by Debra Erfert
Donovan obviously noticed her defense posturing and apologized. “I’m sorry, Ms. Shane. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“How are you feeling?” Donovan asked. “I also read that you’re the person responsible for rescuing the family from the fire.” His eyes went to her forehead. “And you were injured.”
“I’m fine. I hardly notice my headache.” She glanced over her shoulder at the circuit breaker box. “Detective Donovan, what are you going to do about the prints?”
He studied them for a moment. “The report said the Leavitts have a son about eleven years old who’s been in trouble with fire setting.”
“Joshua is twelve, and his hand is bigger than this.” Candice didn’t know for sure how much bigger. She was actually taking a leap of faith on the boy’s behalf.
“Barbarize believes Mr. Leavitt is a strong suspect,” Donovan said, staring intently into Candice’s eyes. He may be challenging her to disagree with him. She happily did just that.
“No. I asked Meagan Leavitt a simple question: when did she call her husband after the fire? She said she borrowed a phone from a medic. He answered his cell phone ten minutes after our escape. That was about twenty minutes after the drapes were set on fire. The Verizon wireless records should show that he was in Payson when he answered it. Twenty minutes is hardly enough time to get from his home to that town, except by helicopter, maybe.”
Candice watched the detective ponder the logistics of traveling between the two cities and continued, “You can request a copy of his calling records from that company. I told my clients that I was going to get one for them.”
“So you ruled out the husband and the fire-setting son,” Donovan quietly said. “Do you have an idea who that print belongs to?”
“I think . . . that possibly Joshua knows,” she told him softly. “But it’s going to take a little time to earn his trust and get him to tell me who Zane is.”
“Who’s Zane?” Donovan asked. His red eyebrows pinched together.
“That’s what I need Joshua to tell me,” she said.
“Huh?”
“When I woke Joshua up last night, he cursed out some kid named Zane. He’s very mad at him. I think Zane might have set the fire for . . . whatever reason.”
“Zane something,” Donovan repeated. “I don’t recognize the name. I’ll look through some old reports and check out that angle. If he was brash enough to set a house on fire with people inside, then he probably has started smaller fires in the past. Maybe he’s been questioned before.”
Sweet! “Thank you, Detective Donovan,” Candice said. He took out a card from his wallet, but before she could reach for it, he slowly slid it in her jacket pocket.
“My name is Patrick. Call me tomorrow around lunchtime. We can get together, and I’ll tell you what I found,” he said with a grin. Candice glanced at Alex and noticed a subtle frown on his lips. She hid a grin at his discomfort. Now let’s get these prints lifted. I’d like to see your technique.”
They spent the next thirty minutes carefully removing the prints off the circuit breaker box cover and then a single print off the inside doorknob. The doorknob on the outside was a different story. She used the black metal powder and magnetic brush to find a clear thumbprint and a partial palm print from a right hand. What beautiful things they were.
~*~
“Roll by the house so I can see the address, Alex.”
“I thought we were going to stop in and talk with them.”
“We are, but I want to be prepared,” Candice told him as she took out her iPad from a special compartment of her backpack and pushed the button, turning it on.
“It’s 12390 San Marcos Drive,” Alex said as they drove by the pinkish stucco single-story house. “Now what?”
“Pull over a few houses down. I want to look up their name,” she muttered as she typed in the address.
“What is that?” Alex asked, leaning closer to her.
“I have a reverse address app. If they have lived in that house for at least three months, then all I need to do is input their address and their name should show up.” An instant later— “And there it is. Raul and Regina Medina. If Mike heard the kid call his friend Lito, then the Medinas should have a son named after his father, Raul Lito, little Raul.”
“That’s right,” Alex said. “Now that’s what I called being prepared.” He got out and walked around to her side then opened her door.
Candice turned off her iPad and then dug out her camera. “Don’t let on that you’re a cop, okay? I don’t want to scare the kids into keeping their mouths shut.”
“Well, at least we know Lito isn’t Zane. Do you think the other kid is?”
“That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? I’d be happy if they know who he is,” she said, sliding off the seat. “I’ll try to make this quick.”
The yard was neatly trimmed and the grass had faded to the characteristic yellow of winter, but in Arizona even dormant grass grew and would look unkempt if neglected. There was a very old Monte Carlo in the driveway and two sixteen-inch BMX bikes next to the front door that looked new. Candice rang the bell and waited. When the young mother answered the door, she was carrying a small baby with a toddler holding on to her pant leg.
“Hola?” the woman said quickly.
She didn’t speak English. But Candice spoke Spanish. “Hola, Señora. ¿Como esta?” Candice asked how she was, with a smile.
The woman looked a little dubious that a blue-green eyed gringa would speak in her native tongue. “Muy bien, gracias,” she said.
Candice told the young mother her name. “Me llamo es Candice Shane. Se llamo es Regina Medina?”
Now she appeared shocked that she knew her name. When she looked up at Alex like he was about to throw cuffs on her family and haul them away, Candice quickly told her that he was her boyfriend. “Alex es mi novio.” Alex grinned, his dimples deepening. Now Candice needed to know if her son was home.
“¿Seňora, es Raul Lito aquĩ?”
