Dead End

by Susan Sleeman

  “I guess the positive would mean Eddie was still alive when Caulfield was killed.” She couldn’t come up with any other positives and needed to change the subject before she started hyperventilating over the fact that her biological father could very well be a murderer.

  21

  Sierra couldn’t keep thinking about Eddie potentially being a killer and had to move on before Reed continued their conversation. She looked at him. “Anything in the AFIS files?”

  “They said none matched exactly, but we have a potential match to two of the prints. Or more correctly, we have a potential match to three different people on one print and two on the other.”

  “Send the results to the printer, and I’ll have a look at them. I might see something your print examiner missed.” She gave him a guest login to access her printer, and the pages were soon spitting out. She retrieved them and sat down to look at them.

  Reed came up behind her, and he smelled fresh, like clothes brought in from an outdoor clothesline. He’d obviously showered and changed after the autopsy and maybe that’s why it had taken him so long to arrive.

  “What about that print?” He reached over her shoulder to tap a set of prints, the soft fabric of today’s suit brushing over her wrist, sending a tingle up her arm. “Looks like it’s a match.”

  She scooted away from him, but didn’t look to see if he noticed because there was no point in checking. He noticed everything about her. All the time. And she had to admit she didn’t miss a thing he did either.

  She slid the print he’d questioned under the lighted magnifying glass. She scanned the details and pointed at a line on the potential match. “See this? It’s called a crossover. It’s where two ridges cross over each other. The potential print doesn’t have that, so it isn’t a match.”

  “Why would Quantico send it to me then?”

  “To understand that, you’d have to understand how AFIS works. Do you?” She didn’t look up at him—he was much too close for comfort.

  “Sort of.” He came to rest on the counter next to her and smiled. “But I know you’re going to enlighten me.”

  “The FBI’s fingerprint database contains around forty million records and has around seventy thousand searches a day. It’s the largest AFIS in the U.S. but there are regional databases as well.”

  “I didn’t know it was that big.”

  She nodded. “To help manage the records, collected fingerprint images are compressed and sent to an AFIS operator. They decompress the image and create a biometric template which is a numeric representation of the fingerprint. This contains information that makes the fingerprint unique. That template is stored in the database along with the actual fingerprint image.”

  “So two files per print.”

  “That’s right. The template is then run against the database to filter out all non-matching records and isolate a few potential matches. These matches are given to a fingerprint expert who compares the actual images to determine a match. In this case, the expert told you none matched, but gave you the possible prints found by the database. That’s unusual.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why do it?”

  “I’m not sure, other than the tech person did it to cover his bases. This print is close enough to warrant consideration, and if they were wrong and missed it, they could be responsible for leaving a criminal out on the street.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. But you say no way.”

  “Right. Let’s look at the other ones.” She reviewed them and determined that the others weren’t a match to any of their submitted prints.

  “So basically, we struck out with AFIS.”

  “Yes, but Caulfield’s print looks similar to the last one you submitted to AFIS, so I can continue to compare them to the others from Eddie’s office and home. Maybe that will give us the lead we need.”

  She looked at the print cards from Eddie’s office. “Caulfield’s print matches one lifted from a glass in the sink. I thought it was odd that the county techs didn’t take those glasses. Maybe they were left when Eddie came back.”

  “So what are you thinking? They have a glass of water then go back out front and Caulfield attacks?”

  “Sounds odd, right? But it could’ve started out friendly then escalated.”

  “Yeah.”

  She moved on to the doorknob prints from Eddie’s office and home. No match. She looked at the partial from the Glock slide. “I can’t be certain, but the partial on the Glock could be from Caulfield. You think he gave or sold the gun to Eddie?”

  “Could be, though we have nothing to suggest that.”

  She flipped though the remaining cards. “That’s the last of my prints, but we still have the knife tip. Let’s get that to Grady.”

  While she returned the evidence to the lockers, Reed packed up his briefcase. She grabbed her backpack from her desk and the knife tip. On the way down to the first floor, she prayed that Grady was as talented as she claimed and could give them a solid lead.

  Sierra led Reed to the back of the first floor. She knew as an LEO Reed would like this lab. She watched his face as he examined a display case holding different firearms and ammunition labeled with their particulars.

  “Wow.” A boyish grin spread across his face. “That’s some collection.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “He’s got boxes and boxes of weapons and tools in the back room.”

  They entered that area with worktables holding vises and comparison microscopes used to evaluate bullets recovered at crime scenes to those Grady fired from a recovered weapon. On the far wall sat a large stainless steel bullet recovery containment system that included a water bath, and the caustic smell of gunpowder lingered in the space.

  Reed turned in a circle and took it all in. “Now here’s a lab where I could spend some time.”

  “You’re like every other officer I’ve seen come in here for the first time.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “You might understand if you ever took me up on my offer to learn to shoot,” Grady said as he joined them.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Grady changed his focus to Reed. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

  “I’ll gladly take you up on that, but not with our tight schedule today. Rain check?”

  Grady nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  Sierra gave him the evidence bag.

