Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  “It doesn’t. I told you, we’re over.”

  He shuffled to the fridge and grabbed a jug of orange juice. “Does it involve Sean from last night?”

  “No. It doesn’t involve anyone. I’m officially single. In fact, I’m thinking about joining a convent.”

  “Good. Music to my ears.”

  • • •

  Sean figured he’d be the only detective working Sunday morning, but Callie’s personal vehicle was in the lot behind the station house. He parked beside it and found her at her desk in the bull pen, staring at her computer.

  “What brings you in on a Sunday?” Sean asked.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Same as you. This case is a bitch. I hardly slept last night.”

  Sean had had the same problem, but his lack of sleep had more to do with Brooke. “I went by the doughnut place.”

  “Yeah, me too. No sign of the redheaded kid.” She sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if this mystery witness really exists.”

  “You better hope he exists. He’s our only lead. Jared Doppler’s girlfriend was in for an interview yesterday, and she backs his alibi.”

  “Yeah, and how firm is she?”

  “I’d say firm.”

  “Damn. I really wanted to nail that guy.”

  Sean sat on the edge of her desk and folded his arms over his chest. “So, Callie. You know some of Brooke’s friends at the Delphi Center, don’t you?”

  Callie looked instantly suspicious. “I know Alex and Maddie. Why?”

  “Brooke’s ex-boyfriend is hassling her, and I need to get the dope on him.”

  Callie frowned. “Hassling her how?”

  “He was in her house last night while she was gone. It freaked her out a little.”

  “That would freak me out more than a little. Who the hell is he?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. She won’t talk about him with me.”

  “She probably figures you’ll break out your badge and go bust the guy’s chops.”

  “Hey. Would I do that?”

  “Absolutely. Why don’t you admit you have it bad for this girl?”

  “Fine, whatever. Will you get me a name?”

  “What, you mean hit up some women I barely know for gossip about another woman I barely know? Because, you know, being female and all, I’m into that?”

  Sean just looked at her.

  “Why don’t you get Ric to help you? His wife works at Delphi. She might know Brooke.”

  “I’m planning to ask him, too, but I want to see what you can find out.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me, Byrne. Again. You’re racking up a lot of debt.”

  “I know.” He paused. “In the meantime, what’s new with the case? You hear anything on the knife?”

  “Not yet.” She checked her phone. “Their knife expert is supposed to call me once he’s had a chance to look at it. You know Travis Cullen?”

  “No.”

  “He’s probably off this weekend, like most normal people, so I’m not expecting to hear anything until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  Sean’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. “Ric,” he told Callie as he answered the call. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Can you meet me at the station house? It’s important.”

  “I’m here now. Why?”

  “We need a team meeting. Mia just called me from the lab.”

  Sean’s pulse kicked up. “What is it?”

  “She finished running those DNA tests from Samantha Bonner. We have a hit.”

  • • •

  Callie watched as Ric’s wife blew into the conference room.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” Mia dropped a computer bag on the table. Her cheeks were flushed and her strawberry blond hair looked windblown. She pulled off an oversize barn jacket and draped it over a chair as she glanced around.

  “Everyone’s here but Lieutenant Reynolds,” Ric said, claiming the seat beside her.

  “You guys can brief him.” Mia checked her watch. “I have to pick up the baby from my sister’s in an hour.”

  Callie watched as Mia set up her computer, impressed by the woman and also envious. Mia somehow managed to juggle the top job at the Delphi Center’s DNA lab, marriage to one of the best men Callie knew, and now motherhood. And she didn’t even look tired.

  Well, maybe a little tired. She took a gulp from a Venti-size coffee before settling in for her presentation.

  “All of you probably know that the pathologist sent over some items from the autopsy. The victim’s bloody clothing, and also the rape kit, which included nail clippings.” Mia looked around the room. “The rape kit was negative for semen. And we swabbed all the clothing, but didn’t come up with any blood that wasn’t the victim’s. The nail clippings, however, yielded a lead.” She took a deep breath. “We recovered biological material not belonging to Samantha Bonner.”

  “She clawed him,” Sean said.

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  Mia tapped some keys on her computer, and the black and white bands of a DNA profile appeared on the screen behind her.

  “I thought the ME said there were no defensive injuries,” Callie said. “That she didn’t have time to fight back.”

  “She didn’t sustain defensive injuries, such as scratches or parry wounds, but that’s not to say she didn’t cause any injuries. Based on what we found, I’d say she managed to get a few good swipes in.”

  “So you found blood under her nails?” Sean asked.

  “And skin cells, yes. We ran the sample through the database and came up with a partial hit.”

  Callie leaned forward. “Partial?”

  “That’s right. Have you heard of familial DNA? There have been several high-profile cases. The Grim Sleeper case in LA, for example.”

  “How exactly does it work?” Callie asked.

  “I should probably start by clarifying a few things about how we run DNA. Basically, when we analyze genetic material, we can’t look at the entire chromosome. That would take too much time. Instead, we look at certain genetic markers where people’s DNA is highly variable. You follow?” Mia glanced around the table. Then she turned to face the image on the screen.