She nodded her head and gazed behind her.
“Sí, Senŏrita. Entrar, por favor,” Regina said.
Candice guessed a boyfriend sounded less threatening than an ordinary guy. She’d take any reason to get inside at that point. Mrs. Medina called her son while they entered into a small living room. Candice glanced into the kitchen. The dinner plates were still lying on the table. The mother ended up calling her son three times before he wandered down the hallway with his PSP game in his hand. His blue-eyed, dark blond friend carried the same portable game player.
“Hello, Lito,” Candice said to the dark-haired boy. “I need to ask you a few questions.” She took her identification out of her jacket pocket and passed it to him to let him hold it. “My name is Candice Shane, and I’m a private investigator. I’m working for Joshua Leavitt’s family. Do you know him?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. He passed her ID to his friend to let him look at it. Now she had both of their prints. She didn’t think she could’ve asked them to cooperate better. After the blond had a firm hold on it, she carefully reached over, grasped the edge of the ID, and slipped it back into her pocket. When she glanced at Alex, he winked at her.
Before asking another question, she gazed at the blond and asked with a smile, “What is your name?” He grinned up at her like any child would.
“Bobby,” he said.
He stopped with that. She needed more. “Is it really Bobby? Or is it something like . . . Robert? Because I wouldn’t blame you for saying it’s Bobby. That’s a much better name than Robert any day.”
He shrugged his narrow shoulders and smiled. “Yeah. My dad named me after him, too, just like Lito. Except he got a cool nickname and all I got was Bobby.” He talked as fast as an east coaster.
“What’s your last name, Bobby?”
“It’s Westinghouse. I like my last name.”
“I do, too,” Candice told him. “Do you know Joshua Leavitt?
You guys all must be friends.” Candice paid close attention to their faces, their supposedly innocent faces.
“Yeah, we knew him,” Lito said. “He lived down the street.”
Knew him? Lived? Past tense? “What do you mean, Lito? Did something happen to him?” Her stomach twisted when their expressions almost looked proud.
“He died in a fire,” Lito said. He glanced at his friend and then down at the game in his hand. Why would he look at the game? Was he bored with her questions, or did it have a deeper connection?
“Why would you think that?” Candice asked carefully. “Because they had a fire in their house?”
“Because he didn’t go to school today,” Bobby said. “He was in the sixth grade with my sister.”
Was! “Have you two ever been over to his house to hang out or play video games?” Alex casually asked.
“Naw, he was stuck up, man,” Lito said.
Candice felt dizzy with the implications. She touched the outside of her jacket pocket to remind herself she had their prints. She wanted to rush out of that house and develop them to compare them against the prints she found in the Leavitts’ house. Somehow she didn’t think she was going to be surprised. But why would Joshua curse out Zane? Who was Zane? She took a chance and turned on her camera she held down by her side. A moment after she heard the soft twitter of its activation, she lifted it and took the boys’ pictures. The flash startled them momentarily.
“Lito, I want to talk to Zane. Would you give me his phone number?” Candice asked firmly. Both boys looked like she’d slapped their faces.
“I . . . I don’t know him,” Lito weakly said. Bobby just shook his head in agreement, and then they turned and ran down the hallway. Their interview was sooo over.
Mrs. Medina stared at us with a sad look in her tired eyes. “Gracias, Señora Medina,” Candice said. They found their own way out of the troubled home. She carefully took her wallet out of her pocket on their silent trek to Alex’s truck. The prints were a good quality, she knew. Both kids had been playing their video games and she figured their hands had been sweating from excitement, but she needed to get the thin vinyl wallet into a plastic bag before she accidentally smudged any prints. Her backpack’s bottom compartment had several assorted sizes of freezer zip lock baggies she kept for collecting evidence.
“I’ll lift these back at my apartment,” Candice said softly, dropping the wallet into the baggie. Then she tucked it into the backpack’s front pocket for safekeeping before she snapped the seatbelt into place.
“Did something seem a little off to you, Candice?” Alex asked as he started the engine.
“You mean besides the two kids lying to us?”
“Yeah, besides that.” He gazed out the back window. “Mrs. Medina’s home looked comfortable, but her furniture was . . .”
“Shabby?” Candice asked. “And their car was old, yet their son had a very expensive bike and video game, and it’s another month before Christmas even if they could afford them.”
“They both knew who Zane was,” Alex said.
“And they both seemed to be afraid of him,” Candice said, laying her head on the headrest, while dark thoughts flowed through her mind. She felt weariness down to her bones. “I wonder if he’s a bully at school. Boys tend to be afraid of kids like that.”
“You could be right.” Alex laid his hand on her arm. “You look tired.”
“I guess I am.”
“Why don’t you go to bed early tonight? You could use the rest.”
“I think I will, but I want to compare these prints first.” Candice lifted her brows. “Did you want to watch?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said, his dimples deepening with a smile.
