by Debra Erfert
“Find the macro setting.” Candice loomed over Liz’s shoulder and showed her how to turn it on then let her play with the dial on the top that changed the settings from ambient light, to landscape, to action photography, plus a dozen other ones. When the macro setting appeared on the screen, Liz stood and aimed it squarely over the print card. “Nice and close,” Candice whispered, watching her carefully. “Okay, now we upload what we’ve got onto the laptop and see these prints up close.” She retrieved her laptop from the backpack’s main compartment and set it on the desk.
Liz’s brows rose higher, her eyes wide.
“I suppose you want to do that, too?” Candice guessed.
Liz grinned and opened the lid, found the USB connection in the pencil drawer and plugged the two electronic devices together. She did it so easily. Candice momentarily wondered if she’d played with it before. But she knew better. Liz was just very electronically literate.
“Okay, we’re uploading,” Liz said as the pictures popped up one by one on the laptop’s screen. “Wow, these are from the fire.”
“They are,” Alex said, moving to stand beside Candice.
Liz gazed up over her shoulder at Candice. “And you were there when the fire was burning,” she said quietly. “Now I’m afraid for you all over again.”
“I try not to think about it,” Candice said, gazing at Alex. “The result was worth it.”
Alex gave her a tentative smile, running his hand down the back of her arm. His light touch sent a wave of goosebumps along her skin. That visceral response confused her. It had been close to five years since she’d longed for his touch. Now wasn’t a good time to bring up those old feelings. She took a casual half-step away from him and leaned closer over Liz’s shoulder.
“Okay, it’s all done,” Liz said, resting her hands on the edge of the desk. “Now what?”
“Now, copy the fingerprints I took from the fire into a file folder and name it ‘Leavitt fire prints.”
After a few strokes of the keys, she highlighted the prints, copied and pasted them to the folder. “Done.”
“Now, do the same with the prints we lifted from my wallet and name it ‘Medina and Westinghouse prints’.”
A few seconds later, Liz said, “Done.”
Candice patted Liz’s shoulder. “Let’s switch places.” After Liz vacated the chair, Candice took her place behind the computer.
“All right, now we start comparing the prints side by side. Since this isn’t an episode of CSI, we won’t have an answer in less than sixty seconds, so we’ll have to do this logically. First, let’s get the index finger up from the fire and pull it over to the left side of the screen. Now, I know the boys held my wallet in their left hands—”
“They were both left-handed?” Liz asked, cutting in.
Candice shook her head, but Alex answered, “No, they both had an expensive video game in their right hands.”
“Which I thought was a stroke of luck,” Candice added. “So let’s get the index finger from both of them up on the right side of the screen.”
It took several seconds to insert those two prints next to the arsonist’s print. Candice saw immediately that Lito’s was in the same classification with its loops. Bobby’s wasn’t even close.
“Let’s make them approximately the same size,” Candice said as she played with the cropping and then rotated it somewhat . . . and what she saw knotted her stomach. “Okay, Liz, tell me what you see.”
Liz leaned closer to the screen and snorted once. “I see a duplicate fingerprint.” When Candice stared up at her without replying, she added, “There are little curlicues there—” she touched the screen— “that match the curlicues here, and the lines that end here—” she moved her finger— “also end here on this one. I mean, it’s like the very same print.”
“That’s because it is the same print,” Alex interjected.
“Placed there by a boy who took deadbolt keys out of their locks and then turned off the power to a house that was set on fire shortly afterward. I want to do one more comparison before I write this up and give it to Mr. and Mrs. Leavitt.”
“And to the police?” Alex asked in her ear.
His warm breath created a new wave of goosebumps down her neck. After a cleansing breath, Candice nodded. “I found a thumb print from a left hand on the inside front doorknob, and I want to check it against the one I found on the circuit breaker box.” It took a few moments before she had them inserted on a clean page, but it wasn’t difficult to see they weren’t even close.
“There were two kids involved,” Liz stated.
“Yes,” Candice whispered. “Liz, go back to my wallet and turn it over. I want you to find the thumb prints.”
“I can do that.”
While Liz repeated the same steps as before, Candice pulled up the boys’ picture and printed it out. She wanted something tangible to hold to remind herself that they were real, breathing human children and not some monsters taking revenge out of loneliness or some other intense emotion.
But what could prompt a person to commit a crime so heinous as murder? It couldn’t have been for love. Then what about hate? Could Lito have hated Joshua? Or was he jealous of him? But then there was the good old stand-by: greed. Candice remembered the PSP and BMX bike he had when it seemed like his family couldn’t afford luxuries of any kind. Could Lito have been paid to torch the Leavitts’ home? By Zane? An icy cold chill ran down her back at that appalling thought.
“Got them,” Liz said. “I need your camera. There were only two prints on the inside, and they both were small.”
