Dead End

by Susan Sleeman

  He moved over to look at them. “You can tell that quickly?”

  “He has tented arches in his prints and only about ten percent of the population have those arches.” She held out the paper and pointed at the arch in the center of his print. It rose up in the middle like a bell curve. “I’ll need to spend additional time looking at second level detail to officially confirm a match, but I want to get to the whale next.”

  She handed the paper back to him before returning the ledger to the table to bag it again.

  The door opened, and Chad strolled into the room carrying a McDonald’s bag. The room filled with a mouthwatering smell, and Sierra beamed a smile at her assistant who looked tired and cranky. He’d left town well before they all had, but he still must’ve only made the one stop at McDonald’s to arrive back this soon.

  “Perfect timing,” she said. “I just finished the ledger, and you can copy it.”

  “I was hoping to scarf this down first.” He held up his bag. “I brought extra fries for you.”

  “Be still my heart.” She laughed and fanned her face. “And right now I want fries more than I want to see if there’s blood on the whale.”

  She marched past Reed to join Chad. Surprised at her choice, Reed watched her.

  “What?” She fired a grin at him that sent his pulse speeding. “My big weakness in life is McDonald’s fries, and after my all-nighter, I feel like I deserve to splurge.”

  10

  Reed didn’t like how Chad was looking at Sierra as he scarfed down his burger—like he had a thing for her. She didn’t seem to return the feelings at all. Not that it was any business of Reed’s, but he’d have thought with her response to the fries that Chad had brought her diamonds.

  She settled on a stool by the large box of fries that Chad placed on a napkin for her. He dropped several packets of ketchup next to it.

  She looked over her shoulder at Reed. “Want some fries?”

  He shook his head.

  “Watching your figure?” She laughed.

  A deep rumble came from Chad’s chest, irritating Reed. Man, it bugged him to see her relax with this guy and then be so tense with him. His fault, he supposed. He’d set the tone right off the bat by cuffing her and refusing to give her any information on the investigation. He probably could’ve shared a few things, but with the way she set out to prove him wrong, he hadn’t felt like cooperating.

  And where did that get you?

  Nowhere positive, that was for sure. He was attracted to a woman who was barely tolerating him. He had to change—forget about the competition comments made in the helicopter and show her clearly that he wanted to help with the investigation, no matter where the evidence led.

  “Maybe I will have some fries after all.” He straddled a stool next to her and dipped one in her ketchup. He met her surprised gaze as he shoved it into his mouth.

  She blinked as she chewed, her gaze remaining fixed on his.

  In his peripheral view, he caught Chad frowning. Reed didn’t want to irritate the guy, but he did want to get between him and Sierra. He let his jealousy take hold and grabbed another fry, smothered it in ketchup, and lifted it to her mouth.

  Her eyes flashed open, but she took a bite of the fry, her gaze locked on his. He took the moment to transmit his interest and shove the rest of the fry into his mouth.

  “So any luck with the evidence so far?” Chad asked.

  She swallowed hard and looked very reluctant to change her focus, but she slowly swung her gaze to Chad.

  Reed felt his shoulders lift over having finally connected with her, but then he had to ask himself why he’d done it. Did he want to pursue something with her even if she didn’t want a future? At his age he needed to be thinking about having kids, and that meant not wasting time on a fling. Not that he thought she was a fling. Far from it. She was the keeping kind of woman.

  “Reed, did you hear me?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, was lost in thought.”

  “I was wondering if you have Eddie’s blood type in your paperwork.”

  “Not sure,” he said. “But I can check.”

  He started to get up, but she put a hand on his to stop him. “Have some more fries and take a break with me first.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice, because her touch sent fire racing through him.

  “You never officially said that you’re assigned to the Portland office,” she said.

  With Chad watching, Reed was grateful she’d brought him back down to earth. “I am.”

  She swallowed her bite. “And where are you from?”

  “Portland. I was lucky to be assigned here last year. I hope I never have to leave.”

  “Hard to advance in the FBI if you don’t move around, right?” Chad asked.

  Reed nodded. “But I love my job just as it is, and there are some things that are more important than advancement.”

  “Like what?” Chad challenged.

  “Like family.” He looked at Sierra. “Stability. A wife. Kids.”

  She picked up a fry and looked at Chad. “Since you’re engaged, Chad, you should agree with some of that.”

  Engaged. Perfect. Reed let out a quiet breath.

  “I do.” He took a large bite of his Big Mac and chewed. He took a long drink, then cleared his throat. “Um, you should know. Greta called things off last week.”

  Sierra grabbed Chad’s hand. “Oh, Chad. I’m so sorry.”

  So was Reed, but for all the wrong reasons, and he didn’t feel very good about himself at the way he responded.

  Chad blew out a long breath and rubbed his forehead. “It wasn’t right. We were both in love with the idea of getting married more than we were in love.”

  Reed nearly gawked at the guy who freely shared his feelings in front of a stranger. Reed would rather be shot on the spot than share his emotions with a strange guy.