Chapter 8
CANDICE HAD EVERYTHING she needed to bring out the prints on her thin, cheap wallet in her office. She intentionally didn’t buy a leather one. Although leather could take prints, they just weren’t as clear as they were on smooth plastic, and they weren’t as cheap to replace, either. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d seen Gil Roscoe pass his ID to somebody he wanted prints from, and each time they took it from him. Check that, almost every time. The only person he couldn’t get was a lawyer, but the man had reached for the ID and stopped just before touching it. Candice bought a hundred of them off the internet. A woman had to set her goals high.
Besides being her office, it was also her lab. It had a multi-spectrum microscope, a sink, a small fridge, a propane Bunsen burner, and all of her school books, along with every reference book Gil had or that she’d found in Barnes and Noble or the Internet. Her desk was a genuine antique made out of solid oak she’d found in southern California. She had it shipped to Phoenix when she couldn’t fit it in the back of her Cherokee.
They’d barely stepped inside the office when Liz came in.
“Hi, Candice.” Liz’s eyes came to a rest on Alex’s handsome face. “Hi, again.”
After Candice set her backpack on the floor, she motioned to her intern. “Alex Delaney, this is Liz Guerrero, my intern.”
Alex smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
The dreamy-eyed gaze Liz gave Alex momentarily made Candice uncomfortable, until her brown eyes squinted at him accusingly. “You’re not here to arrest Candice again, are you?”
Alex laughed.
“He’s helping me out on our new case.”
Liz’s eyes perked up. “We got a new case? Is this a paying case?” Liz asked as she dumped her purse and book bag on the floor next to Candice’s backpack before stepping to Candice’s side.
“Aren’t they all?” Alex asked, leaning against the counter next to the desk and crossing his arms over his impressive chest.
Liz snorted a short laugh. “It’s hit and miss.”
Alex chuckled. “That sounds about right.”
Candice took the check from her handbag and gave it to her intern. “I’d like you to deposit this in my business account.” She waited until Liz read the amount and grinned when her brown eyes popped open wide.
“Holy Hanna! Ten thousand dollars? Who do we have to kill for this much money?”
Candice found the jar of black powder and dusting brush in a cabinet and set them on the desk. “Actually, Liz, we have to find out who tried to kill that family from last night’s fire. And I think I’ve done that. If these prints match some pictures of prints I took from that house, then I’ll know for sure. I’ll need about a half-hour or so. Probably by the time you get back from the ATM then we’ll have earned that check.”
“You mean that you would’ve earned this check,” Liz corrected.
“Yeah, okay,” Candice agreed. “And you need to learn how to do this first-hand and not just read about it in your identification class. You can deposit in the ATM on your way home.” She snatched a pair of latex gloves from a box and gave them to Liz. “Put these on.” Candice pulled another pair on her own hands. “You’re going to lift these prints in Shane’s fingerprinting 101.”
“This is your wallet,” Liz said as she tugged on the latex gloves and sat in the desk’s vintage oak chair.
“Yes. I slip my ID in a new case every morning, so there should be only three sets of prints on it. Mine and two young boys about ten years old. They’re suspects in the fire.”
“Are you kidding?” Liz slid the wallet out of the zip bag, letting it fall to the surface of the desk.
Candice stretched her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed how sore her back was until that moment. “No.”
“Did you need some warrant or something to get their prints? They’re only kids.”
“Nope, all I did was pass them my wallet to show them my ID and they left their prints, all without me asking them to do it,” Candice said with a grin.
“That’s very sneaky,” Liz said, chuckling.
“She certainly is,” Alex said softly, gazing at Candice with his lips curved in a minute smile.
Her heart skipped a beat at the intensity she saw in his eyes. It felt
like . . . old times. He’d told her he loved her that night she broke his heart. She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. It was getting warm in the office. Or she was embarrassed by his words.
“Sometimes you have to be devious in gathering your evidence, and since we aren’t the police—except Alex—we don’t have to stick with the rules like they do.” Candice unscrewed the lid of the metallic black powder and handed the brush to Liz. “Lightly dip the tip of the brush in the jar and the powder will cling to the bristles.” After she gingerly did that, Candice said, “Okay, now gently dust one panel starting at one edge and work your way to the other edge, sweeping the brush in small circles. That way the powder will get distributed evenly.” She did it.
“Good job,” Candice said as the ten prints clearly appeared.
“Totally freaky,” Liz whispered. “Look how small they are.”
“Yeah, those two larger ones at the edge are mine. Those four grouped together up higher belong to my prime suspect, and the other belong to his friend.”
“How do we lift them?”
“Well . . . they’re so close together . . . I think we’ll have to group them into one card and then separate them on the computer.” Candice took a four-by-six blank fingerprint card from the top drawer and peeled back the clear tape. “Watch.” Starting on the left side, she gently laid the edge of the thick tape and then slowly rolled it down, smoothing the surface with a single fingertip before pulling the tape back up and replacing it back on the card. After she labeled the edge with Leavitt case number 0001-18, Raul Lito Medina, Bobby Westinghouse, she said, “Now we photograph these beauties and upload them on the computer.”
“Are you going to let me do that?” Liz looked so hopeful. Her pretty brows were arched high on her forehead.
“Yes, Liz. My camera is in my backpack.”
Liz whooped in delight. She’d wanted to use Candice’s camera since becoming her intern. She hadn’t let her touch it until now.