“Yeah,” Candice muttered as she stared at her two suspects’ faces. Liz was efficient. She had those two prints uploaded within a couple of minutes, and then Candice took over. “Okay, I need to find Lito’s thumb prints and remove them from comparison by matching them to the one from the circuit breaker box—” which took another minute— “and now I can compare this print belonging to Bobby Westinghouse to the thumb print from the inside doorknob.” When she had them up on the screen side by side, she felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Bobby was there, too,” Liz said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He was the last one to touch the door,” Alex said.
“He may have been the one to light the drapes on fire, but it doesn’t really matter which one used the lighter. They both had the intention of burning down the house. This is enough probable cause for the police to get a search warrant for the rest of his fingerprints, really of both of the boys.”
“So they can compare them to the ones you found on the outside doorknob?”
“Yeah,” Candice whispered. “And to get a search warrant of their homes.” That would change their lives, hopefully for the better. They wouldn’t see it that way, at least not for a very long time. “I need to print out these prints for my report. Liz, why don’t you get to the bank and then go home.”
“Okay,” Liz said as she grabbed her handbag. “I’ll see you later.”
The door closed behind her intern, and now Candice was left alone with a handsome man she used to love. Her head throbbed too much to write up the report just then. “I need some ibuprofen and soda,” Candice muttered while closing her laptop and slid it back into her backpack, along with the fingerprints. “I’ll write the preliminary report after my headache eases up a little. I’m sure the Leavitts will want to know the why and the how as much as I do.”
“Orange soda?” Alex asked, following her through the heavy door to her living area. “Do you have an extra one? I’m parched.”
“I think so.” Candice walked directly to the kitchen, setting her backpack on the dining table as she passed by. “Things aren’t adding up, Alex. They couldn’t have just walked into the locked house.”
“Maybe if you can find out who Zane is, those questions might be answered.”
“I hope so,” Candice said as she opened the fridge and took out two cold sodas.
“Where’s your i
buprofen bottle?” Alex asked from behind her.
Candice nodded to the upper cabinet by the sink. He understood the gesture. He found the little bottle of pain reliever and snapped off the cap as Candice set his soda on the counter and held her can over the sink to pop it open.
“Alex . . .” Candice was curious about him being with her tonight since he’d mentioned he had a girlfriend, or possibly . . . a fiancé.
“Here you go.” Alex held two tablets in his palm.
“Who’s Jen?” she asked bravely, even though she felt more stupid than brave. It wasn’t her business who he dated, or married. Why had she asked the question in the first place?
His lips flattened while keeping his gaze on the pills, but he didn’t answer her question. Candice took in a deep breath and reached for the pills as she heard glass pop, and a hole appeared in the window above the sink, like magic, as a car backfired. In the next instant, she noticed her neck and face stinging like simultaneous tiny bites. Then another hole appeared in the glass—more pain—and another backfire banged. In the next instant, Alex jumped against her and tackled her to the floor. She heard yet another backfire on their way down.
“Don’t move,” he told her.
Yeah, like she could move if she tried. Her head must’ve bounced against the hardwood floor at least once, and her shoulder had knocked against the edge of the granite countertop on the way down. She was stunned motionless. The room momentarily brightened.
Alex got up and crouched above her while taking out his gun from his ankle holster. He actually took out a gun! She watched him stay low and rush out of the kitchen. The light in the living room flicked off. Only then did it dawn on Candice what had happened. Those were bullets coming in through her window.
Candice grabbed her elbow and rolled to her side. She had to wait for several seconds until the floor stopped spinning before she sat up. It took another moment before she was able to get to her feet and wobbly make her way to Alex, who was kneeling by the window facing the street. Candice carefully knelt next to him and studied the quiet suburban road. There were a few cars driving by, minding their own business, oblivious to the fact that someone with a gun had shot bullets into her house.
“What did you see?” Candice asked in a whisper, not wanting the bad guy to overhear her. Not like he was close enough to listen in.
Alex shook his head. “All I saw was a white pickup speeding off. It looked like a dually.”
“A what?”
“A truck that has two sets of wheels on the back axel. They’re for hauling heavy loads,” Alex said just as quietly while keeping his eyes outside.
“Is it gone?” she asked.
He looked down the street one last time and then took in a big breath before turning his attention to her. “Yeah, it looks like—”
His face was lit by enough ambient light that she could see the sudden change in his expression. It went from stern protector to wide-eyed scared in less than a heartbeat. “Candice, your shoulder’s bleeding,” he said just above a whisper.
Candice wrapped her hand around her throbbing shoulder and felt a slick, warm wetness. She didn’t want to look, but a morbid curiosity made her do it. She lifted her hand and saw her fingers covered in blood—her own blood—for only a second before she fainted.
Chapter 9
“ALEX,” CANDICE WHISPERED.
“Don’t move.”
“What happened?” She was lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, trying to remember why she was on the floor and looking at the ceiling. Alex had his fist against her shoulder, hurting her, and she wanted him to stop, but with the way he was staring down at her, looking so frightened, she didn’t have the heart to say anything. When she noticed tears in his eyes, Candice got scared. “Alex . . . what’s wrong?”
Alex leaned down and was about to stroke her forehead, but he pulled his hand away before he touched her, and then she became seriously frightened.