  “Anyway,” he shook his head, “if she didn’t call it off, I probably would have.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Sierra asked.

  “Give me tons of work to keep me busy.” He half-smiled at her.

  “No problem. But, I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “Okay, any more of these fries, and I’ll have to be watching my figure.” She got up and smiled at Chad. “Finish eating and take a longer break. The ledger’s on the table when you’re ready.”

  Reed scarfed down two more fries then drained his water bottle and followed her to a different table. She followed the same procedure with clean paper then gathered several tubes filled with liquid and set them on the table. She put on gloves and took out the whale.

  Reed settled on a stool across the table from her. “Okay, you gotta know I’m going to ask what that is.”

  She looked up at him and smiled her cute little crooked smile. She slid a protective sleeve up over the outside of the tube and broke an internal glass ampule. “This is called QuickCheck Bloodstain Green. It’s used to test for blood. I mix the ampules in this vial, put a little water on the swab, and rub it over the whale. Then put a few drops of the QuickCheck on the swab, and if it turns green, we have blood.”

  She followed the procedures exactly as she shared, but as she lifted the tube of the QuickCheck, she paused and looked at him. He suspected she was teasing him by making him wait.

  “Come on.” He groaned, getting into her teasing spirit. “Add it and put me out of my misery.”

  She flashed that smile again and released a few drops on the tip. The swab instantly changed to green.

  “Blood,” he said, instantly sober. This information could change everything. Blood could indicate a crime had been committed. “You were right.”

  She started to pump a fist into the air, but then stopped and nodded.

  He suspected she was holding herself back, and he not only appreciated her not trying to rub it in, but he dared hope she was doing it for him because she was starting to like him.

  The thought was at once exciting and
sobering, and he had to swallow hard. “So now what?”

  “Now I take a sample of the blood and run it down to Emory.”

  Chad put something in one of the small refrigerators, tossed his food bag into the nearby trash can, and joined them at the table. “I’ll take it for you, and start copying the ledger when I get back.”

  “Perfect.” She wetted a swab and rubbed it over the whale again before putting it back into the tube. She filled out the label on the tube and added it to the log before handing it to Chad who rushed out.

  “Now what?” he asked, feeling impatient now that she’d proven the possibility that Eddie had been hurt or that he’d hurt someone else.

  “I’ll date the blood found at Eddie’s office.” She went to sit behind a microscope that was connected to a small computer and monitor. She put a blood sample she recovered at the scene under the lens.

  “How exactly does that work?”

  “Raman uses scattered light—lasers—to characterize materials. It can be used for a solid, liquid, or gas sample when current biochemistry tests only handle one type of sample, and it’s nondestructive. Most field tests today are presumptive, but Raman confirms the presence without any reagents or additional chemicals. A handheld device that did this would be ideal to have in the field, and researchers are working on developing a field device now. It will revolutionize forensics for agencies who can afford them.”

  “Which I’m assuming you can.”

  “Hopefully by the time they’re released, yes. But before then, we’re on the list to test the first prototypes.”

  She slid over to the monitor and read the data that looked like gibberish to him, but she sat back and looked satisfied. “Blood is three weeks old. That’s why the techs didn’t find it—they processed the office a week earlier.”

  Reed exhaled and let the thought settle in. “So Barnes returned to his office. It’s a good thing you insisted on processing the place again.”

  She looked pleased with herself or pleased that he was acknowledging that she’d done the right thing.

  “Now we need to know who the blood is from,” Reed said. “Too bad DNA takes so long to process.”

  “Yeah, but you can be sure Emory will turn it around faster than any lab you could have sent it to.” She printed the report and stood. “I’m moving on to prints.”

  She sat at a table and sorted through fingerprint cards. For the first time he found what she was doing not very interesting so he took out his phone and caught up on email.

  The door lock clicked, and Chad entered the lab. Without a word, he grabbed the ledger and went to a copy machine on the far side of the room.

  “Be sure to clean the machine first,” Sierra warned.

  She didn’t look up but Reed saw Chad frown at her. This was the first sign that the guy didn’t completely adore her. But Reed supposed being reminded of what sounded like a basic task in front of a visitor was like your mom telling you to wash your hands in front of your school buddies. Not that Reed experienced such a thing, and wished for the millionth time his mom was still alive to nag him.

  He thought as he aged that these feelings would go away, but the opposite was true. The angst would unexpectedly hit him, often at the worst times. Like now. When he had reports to read.

  He pulled them from his briefcase, but continued to take quick looks at Sierra as she worked, the tip of her tongue pretty much fixed at the corner of her mouth. She warned him that he might be bored, but as long as he had her to look at, he knew that wouldn’t happen. Even when she spent the next few hours sorting and recording that huge stack of fingerprint cards.

  She got up and lifted her arms overhead, stretching out her lean and firm body. She put on clean gloves, retrieved the whale, and took it over to the fingerprint table.

  He trailed after her. “If your theory is right and the whale was cleaned with bleach, could prints survive?”

