He was standing near the foot of the stairs, with a cup of coffee in his hand, scrutinizing the front desk and lobby as if he could force them to yield up the secret of who had delivered the envelope.
He turned and held up his cup as she stepped off the last step.
She shook her head. “No. I’m ready to figure out what’s going on here.”
He nodded in agreement. “I just got a call from the sheriff. The footprint castings revealed a size twelve boot with an indentation on the right rear of the heel.”
“Does he have a match?”
“He said Tolbert and Spears both wear a twelve, as do Trace Becker and Daniel Taabe.”
“So either of the deputies could have left that print.”
“Or Becker, snooping around. This brings into question Taabe’s claim about the bone and hatchet left in his truck, too. That boot print you photographed could have been his own.”
“What about our fingerprint? Should we try to lift it here at the college or take it to Austin?”
He set his cup on the desk and headed for the door. “Is there an advantage to driving for an hour to get to the Ranger lab?”
“For a possible fingerprint ID, probably none, unless you’d rather have someone other than me do the matching.”
“I want it fast. If that picture is real…” He stopped, and Nina knew his brain was whirling with all the implications, just like hers was.
“Then Marcie’s alive,” she said, her voice quavering. “And either she or her kidnapper sent this picture to us.”
Wyatt climbed in the Jeep and started the engine, while Nina stowed her forensics kit in the backseat and got in on the passenger side. She was thoughtful as Wyatt backed out of the parking space.
Marcie was alive. But that wasn’t the most shocking thing.
For two years, Nina had prayed that her friend was still alive, but in all that time, she’d never considered the consequences.
If Marcie really was alive, then she’d faked her death, and worse…
“Wyatt, do you think it was Marcie who shot you?”
Wyatt grimaced to himself as he deliberately loosened his fingers from the steering wheel and put the vehicle in gear. Nina’s mind was fitting the pieces together exactly the same way his was.
And both of them were venturing into dangerous territory.
“Professor, our job is to get the facts—not speculate.”
Nina’s breath whooshed out in a sigh. “You’re right. I know. But I can’t stop thinking about it, trying to figure it out. Because if Marcie’s not dead, then…” He knew where she was headed. “Then we’ve got a third body. A female.”
He heard in her voice how close she was to falling apart. Again, he knew how she felt. And again, he had to rein her in for her own sake. “You’ve got to stay calm. Stay rational. Hopefully we’ll have an answer soon. If there’s a fingerprint on the paper or the photo, you’ll lift it. The Ranger database has the prints of just about everyone in Comanche Creek.”
“But if the photo’s a fake—”
“You’re going to test the DNA from the pelvic bone. One way or another, the facts will give us the answer.”
“The facts.”
Her voice was steadier now. He’d managed to tap into her rational brain and stop her imagination from spiraling out of control.
Now if only he could stop his.
“How likely is it that you can get a print from the paper?” Maybe if he could get her to talk about facts and science, it would help him to stop rehashing all the ways he could have prevented Marcie from being kidnapped.
“Lifting prints from paper is dicey at best,” she said.
He could tell by the tone of her voice that he’d successfully distracted her.
She went on. “The note was written on copy paper, which is relatively smooth compared to bond. And because of its acid content, it should hold the print well. But any ordinary TV buff should know to use gloves to handle a note. So I don’t hold out much hope. The photo may be a different story. Glossy photo paper is an excellent medium for prints.”
“Yeah,” he commented. “I’ve ruined a few photos by touching them before the ink was completely dry.”
She didn’t respond to his effort at conversation. He glanced sidelong at her and saw that she was deep in thought.
He just hoped she was mulling over the best way to lift any fingerprints she found, rather than asking herself which scenario was worse—that her best friend had let her think she was dead, or that she’d been in the clutches of a kidnapper for two years.
AN HOUR LATER at the community college lab, Wyatt closed the door behind the courier. “Okay. The courier is on his way to the Ranger lab with the scrapings from the pelvic bone.”
“Good,” Nina said distractedly. She turned the head of the lighted magnifying lamp a fraction of an inch. There. Finally. A decent print. She straightened with a groan. “I think I’ve found one.”
Wyatt stalked over and stood behind her chair as he peered through the large magnifying lens. “Where is it?” He bent to get a good look at her handiwork.
“On the back of the photo. I couldn’t find one decent partial on the paper. And this is the only one on the photo.”
“Good job.” He put his hand on her shoulder, surprising her.
And thrilling her. And not just because of that moment, she remembered their wild night of lovemaking. Thrilling her in a way she’d never felt before.
Even after last night, she was surprised that he would cross the line between professional and personal with even that small gesture of a hand on her shoulder. He was so steeped in the responsibility of his position as a Texas Ranger.
She had to be careful, though. Even if he was a Ranger, he was still a man. She knew nothing about him.
Until last night all he’d been to her was the man who had let her friend die.
As far as she knew, for him their night together had been no more than a way to pass the time until this investigation was over and he could go back to his life and she to hers.
“Professor? Dazzle me with your knowledge.”