  He held it up to the light. “C’mon. This is an easy one. You should make me work for my living.”

  Reed gaped at Grady. “Seriously, you know the knife?”

  He nodded and crossed the room to a floor-to-ceiling cabinet with small drawers. He ran a finger down the labels and pulled a drawer out to set it on a table. It was filled with knives, and he lifted one out. “Here it is. A Medford TFF-1 Fat Daddy Tactical Fighting Folder.”

  The blade was folded into the handle, and he snapped it out then put on gloves and set the recovered tip on top of it to compare.

  “You’re right.” Reed shook his head. “How did you do that? Just like that.”

  “I told you he was good,” Sierra said. “He does magic.”

  Grady turned the knife to the side. “Nothing magic about it. I’m familiar with a lot of knives. The blade size and thickness gave this one away. This might be a folder but it’s meant to take the place of a fixed blade. It’s constructed specifically to be used by military and law enforcement personnel.”

  Reed’s obvious fascination grew. “So our Ranger might carry one?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Grady said with enthusiasm. “A real good possibility.”

  “Any way we could trace a purchase back to him?”

  Grady shook his head. “Too common of a knife and too many Internet suppliers selling it. I can, however, match this tip to the murder weapon when you recover it.”

  “I’ll check ViCAP to see if this particular knife was used in any unsolved case,” Reed said.

  The Violent Criminal Apprehension Progr
am, a database that contained crime scene descriptions along with victim and offender data for homicides, missing persons, unidentified dead, and sexual assault investigations was managed by the FBI, but all law enforcement agencies had access to the data.

  Grady snapped the knife blade closed. “Want me to keep the tip in a locker here so I can compare it to any recovered weapon?”

  “Please.” She gave him the evidence log, and he recorded his name.

  “Thanks, Grady.” Sierra led the way out of the lab and into the cool air. The sun was buried behind thick clouds, hinting at rain.

  “We’ll take the van so I have my tools if needed.” She crossed the lot, got the van open, and climbed behind the wheel. Reed took the passenger seat. She was used to Chad riding with her, and he was much smaller than Reed who seemed to take up all the space.

  She couldn’t keep thinking about him when she needed to be focusing on her work. She snapped on the radio as a distraction from the tension.

  Reed eyed her as if he knew why she’d turned it on.

  “We might hear more about the investigation,” she said.

  They listened to the news updates for the drive, but there was no mention of the investigation. They’d gotten a bunch of calls, but none had panned out, and she hoped the lack of news reports didn’t mean that the Ranger was already yesterday’s news.

  At Caulfield’s place, she parked in the driveway and pocketed her keys. She thought she might feel unsettled coming back here, but the house looked far less threatening than it had in the dark of night.

  “Need me to carry anything?” Reed asked.

  She shook her head and got out to grab a portable kit from the back along with her protective suit, booties, and gloves. She slid into the suit while Reed broke the door seal and unlocked the front door. They put on the booties and gloves then stepped inside. The horrid aroma from the hot tub permeated the house. Sierra gagged and swallowed hard. She wished she could open windows, but that violated protocol. As long as the house was an official crime scene, the windows would remain tightly closed to prevent something from blowing in and contaminating the scene.

  “I hate to do this, but…” Reed pulled the door closed behind them. “With this place locked up tight, it’ll take some time for the aroma to dissipate.”

  Sierra nodded and thought about the implications. “Sadly his daughter will have to deal with this odor as well as her father’s death. Not to mention learning about the woman in the tub.”

  “Now that Kelsey is certain a woman died there, I’ll have to talk to the daughter and her brother again. They’re both going to be shocked.”

  Sierra tried to put herself in their shoes, but thank God she’d never had to go through something like that. “I can’t even imagine being in their position.”

  He frowned. “I can. Sort of, anyway.”

  She looked at him and waited for him to explain.

  “The day the police came to tell us about my parents. It’s a shock I’ll never get over. It’s lessened over time, but it’s always there. Just thinking about it can instantly bring back the nausea and weakness I felt when the officer delivered the news. So I get how they will feel.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Reed.” She squeezed his arm.

  “Thanks.” He curled his hands into tight fists. “And even if I hadn’t lost my parents, I still see a lot of suffering on the job that can help me empathize with Caulfield’s kids.”

  “Yeah, I get the last part.” She thought he was going to take her hand so she stepped back. “Let me get started.”

  He frowned, but she didn’t know if it was because of her move or because he was still thinking about his parents. She felt so bad complaining about learning about Eddie when she had wonderful parents in her life and Reed had no one.

  Father, please give him comfort. And give him the family he seems desperate to have.

  “We should get to it,” he said.

  “Right.” She opened her kit, got into the zone, and forgot all about Reed being in the house with her. The afternoon passed, and she didn’t find any leads inside. But she did learn more about Caulfield in the sweep. He was a beer drinker and ate yogurt and salads. He smoked cigars in his office. He collected sports memorabilia, which she thought the killer would have taken if it was a home invasion. And he didn’t have a picture of his family in the house. Not a single one.

