“Grady,” she called after him.
He came to a stop, his hand on the door, and he turned to look at her.
The heavy weight of his expectant gaze nearly swamped her, but she wouldn’t run from the feeling. Not this time. “I like being with you, too.”
A wide smile crossed his face, and he gave a quick nod. Then without a word, he stepped out the door.
She sat for a few more minutes, her thoughts jumbled, then opened the photos for the drive-by that Sierra had completed after Ainslie had left the crime scene. Ainslie wanted to look at the pictures to see if she could learn anything from Sierra’s work. She started with reviewing the copious shots of bullet holes in the wall where Sierra had added labels and scales before snapping the pictures. A bullet hole looked like a bullet hole to a jury. Same with blood spatter and stains. To differentiate them, they used road-mapping, placing a series of labels and scales on the surfaces being photographed to expose patterns or defects.
She was just about to begin this process outside the house when the sniper fired and she dove to the ground. She almost felt the bullet hitting the dirt inches from her head. Her hands coming over her head to protect her. Involuntary, she knew. And then the panic. Oh, the panic. She’d been terrified. Frozen in place. Until Grady. A quick thinker and protector.
Her palms started to sweat, and she released her mouse to sit back, staring at the screen.
She’d almost died. Could be dead. And here she was fighting the best thing that had happened to her in a long while. Grady Houston. A fine man who’d just clearly expressed his interest in her. A man who she knew deep in her heart would be a great partner in life. Someone to share a life with. To have children with. To grow old with.
Her phone rang. Seeing his name, she quickly answered. “Grady?”
“Ethan’s gun and Wade’s CT scan were waiting down here for me.” His excited tone raced through the phone. “Grab your cameras and come down to my lab. I need your help to record the process of proving your brother’s innocence.”
21
Ainslie slung the camera case straps over her shoulder and bolted from the lab. She was so pumped, her hand shook as she punched the first floor elevator button. She had to settle down or she wouldn’t be able to take clear pictures and video. She closed her eyes and imagined a tranquil day at the Oregon beach, a place she’d always found relaxing as the waves rushed onto the smooth wet sand. Clouds hung overhead in her mind, since the coast was often cloudy with fog stubbornly clinging to the water.
She concentrated on easing out the stress with each imagined wave so that, by the time she got to the firearms lab, she felt calm and centered.
The first room held display cases filled with different weapons and ammunition neatly labeled with their details. Long tables sat in the middle. The space was empty, but she heard movement in the back area. She found Grady standing near a table by a big stainless steel box near the far wall. She remembered he’d called the box a bullet recovery containment system. It was filled with water, and the caustic smell of gunpowder from the steady stream of bullets fired into this system lingered in the space.
He turned to look at her. “Great. I was just getting things set up. While I finish, can you photograph the weapon and ammo I laid out on the table.”
“Of course.” She set down her bags and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. “You sure it’s okay that I’m taking these pictures, what with the conflict of interest and all?”
He nodded. “It’s not like you can change any of the outcomes.”
“True.” She took out a few markers and a ruler from her bag and placed them near the evidence to show scale. She took copious pictures to be sure she captured everything.
“By the way, I processed the slugs fired at you. They were .223 caliber as I’d thought. There are a few rifles chambered for the .223. I think he was using an AR-15.”
“And does that tell you anything?”
“Only that, if he’d used the right optics, he wouldn’t likely have missed. So we need to be thankful that he was cocky or dumb enough to think he could make the shot without it.”
“Is that common?”
“Common?” He tipped his head and looked at her. “I guess. Yeah. A lot of guys think more highly of their marksmanship than they should. But then again, a lot of guys like all the toys, too. Could be he just didn’t have a sight or couldn’t get his hands on one quickly. He sure wasn’t going to walk into a Cabela’s and buy one to use to murder someone.”
“I guess not.” She snapped the last picture and stepped back. “Done.”
He joined her and picked up Ethan’s gun. “Did you get a close up of the serial number on the frame?” He pointed to the number engraved on the body of the weapon.
“I did.”
He tipped up a box of ammunition. “I need to show the ammo specs as well.”
She arranged the box for best lighting and snapped the pictures.
“Okay.” He tapped a block of thick gel mounted on another table. “I’m going to load and fire the gun into this ballistic gel from the same trajectory as at the scene.”
She had to admit surprise that he wasn’t using that water containment unit, but he was the expert. “Why the gel instead of the water?”
“It will better simulate the actual shooting and damage to the bullet.” He picked up the magazine. “I want you to video this procedure. I’ll do an introduction, load the gun, and then fire into the gel. I’d like you to zoom in to capture the bullets, et cetera while I load and when I retrieve the slugs from the gel. I’ll talk through the whole thing, giving my step-by-step procedures.”
“I’ll get the camera out.” She reached for the bag and withdrew the small but pricey video camera. “Will you start at the table?”
He nodded. “And then move to the mini range I set up.”
She positioned herself on the far side of the room and looked through the viewfinder until she found the perfect spot. “I’m ready when you are.”