  “The DNA from under Samantha Bonner’s fingernails shares eight of thirteen key markers with a DNA profile that is already in the database. In other words, it’s a partial match.”

  “So, it’s not the killer,” Sean said, “but someone related to him.”

  “Most likely, yes. Based on the level of similarity between these two profiles, I believe you’re looking for a close relative. A son, an uncle. Possibly a cousin.”

  Sean whistled. “Damn, that’s a good lead.”

  “I contacted the submitting agency on this,” Ric said.

  “Who is it?” Callie asked.

  “Austin PD. The profile in the database belongs to a James Ryan Mahoney, age twenty-seven.” Ric slid a piece of paper across the table to her. “He was convicted of aggravated assault up in Austin three years ago.”

  Beside her, Jasper opened up his laptop computer and started typing.

  “He serve time?” Sean asked.

  “Two years,” Ric said.

  “According to this, he now lives in Kyle, Texas, right north of here,” Jasper chimed in, reading from his computer screen.

  “Interesting coincidence,” Sean said. “Are you sure he’s not our guy?”

  “Absolutely.” Mia gave a firm nod. “And it’s not necessarily a coincidence if you consider that James Mahoney might be from around here, so some of his family members probably live locally.”

  “And do we know for sure that this DNA profile belongs to a male relative of the guy who’s in the system?” Callie asked.

  “That’s right. This profile includes a Y chromosome.”

  “According to DPS records, we’ve got . . . damn, nineteen Mahoneys in this county alone.” Jasper glanced up.

  “Narrow i
t to males,” Callie said.

  Jasper refined the search as Callie looked on. “Okay, ten males. And that’s just registered drivers in this county. What if we expand it to neighboring counties?”

  “And what if his name isn’t Mahoney?” Callie looked at Mia. “You said it could be a cousin, right? So if bloodline runs through the mother, then the perp may have a different last name.”

  “That’s entirely possible.”

  “Hey, check this out. One of these Mahoneys used to share an address with James Ryan Mahoney. I bet they’re brothers.”

  Sean sat forward. “What’s his name?”

  “Bradley John Mahoney. Age twenty-nine.”

  “Any criminal record on him?”

  Jasper pecked around for a few moments. “Looks like . . . nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?” Sean asked.

  “Not even a traffic ticket.”

  “Damn.”

  Callie sat back in her chair, both discouraged and intrigued. If this Bradley Mahoney was their guy, she would have expected a criminal record. Most people didn’t go from being law-abiding citizens to committing murder. But at least they had a suspect now. And possibly additional suspects, if they could trace more of the ex-con’s male relatives.

  “This is a great lead, Mia,” Sean said.

  “Yeah, and we appreciate you working this on a Sunday,” Callie added.

  “No problem.” Mia checked her watch. “One other thing before I go. Familial DNA is a gray area from a legal perspective. A lot of courts aren’t allowing it in. So, you need to watch your step in terms of how you use this.”

  “How do you mean?” Jasper asked.

  “I mean, I can tell you with confidence that you have a partial match here. I corroborated my findings with a colleague. But I’m also obligated to tell you that you should run this by the prosecutor before you move forward.”

  “Why?” Sean asked.

  “This area of the law is controversial. A lot of civil-liberties people and privacy advocates aren’t happy about how this technology is being used by police, and they’re making noise about it. Fourth Amendment issues, unreasonable search and seizure, that sort of thing.”

  “The DNA profiles are in the database for a reason,” Sean countered. “These are people who have been arrested or convicted of a crime.”

  “Yes, but using those profiles to shine a spotlight on relatives who may or may not have done anything criminal . . . that’s a whole other matter. It’s dicey, and I’m sure the DA is going to have some opinions on how to proceed.” Mia checked her watch and closed her computer. “I’m sorry, but I have to take off. If you guys have any more questions . . .” She looked at Ric.

  “We know where to find you.”

  • • •

  Sean watched Mia leave. Then he turned to Ric. “We need eyes on this guy ASAP.”

  Ric nodded. “He may not be the killer, though.”

  “If he isn’t, he’s related.”

  “Wait, hold on.” Callie leaned forward. “Did you hear what Mia said? We have to contact the prosecutor. If we play this thing wrong, we could botch up the case.”

  “That was your takeaway?” Sean shook his head in frustration. “Mia just handed us the best lead we’ve had so far. This isn’t some phantom witness or a vanishing fingerprint. We’re talking about actual DNA found under the victim’s fingernails from when she tried to fight off her killer. Far as physical evidence goes, it’s a slam dunk.”

  “Maybe so, but using it to target a suspect isn’t a slam dunk.” Callie looked from Sean to Ric. “You want to screw up a court case? We can’t just rush out and start arresting people named Mahoney. I mean, what if we’re wrong? At the very least, we get ourselves in a bunch of legal trouble. And we could end up tipping off the real perpetrator that we’re onto him.”

  “I’m not about to start arresting people.” Sean pushed his chair back. “But I’m also not going to sit around waiting for some lawyer to give me permission to do my job.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Where are you?”

  Sean put his phone on speaker and dropped it into the cup holder. “I’m parked outside his gym,” he told Callie.

  “And where is that?”