  “Fingerprints are pretty fragile so very unlikely. But if this was a crime of opportunity, the person who cleaned up the blood may not have worn gloves and deposited their prints back on the whale as they cleaned.”

  “It’s hard to imagine someone would be that dumb, but I’ve seen crazier things.”

  She sat, loaded her brush, and swirled it over the whale. She was so wrapped up in her work he doubted she even remembered he was standing over her shoulder.

  He didn’t like to be inside all day and hated all the time he had to spend in the office, but she seemed okay with it. “Do you ever get tired of working inside?”

  “I get called out to crime scenes quite often, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get tired of my job. I love it. Plus, I’m not much of an outdoors person.”

  “I get the loving your job part, but I’d rather be outside than sitting at desk all day. As a patrol deputy I was on the road all shift, but now I spend a lot of time in the office doing paperwork. An agent’s job isn’t as glamorous as you see on TV and in movies.”

  “They get things wrong a lot in those shows, don’t they?” She paused and looked at the whale then swirled her brush over other areas.

  “Yeah, especially when they portray agents as the bad guy who sweeps in and takes over crime scenes from locals. That rarely happens. More often than not we’re invited to bring our many resources to the dance.”

  “Is that what happened with Eddie?” She glanced up at him.

  He shook his head. “I’d already been investigating him and arrived on scene after Sheriff Winfield had started looking for Barnes. Winfield was glad to hand over that investigation.”

  She frowned. “He’s still pretty green in his sheriff’s role. If Blake was still sheriff I know that wouldn’t have happened. He would have kept the case until it was resolved.”

  She held out the whale. “There. Three pretty latents.”

  He shook his head. “I thought for sure you would be wrong about the whale.”

  “When are you going to learn to stop doubting me?” She grinned and headed back to the other table.

  She took out a tongue depressor, two tubes, and a fingerprint card. “Since the surface of the whale is irregular, I’ll mix up a silicon casting material for the prints.”

  On the card, she squeezed out a line of white goop the thickness of toothpaste from one tube and blue stuff from another and began mixing them together with a tongue depressor. When the blue was completely blended into the white, she scooped up the mix and smeared it over the prints.

  “This will take about ten minutes to dry, and then I can remove the silicon. The print will show black against the white putty, and I’ll use digital photography to reverse the images. Then we can compare them to Eddie’s other prints. If they’re not a match, we’ll run them through the database to search for a match.”

  He met her gaze. “I won’t even ask if you think these will match Barnes, as I know what you’ll say.”

  She tilted her head and held his gaze. “If only I could predict what you might say at any given time. But you, Agent Rice, continue to surprise me, and I never know what you might say or do next.”

  11

  Sierra removed the cast from the whale and studied the prints under her magnifying glass. They didn’t have Eddie’s arches. Just what she wanted to find. She was tempted to pump a fist up in victory, but for some reason she was starting to really like Reed and didn’t want to gloat. Especially in front of Chad who kept giving Reed the stink eye. She had no idea why Chad was acting that way as there had never been even a hint of anything personal between them, but she could see how Reed could be intimidating and make a fairly introverted guy like Chad shrink back.

  She looked up at Reed. “Not a match to Eddie’s prints.”

  “I can run the prints through AFIS for you. Unless you have access.”

  She shook her head. “Maya’s working on getting us search permissions, but so far, our requests for access to the federal system and even regional databases have been rejected. It feels like that will change now
that Blake’s here and can use his influence.”

  “Well then I’m glad we’re working together, and I can help.”

  “Thank you.” She looked away to avoid transmitting any signals that told him she was just glad he was nearby. “I’ll get these prints prepared for the database, and after I log them, you can sign them out.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll wait until the end of the day and stop at the office on my way home to run all the prints.”

  She nodded. “Assuming you plan to share the results.”

  He frowned. “I thought we were long past that.” He honestly sounded hurt.

  “I just needed to confirm.” She smiled to make light of the sudden tension. “And thank you. That’ll still be faster than getting one of our sources to run them.”

  He nodded, but his frown remained in place. “What next?”

  “I need to transfer these prints to digital media.” She grabbed her camera and snapped close-up pictures of the prints then uploaded them to her computer. “I’ll put these on a flash drive for you once I’m done for the day.”

  He nodded and continued to watch her so closely she became self-conscious again.

  “Now the gun,” she said to cover her unease and hurried to a clean table, covered it with paper, and opened the bin she’d labeled as Cottage 1. She drew out the Glock and magazine and after taking photos and swabbing for DNA, she took them across the room to the fuming cabinet.

  Of course Reed followed her, and she knew he would ask questions.

  “It’s a fuming cabinet,” she said as she opened the door and hung the gun inside and ejected five bullets from the mag. She put them along with the mag inside the cabinet. “Magazine isn’t full.”

  “I noticed that,” was all he said when she was speculating as to where the other bullets might have gone. “You mentioned fuming at a crime scene but not this.”

  “Right,” she said. “It can be done in both locations. Usually onsite for items that can’t be brought back to the lab, but otherwise it’s usually done in the lab.”