“You were shot,” Alex whispered with his face no more than a few inches away from hers.
“No,” Candice told him, remembering the holes in the glass. “They missed, Alex. I didn’t feel anything.” His brows lowered. “I would’ve felt something if I’d been hit, wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know.”
Candice shook her head and tried to make sense of what she did remember, like her headache, which was more intense after hitting the floor, twice. She went to rub her forehead, but Alex grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because you have shattered glass in your skin. It’s bleeding.” That was why he wouldn’t touch her.
“Where was . . . I shot?” What a bizarre question to escape her lips. Something she never, ever in a lifetime thought she’d ask. Alex was the one with the dangerous career, not her. Or so it seemed.
“In the back of your shoulder.”
She was almost relieved. She remembered that pain. “No, Alex. I hit the counter’s edge when you pushed me down, that’s all. I must’ve scraped it when you—” Candice sharply inhaled— “when you saved my life.”
Alex leaned down so close she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart stopped beating, but instead, he whispered, “You have a bullet hole in your shirt.”
Candice gasped. “I do? How, how bad?”
“I don’t know. I put a dishtowel against your shoulder and then called for backup.”
“Backup? You called the police?” Now her heart hammered in her chest.
“Candice, you were shot. I think someone tried to kill you.” Banging from the office door stopped him from saying anything more—and she needed to know more. “Don’t move. I’ve got to go let the paramedics in.” He didn’t get up but continued to stare down at her for several heartbeats, like he didn’t want to leave her.
More banging came from her office door. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he whispered, and then he gently pressed a kiss to her lips. She couldn’t take in a breath. Her chest hurt too badly. Or it could be her heart ached from loneliness. He’d called her sweetheart and he kissed her. She’d missed that more than she’d let herself remember.
She then noticed her shoulder felt much better without him trying to help her, and she had to wonder how bad it really was. The pain just wasn’t there. Her headache was, but after being bounced around like it had been, she expected it to hurt. That was what pain pills were for.
Candice sat up, then slowly got to her feet. If she had a bullet someplace inside her shoulder, wouldn’t she feel it when she moved? Candice reached around with her hand and touched where the towel had been, which in retrospect, was a total mistake. The reason she hadn’t gone in to fire services after graduating from the fire academy was because she discovered that she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Victim’s blood, her own blood, it didn’t matter who it belonged to—the result was the same. She would immediately and unequivocally pass out. But she remembered that little idiosyncrasy a little too late. Just as Alex led a brigade of firefighters and EMTs into her living room, she saw the blood covering her fingers—again.
~*~
“Candice, open your eyes . . .”
“What?”
“Candice, wake up!”
“Alex?”
“Yes, sweetheart, now open your eyes.”
“No!” she shouted, squeezing her eyelids tighter. She felt his warm breath on her skin as he talked softly into her ear.
“I need you to come back to me, Candice Shane. I’m in love with you.”
Candice didn’t know what to do. She thought he would’ve stopped loving her by now. Why did he have to tell her that? Tears slid down the sides of her face. She opened her eyes and saw him gazing at her with the same love he’d had for her before they broke up. He still wouldn’t touch her. She must look hideous—monstrous. Could he have said it just to make her feel better?
“Alex, am I dying?” The panic Candice felt had her breathing hard.
“No,
ma’am,” a paramedic quickly said. “I’ve never heard of anybody dying from a flesh would.”
Candice gazed up at the older man with gray hair and a smile. “What?”
“I’m not sure why you keep fainting, unless it’s from that bump on your head, but you have a four-inch cut on the back of your shoulder that will need a few sterile strips to close up, possibly a tetanus shot—”
“I had one last year,” Candice told him.
“And we need to clean up the glass from your face and neck, and then after you take a shower to get rid of any remnants out of your hair, all we suggest is that you get a good night’s sleep.”
“And as long as I don’t see any more blood, I won’t faint anymore,” Candice said, relaxing for the first time since being shot.
He grinned. “You’re one of them?”
“One of them?” she asked. He gently began to tweeze small pieces of glass from her skin while he chatted.
“I teach at the Fire Academy one day a week, and every once in a great while, we get a cadet who will find out he can’t stomach the sight of blood. Either he’ll hurl or pass out. They usually quit shortly after they discover their . . .” He paused as if in search of the right term. She thought she’d help him.
“Quirk?” Candice suggested.
“Yeah,” he said with a wider smile. “It’s kind of useless for an EMT to try to treat a victim while he’s incapacitated.”
“Well, at least I finished out the year,” Candice said quietly, trying not to flinch when he tweezed out another tiny shard.
“What do you mean?”
“I graduated from the Pima Fire Academy about six years ago.”
“You didn’t quit?”
“I don’t quit,” she firmly said.
“Take her word on that,” Alex said. He was on his knees next to a medic, staring at her with barely a trace of color in his face.
“Well, Ms. Shane, I see you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble.”
Candice closed her eyes when she heard the detective’s voice.
“It would appear so, Detective Donovan,” she said a little stronger. She heard his footsteps walk around to where Alex was kneeling. “How did you know?”