  “Fifth and West.”

  “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Sean stared through the windshield at the gym’s entrance, then shifted his gaze to the silver BMW parked at the front of the lot. Bradley Mahoney had driven over here an hour ago even though the gym was only six blocks from his condo. Guess he didn’t want to exert himself on the way to his workout.

  The Riverbend condominium complex was a gated community on the south end of the riverfront district, an area known for restaurants, bars, and trendy coffee shops—including Java House, which was three short blocks from Mahoney’s home.

  Coincidence? Sean planned to find out.

  While he’d been stuck in the parking lot observing the neighborhood, Sean had come up with multiple scenarios in which Samantha Bonner might have crossed paths with her killer, such as serving up his coffee every morning. Mahoney might have noticed the pretty barista and asked her out. Or maybe they frequented the same dry cleaner’s. Or sandwich shop. They could have come into contact anywhere in the neighborhood where he lived and she worked. If there was an intersection point between them, Sean would find it.

  The passenger-side door opened, and Callie slid into the truck.

  “Damn, it’s cold in here. Why isn’t your heater on?”

  “I’ve been here an hour. What have you got?”

  “A lot.” She handed over a stapled stack of papers. “Bradley J. Mahoney, attorney-at-law.”

  “Shit, you’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  Lawyers were connected, especially in a town this size. Sean hoped they weren’t going to have to deal with Mahoney’s hearing through the grapevine that he was a person of interest in a homicide investigation.

  “Turns out he did have a traffic ticket,” Callie said. “Two, actually, both for speeding. And he got both dismissed. My guess is he’s got a contact at the courthouse who made these go away.”

  Sean flipped through the papers, thinking about what else Mahoney could have made go away. As a general rule, Sean hated lawyers, even the ones on his side. They worried more about probable cause and admissibility than keeping dangerous people off the streets.

  “What kind of law does he practice?” Sean asked, thumbing through the paperwork, which included an article in the state bar magazine: “Five Tips for Winning Your Case before Trial.” Bradley J. Mahoney was listed as a coauthor.

  “From what I can tell? Mostly personal injury and workers’ comp.”

  “Married?”

  “No. And no kids, that I could find.”

  Sean skimmed the printout of Mahoney’s driver’s record. Sean had already pulled it electronically while he’d been waiting outside the gym. He studied the driver’s license photo, looking for something menacing in the man’s eyes. But he just looked like some bored businessman who’d wasted his morning waiting in line at the DMV.

  “I like his age,” he told Callie. “Twenty-nine.”

  “Yeah, and you notice his size? Six-two, one-eighty.”

  “Plenty big enough to ambush Samantha Bonner with a hunting knife.”

  “That’s right. And I’m sure you noticed his address. Those Riverbend condos are what, three blocks from Java House?”

  “That’s right.” Sean glanced at the gym, but still no sign of their suspect. “I want a credit-card dump. Maybe he’s been in there before.”

  “You won’t get it without a warrant.”

  “I know.”

  “And you won’t get a warrant without Rachel’s help. Ric talked to her, and she’s not big on this familial-DNA thing. She told him it’s a can of worms.”

  Ric had already called Sean and relayed the DA’s concerns, once again reinforcing all the reasons Sean hated lawyers. Rachel did everything by the book, w
hich sucked from a detective’s perspective.

  But Sean had to admit that her obsession with rules helped bolster her impressive conviction rate, which Sean did appreciate because it meant that many of his collars served time. As lawyers went, Rachel wasn’t all bad.

  “The DA doesn’t like big suspect pools,” Sean told Callie. “Right now we’re at ten people, and that’s only in this county.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Narrow it down for her.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Callie gestured toward the gym. “The two of us have wasted three solid hours already on one guy. We don’t have the time or the manpower to stake out every Mahoney on the list.”

  Sean looked at her. “You ever heard of surreptitious evidence collection?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Yeah.”

  “I talked to the building management over at Riverbend. Trash day is Monday.”

  “That’s all you, Byrne. Don’t think for a minute I’m going Dumpster diving. You already owe me favors. And speaking of favors, I got a name for you, and you’re not going to like it.”

  Sean tensed.

  “Matt Jorgensen.”

  Sean watched her, letting the words sink in. “I’ve heard that name before. He have a sheet?”

  “No. He’s a deputy sheriff over in Burr County.”

  Sean’s gut clenched. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Maddie. Apparently, she’s met him and she’s not a fan.”

  “She said that?”

  “I think her exact words were ‘Thank God they broke up. The guy’s a prick.’ ”

  “Fuck,” Sean said, combing his hand through his hair.

  “That was pretty much my reaction.”

  Sean gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t Brooke told him? He glanced out the window and shook his head. A goddamn sheriff’s deputy. No wonder she’d balked at the idea of getting an RO. Maybe she figured she’d be better off ignoring him or handling the situation alone.

  Well, she wasn’t alone now. She was getting Sean’s help with this guy whether she wanted it or not. The trick would be finding a way to help her that didn’t piss her off. It would be much easier if he could convince her to let him.

  Sean glanced at his phone. He wanted to call her right this minute and see if she’d gotten those locks changed.