He gave a firm nod and met her gaze, a look of determination on his face. “This could be it, you know? One of the things that could clear Ethan’s name.”
“Then, let’s get to it.” She smiled.
He smiled back at her, letting it linger, warming her heart. If she weren’t already smitten, this ease between them would take her over the edge. “Tell me when to start the camera rolling.”
He grabbed a pair of hearing protectors. “Put these on, and then go ahead.”
She slipped them over her head and started the camera. “Rolling.”
“I’m Grady Houston, weapons expert and partner at the Veritas Center.” He stated his qualifications and experience, and Ainslie had to admit she was impressed and knew a jury would be, too.
He picked up the gun. “Today I am test firing a Beretta 92 FS found in the possession of Ethan Duncan on the day of Wade Eggen’s shooting.” He held out the gun and read the serial number then pointed at the ammo box. “The gun was loaded with American Eagle 9mm Luger 115 Grain Full Metal Jacket bullets, and I will be test firing bullets from the recovered magazine and ones from the box of the same manufacturing batch located in Mr. Duncan’s home.”
He put on his own pair of hearing protectors and slid the magazine into the gun, looked at the camera, a glint in his eyes, and said, “Fire in the hole.”
He fired the gun. Once. Twice. The muffled sound was still loud, despite the ear protection. He ejected the magazine. “And we’re clear.”
She loved watching how certain he was in his movements and how firmly he held the gun when firing. She’d known he was an expert at this, but seeing him perform the tests brought his work to life for her.
He moved to the end of the table. She kept the video rolling with one hand and removed the bulky ear protectors with the other. He extracted the bullets from the wobbly gel and went to a machine on the far wall. “The machine you’re looking at is called BULLETTRAX. I’m mounting one of the fired bullets into the holder,
and the machine will digitally capture the surface of a bullet in 2D and 3D, providing a topographic model of the marks around the bullet’s circumference. I can then measure it and make comparisons to the bullet on the CT scan taken of Wade Eggen’s head. I will follow this procedure with each bullet.”
He started the machine running, and it rotated the bullet three-hundred-sixty degrees. He repeated the process for each bullet then grabbed a large manila envelope and held it up to the camera. “You should know that other experts have suggested the bullet in Eggen’s head could be an American Eagle 9mm Luger 115 Grain Full Metal Jacket bullet. I have requested those findings be provided in a sealed envelope so I can’t see their results before beginning my measurements to keep from biasing my results. Once I have concluded my tests, I will open the envelope on camera and make the comparisons.”
He set down the envelope. “But for now, we’re going to stop recording. I’ll be taking the fired bullets to a nearby facility to run a CT scan of additional bullets for exact comparison to the scan of Mr. Eggen’s head.”
He nodded at Ainslie, and she turned off the camera. “This is all very interesting, but how soon can we get that CT scan of the bullets.”
“Not we.” He frowned. “I should go alone. There’s nothing for you to do there, and I don’t want to risk taking you out into potential danger again.”
“But with Wade in custody it should…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to have to bother anyone else to escort me when it’s just to run some bullets through a CT scanner.”
“Just some bullets?” He mocked pulling a knife from his chest. “This is my life’s work we’re talking about here.”
She swatted her hand at him. “I didn’t mean anything by it. What you do is very important.”
“I know that. I was just messing with you.”
“Oh,” she said, liking the fact that he’d been joking when so much of their time had been serious and tension filled.
She suddenly wondered what it might be like to be on a date with him. To go to a movie. Dinner. For a walk. Even just watch TV together. At the moment she honestly wouldn’t even mind sitting with him while he watched football. Putting a sports game between them now seemed so foolish when, if she could get beyond that and her feelings of inadequacy, she could have a much richer life. Maybe with Grady. Or without. Doing the work to improve herself would return rewards beyond what she’d once been able to imagine. And that was thanks to her feelings for Grady. So, no matter the outcome, knowing him had forever changed her life.
“You look a million miles away.”
“Sorry. Just distracted.”
“By what?”
Should she tell him? Dare she open the subject? Yes, it was time to lay everything out there once and for all. “You really want to know?”
“I do.”
“I was thinking what it might be like to go on a date with you.”
His mouth dropped open.
She should ignore his stunned surprise, but she lifted his jaw with her finger.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her against his chest, then wrapped his arms around her back to hold her close. She reveled in his touch and circled her arms around his trim waist to move even closer.
He took a halting breath. “I would very much like to find out what it would be like to go on a date with you.”
Her turn for stunned surprise. “You would? I thought you didn’t want to get involved.”
“That’s not it at all. I just…” His expression hardened for a flash before he washed it away. “There’s something I need to tell you before we can move forward.”
She watched him, and he looked so conflicted that a bead of worry took hold in her heart. “Sounds serious.”
“It is. And complicated. And not something I want to talk to you about in my lab with my team in the other room.”
Now he really had her attention, and her curiosity was burning a hole in her brain. She couldn’t wait to know what he’d been keeping from her. But when? Where? Her brain raced with ideas, but she was muddled by his nearness.
