”
She took it from him. “Thanks.”
After a sharp nod, he marched out of the room.
Ainslie looked at Grady. “I hate knowing Wade’s in custody, and yet we still have to wait for so much to move forward with freeing Ethan.”
“Justice doesn’t always move swiftly.”
“I wish we could at least prove Wade’s the one who’s been trying to hurt me.” She shifted on the stool, trying to find a comfortable position, but it was her jangled nerves that were keeping her from settling down, so she stood. “Couldn’t we have Coop go back inside Wade’s apartment and look for hair in the bed?”
“He could.” Grady’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. “But it wouldn’t be legal, and he might contaminate the scene. I can’t recommend that. It’s too risky if you want your brother to be cleared. We have to follow the letter of the law.”
She sighed. “It’s just that we basically know it’s him coming after me, right? And we only need a silly little hair to prove it.”
“We’ll need more than that for a trial, but yes, the hair could be a key piece of evidence if Sierra can confirm the match.” Grady stood. “I’m going to process those slugs then give Malone a call. See if I can light a fire under her on getting that CT scan and Ethan’s gun.”
Ainslie nodded, but he didn’t move to leave.
“Is there something else before you go?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just don’t want to leave you.”
“I’m safe here.”
“It’s not about your safety.” He pressed his lips together and looked over her shoulder, his gaze uncertain for the usually confident man. “I meant about just being with you.”
Not at all what she’d expected him to say, and she didn’t know how to respond.
“It’s okay,” he said and started for the door. “You don’t have to say anything.”
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