“Right.” She blinked and forced her brain back to the job at hand. “The photo was printed on a home photo printer, using standard four-inch-by-six-inch glossy photo paper. The glossy side can yield a print of lab quality. Like you said, getting a fingerprint on a photo can ruin it. But what people don’t know is that even the back side of glossy paper is slick enough to take a great print.”
“And that’s where you found this one?”
“Here. Take a look.” She slid her chair a little sideways so he could look through the magnifying lamp at the back of the photo. When he bent his head, his hair brushed her cheek.
She swallowed, doing her best to ignore the mint on his breath, the heat that radiated from his body and her instantaneous response to his closeness.
“Wow,” he muttered. “It’s almost a complete print.”
Her heart swelled with pride. “Wow” was a supreme compliment, coming from him. “He probably left it while he was putting the paper in the printer. He was super careful about touching the front but didn’t think about the back.”
“Well, it’s a beauty.”
“I’ve still got to lift it.” She pushed the magnifying lamp out of the way, thinking Wyatt would move away, but he didn’t. Nor did he remove his hand. “I need room,” she said reluctantly, quashing the urge to tilt her head and press her chin against his fingers. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
He straightened and gave her shoulder a squeeze before removing his hand.
She took a sheet of fingerprint film and peeled off the protective paper, and slowly and deliberately applied the sticky film to the back of the photo. Then lifted the fingerprint.
She held the clear film up to the light. “I got it,” she whispered.
“Okay,” Wyatt said, excitement evident in his voice. “Let’s get it scanned in and compare it with the database.”
&nb
sp; Within a few minutes, Nina had uploaded the fingerprint to the Ranger database in Austin.
Wyatt made a quick call to the lab. “Liz said it will probably take a few hours to run through all the fingerprints,” he told Nina a few minutes later. “I let her know the scrapings were coming in and told her to run them specifically against Marcie’s DNA.” He assessed her. “I’m betting you haven’t eaten, and I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
She felt her face heat up. Of course he knew. He was there. He was the reason she hadn’t slept. And neither had he. She grabbed the fingerprint sheet out of the scanner and placed it in a file folder. It was something to do until the heat in her cheeks dissipated.
“So you want to get some lunch?” he asked. “Then I’ll take you back to the inn so you can take a nap. Liz promised to call me when the run finishes.”
She looked at her watch. “I was hoping Todd would have some bones for me to look at by now.”
As if on cue, the door to the lab opened and Todd backed in, carrying a large crate. “Guess what, Dr. Jacobson?” he panted as he set the crate gingerly on the lab table.
“You found more remains,” said Nina.
Todd beamed. “Not just remains. Skulls. At least parts of skulls.”
Nina’s heart jumped. “Skulls? How many?”
Todd shook his head. “I’m not sure. They’re mostly in fragments. But there are a few large pieces, and one really nice specimen. Mandible, maxilla, and zygomatic…all intact, with teeth.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Wyatt broke in.
Nina grinned at him. “Basically it means jaw, chin and cheekbones.”
“That sounds good,” Wyatt replied.
“It’s great. The teeth could provide a definite ID.” She turned back to Todd. “But you couldn’t possibly have found nothing but skull fragments.”
Todd beamed again. “There’s a lot more coming, but I knew you’d want the skulls first.”
“Get it all in here, and get Julie to come help us,” said Nina. “We need to match bones to bones so we can figure out how many sets of remains we have here. We’re going to need more tables.”
She met Wyatt’s eyes and knew he was on the same page as she was. Maybe with all the bone fragments Todd and Julie had unearthed, she could finally get a handle on just how many sets of remains had been dumped into that shallow grave.
And whether any of them belonged to Marcie.
Wyatt inclined his head. “So I’m guessing you’ll be busy here for a while,” he said.
She nodded, her mind already on the contents of the crate Todd was opening.
“Okay, then,” said Wyatt. “The mayor’s assistant has some appointments lined up for me this afternoon. Maybe I can finish interviewing everyone. I’ll be back here by three-thirty or four. We can get something to eat. Okay?”
Nina watched as Todd lifted the partially intact skull out of the crate. It was still covered with dirt and mud, but Todd was right. It was a beautiful specimen.
“Set it over there, and let’s get started cleaning it up.” She pointed at an empty table, then looked around. “Wyatt? Did you say three-thirty?”
But he was gone.
BILLY WHITLEY CURSED AND let the front legs of his straight-backed chair drop against the hardwood floor of the mayor’s conference room with a thud. “That is a damn lie,” he barked. “Get my wife in here. She’ll tell you.”
Wyatt eyed the man narrowly. He didn’t like him. Not one bit. Of course, that shouldn’t make a difference. Facts were facts. Evidence was evidence. Personalities shouldn’t factor in.
“Marcie James stated in her sworn deposition that you accepted money to alter certain documents you had access to as the county clerk. Are you saying Marcie lied under oath?”
Billy slapped his breast pocket. He was either a smoker or an ex-smoker, and the gesture was a clear indicator to Wyatt that he was nervous about something. “Are you saying I’m lying now?”
Wyatt pushed a photocopy of Marcie’s deposition across the table. “Just going by the facts. Here’s her statement. It’s highlighted right there.”