“Tonight,” she said, fleshing out an idea even as she spoke. “I’ll make dinner, and we can talk then.”
“Sure. Good.” He leaned back. “Wait. We can’t do my place. Jackson will be there. How about Sierra’s condo?”
“Maybe. But if she’s not working, Reed could be with her.”
“Then it will have to wait,” he said, almost sounding relieved.
“No,” she said. “Sierra wants us to get together. I’ll just tell her I need her condo to cook you dinner. She’ll gladly do it for me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And you’ll actually ask?”
“I will.” And she wasn’t even going to feel guilty about it.
“Then, until then.” Grady pressed a kiss on her forehead and released her.
She had the urge to settle back into his arms and get a proper kiss. Not that little peck or even one that was fueled by adrenaline. Or by fear. Like at the crime scene.
Oh, she knew it wouldn’t be hard to get him to kiss her. But not here. When he kissed her again, she wanted it to be private and romantic, not in a stark ballistics lab where it would feel all clinical.
Grady slipped the bullet CT film onto a light box table and paused before beginning work. He wanted to call Ainslie down to the lab so she was present the moment he had the results from the scans, but he still had work to do before he could rule on the findings. She would only serve as a distraction.
He started working on the first of fifteen scanned bullets from the box found in Ethan’s house. He measured the bullet base diameter and length using a calibrated vernier caliper—VC. He took his time measuring each one, making sure he recorded precise physical measurements and used both the VC and CT scan to assess accuracy and precision.
He’d also chosen bullets of similar caliber and had them scanned for comparison. This was for effect for the jury, as the differences could easily be seen in the scan.
He mounted the scan of Wade’s head in the lightbox and placed the 9mm 115 grain bullet scan next to it. The slug was very similar to the one in situ, but the measurements didn’t work out, and his heart soared for Ainslie.
It was official. Finally. The 115 grain bullet was too small to be the slug in Wade’s head. Grady knew he would be asked to identify the specific caliber of the bullet lodged by Wade’s eye, but if both bullets were the same design type, a higher mass bullet in 9mm may have similar values to a lower mass bullet in a .357 caliber. So he couldn’t answer that. No ballistics expert could. What he could do was look at the state expert’s findings to see where they went wrong, but he needed Ainslie to film the opening of the envelope.
He grabbed his phone. Satisfaction burning in his gut, he punched her number.
“Do you have something?” she asked sounding breathless.
“I do. Come down and bring the video camera again.”
“Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”
“It’s better in person. Plus, I need you to film the opening of the envelope from the state expert.”
“On my way.” She ended the call.
Envelope in hand, he sat back to wait, his mind focused on Ainslie. His analysis could finally cast doubt that a bullet from Ethan’s gun sat in Wade’s head. That, plus the other information they’d gathered, could finally help to free him. Which meant Grady would have no reason to spend time with Ainslie. Probably didn’t matter anyway. Not after they met for dinner tonight and he told her about Uncle Tommy.
Grady’s palms started sweating at the thought of it. He imagined what it was going to be like to sit next to her. Maybe across from her. And spit out a decades-old secret.
He heard the lock on the lab door release, and he let out his anxiety in a long breath so he didn’t seem stressed for Ainslie or the video.
She rushed into the room, her gaze expectant. “Well?”
He held up the envelope. “This guy was all wrong.
I won’t know why until I see his findings, but the bullet lodged in Wade’s head most likely wasn’t fired from Ethan’s gun.”
Ainslie locked gazes with him, excitement burning in her eyes. “So you have the proof, then? Ethan didn’t shoot Wade?”
He wanted to simply say yes, but absolute proof never existed in ballistic comparisons. “Not one hundred percent proof, no. There are mitigating factors that could’ve come into play.”
She dropped onto a stool, her eyes narrowing. “Like what?”
“First, the expert and I both had to make assumptions,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“We both assumed that Ethan’s magazine had once been loaded with all American Eagle 9mm Luger 115 Grain Full Metal Jacket bullets, when in fact the magazine had four open slots. He could’ve accidentally, or on purpose, loaded a different bullet in these slots. Or he could have a separate magazine that he used to shoot Wade then discarded it and put the 115 grain magazine back in the gun.”
“But that’s not likely, right? Because the police only found those 115 grain bullets in his house. Nothing else.”
“Right, and I don’t think any of these scenarios are accurate, but I’m telling you this because it shows that it’s a strong start, but we’ll still need more to clear Ethan’s name.” He paused. “And there’s one other statistic that’s in his favor as well. The larger grain bullet on average has a deeper penetration level than the 115 grain, so it would likely have traveled deeper into Wade’s head. I can’t fire a larger round into his head to compare, so I can’t quantify that, but it’s a logical conclusion based on where the bullet is located and on my ballistic tests.”
“So we still need more.” She sighed. “And here I thought this was going to be it.”
“Hey,” he said going over to her. “I don’t mean to downplay the importance of this discovery. It’s huge. And we need to look at it in that light. But I didn’t want you to think we could stop working just quite yet.”
“I don’t like it, but I get it.”
Dead Center Page 20