“I can’t believe it.” Billy shook his head rapidly as he pushed the paper back toward Wyatt. “She was a sweet girl. I don’t know why she’d tell tales like that.”
Wyatt didn’t touch the paper and didn’t comment. He just sat quietly in the worn leather executive chair. The mayor’s conference room furniture was a lot like the mayor himself. Over fifty years old, polished and yet rough at the same time, and for the most part, welcoming.
Finally, Billy looked up at him from under his brows. “Did she say she had proof?”
Wyatt stayed still.
“Because if she did, I’d like to see it. I can refute it. I didn’t do anything.” His upper lip glistened with sweat. “Somebody’s trying to frame me.”
Wyatt sat up, feigning interest. “Yeah? Who would that be?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have any enemies.”
Wyatt sincerely doubted that. “Marcie also said you threatened her.”
“Now, you listen to me. Ask anyone in town. Marcie was flighty…” Billy actually looked around, as if someone might be listening. “Know what I mean?”
“No. Actually I don’t. Explain it to me.”
“I was her boss. So naturally, if she did something wrong, I had to let her know, right? Well, she didn’t take that too well. She’d cry if I asked her to retype something or find a misfiled deed.” He shifted in his chair. “Why, one time she…” He stopped, looked nervous.
“She what?”
“Nothing.”
“Who else has access to the documents in your office?”
“Now, see, there’s what I don’t understand. You keep accusing me of altering documents, but I haven’t seen anything. You got the documents?”
He had Wyatt there. All Wyatt had was Marcie’s deposition. She’d claimed she made copies of the altered documents and put them in a safe-deposit box, but after she disappeared, the documents were nowhere to be found.
“That’s all for now, Mr. Whitley. Don’t leave town without notifying me. We’re not done here.”
Billy shot up out of the chair as if it had burned him.
“Hold it.” Wyatt stood, too. He pressed the intercom button for Mayor Sadler’s assistant.
“Yes?”
It was Charla Whitley. Billy’s wife. Wyatt had been dismayed to find out that she was an administrative assistant to the mayor. This case was definitely a tangled web.
“Where’s Helen?” Wyatt asked.
“She went for coffee.” Charla’s voice was hostile, even over the intercom. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Please come in here,” said Wyatt.
“But…Billy hasn’t come out yet,” Charla hedged.
At that instant, Billy turned and headed for the door.
Chapter Fourteen
“I said hold it, Whitley.”
Billy froze.
“That’s right, Mrs. Whitley. He hasn’t come out yet. Please come in.”
Within about seven seconds the door opened, and Charla Whitley stomped in, glaring at Billy. They’d obviously made plans to talk between interviews, to keep their answers consistent. But Wyatt wasn’t about to give them even one second alone together.
“Please have a seat, Mrs. Whitley,” said Wyatt. He turned to Billy. “You can leave.”
Charla huffed, but she sat.
Billy stared at the back of her head for a few seconds, then walked out the door.
“Close it,” Wyatt called.
The door slammed.
“You’re not making any friends here,” Charla commented, aiming her glare at him.
“Not my intent,” he said. “My job is to figure out whose remains are in that shallow grave and who put them there.”
Charla crossed her arms.
“How long have you worked for the mayor?”
“About five years.”
“Did you know Mason Lattimer and Ray Phillips?”
She didn’t react, but he saw her dark eyes flicker.
“Lattimer was an antiques broker who was rumored to be buying up Native American artifacts from Trace Becker. Phillips was—”
“I know Ray.”
“You know him? When was the last time you talked to him?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe last year.”
Wyatt’s brows rose. “Yeah? Can you prove it?”
A smirk lit her face. “Why should I have to?”
“It would save us a lot of time if we could rule him out as one of the bodies at the crime scene.”
Charla grimaced. “What makes you think he might be dead?”
Wyatt shuffled through the thick folder in front of him. It was all the evidence and papers connected with the land fraud deal and Marcie’s disappearance. “The last record of anyone seeing him alive was over three years ago. And it’s been that long since any of his credit cards were used. He also hasn’t paid taxes, and his disability checks have been stacking up at his post office box.”
As he listed the reasons, Charla’s mouth seemed to grow tighter and tighter.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head stiffly. “Ray was…a friend of mine. A good friend.”
“So now you’re saying was? Has it really been only a year since you talked to him? Where was he? What was he doing?”
“Maybe it was longer.” She met his gaze, and her black eyes narrowed. “Time flies.”
He asked her a few more questions, mostly about Billy and his dealings on the city council, but she was as indignant as her husband had been that anyone would accuse him of wrongdoing. So he dismissed her.
He’d expected her reaction to his questions about her husband. But she’d surprised him about Ray Phillips. She’d seemed really upset when she heard the news that he hadn’t used his cards and hadn’t cashed his checks in over three years. Wyatt was glad he’d already seized the contents of Phillips’s post office box.
The intercom buzzed. “Lieutenant, Sheriff Hardin is on line one. Will you be interviewing anyone else this afternoon? Charla was the last interview I have on my schedule.”
Classified Cowboy Page 13