  That was the weirdest thing. No pictures on the walls or the tables or shelves of his son or daughter or his deceased wife. And no albums tucked into any of the cabinets or added to bookshelves that were filled with suspense novels.

  Maybe the girlfriend didn’t like having his family pictures around. She’d clearly staked her claim to his bathroom drawers, closet, and dresser drawers. The female items could be his former wife’s things, but the fashion was more current and expiration dates on the toiletries were recent. She wondered if the girlfriend spent the night or just stayed long hours.

  Reed came up to her in the bedroom. “Find anything?”

  “Nothing. At least not forensically.” She explained her discoveries.

  “If the girlfriend was spending so much time here, maybe she separated from her husband. If so, I’m not sure why she was still wearing a wedding ring.”

  “Or if the Ranger is her husband, and he’s still active duty, he could be deployed long enough that she felt free to basically live here.” She frowned. “But since the closest army base where Rangers are stationed is Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Seattle, it’s probably not likely that he’s a current soldier, right?”

  “You did your homework.”

  She nodded.

  “Yeah. It’s not likely, but you never know. He might be stationed in Seattle but lives in Portland.”

  She glanced outside and was surprised to see it was late enough that the sun had started dropping toward the horizon. “I’m going to take a look at the yard again before it gets too dark.”

  Reed’s phone rang, and she waved at him to tell him to stay behind and answer. She went out through the main patio door and around to the bedroom deck. The hot tub was empty, except for red sludge coating the walls. She had no idea how the contents had been disposed of, but Sierra did know it had to be considered hazardous waste.

  She set down her kit and got out a magnifying glass and flashlight.. Concentrating on the deck surrounding the tub, she circled it and bent down to get a better look at a splintered section.

  The boom of a rifle shattered the silence.

  She hurled her body to the ground behind the tub, her heart galloping.

  A bullet whizzed over her head, the air pressure changing.

  Gunshot. The word slammed through her brain.

  A bullet grazed the tub, the plastic splintering and biting into her face. She curled into a tight ball and tried to make herself as small as possible.

  Someone was shooting—at her.

  Her.

  22

  Gunshot—rifle! Out back.

  Reed bolted for the door, adrenaline coursing through his body. He jerked the door along the sliding track so hard it hit the wall and bounced back.

  “Sierra!” his voice was shrill with panic. She didn’t respond.

  Not a word.

  The crack of the rifle rushed through his head again and fear gripped him. He had to get to her. He started outside. Stopped. He couldn’t go racing into a barrage of bullets. He was no good to Sierra dead. He had to control his emotions. Think rationally.

  He scanned the yard.

  “Where are you, Sierra? Where?”

  Another rifle report rent the air. She must still be alive or the shooter would have stopped firing.

  Reed needed another view of the yard. He raced to the bedroom slider. He immediately saw Sierra crouched behind the hot tub, her eyes wide with fear, but alive. Blessedly alive.

  Thank you, God!

  Reed jerked his gaze up to the steep hill behind the house—the only place the shooter could be
firing from. Reed spotted him, dressed in camouflage and on the move heading east. Fifteen or so feet more, and it would give him a clear shot at Sierra.

  Reed drew his sidearm and jetted out of the house. As he charged ahead, he fired at the gunman. He dove into the scrub.

  Reed paused behind a tree to catch his breath and waited for return fire.

  Nothing.

  Reed bolted out and pelted the scrub with bullets as he charged down the walkway and dove for cover behind the hot tub. Splinters bit into his face, but he didn’t care. He swept Sierra up in his arms, moved to the other side, and covered her with his body.

  She struggled to get up. “Reed. No. He’ll shoot you.”

  “Don’t move. Shooter’s on the move and doesn’t have a shot right now.” At least Reed prayed he didn’t have a shot. He holstered his weapon and got out his phone to dial 911. “This is FBI Special Agent Reed Rice. We’re taking fire.” He gave the address. “Shooter on the hill behind the house with a rifle.”

  “Are you in a safe place?” the dispatcher asked.

  “We’re protected by a hot tub, but the shooter can move around to change his angle. Get help here now!”

  Reed disconnected and drew his gun but remained pressing Sierra’s shaking body to the deck beneath him. He hadn’t counted the number of bullets he fired, but he knew he hadn’t emptied his magazine. Problem was, he might only have a few bullets left, and he didn’t have a backup magazine. Hopefully, if the shooter advanced on them, Reed had enough ammo left to protect Sierra.

  He tucked her body closer and waited for a bullet to come. To pierce his back. He’d made peace with this possibility the day that he swore to protect innocent life at all costs, and he’d come close twice, but God had always brought him safely through.

  Father, please. Please don’t let Sierra be hurt, and please spare my life too. I don’t want Malone to lose someone else.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  “They’re coming,” Sierra’s muffled voice came from beneath him. “Thank you, God. Oh, thank you.”

  Reed knew it was too soon to be celebrating. One pull of a trigger, and he could die. So could she, as a slug from a high-powered rifle could pass through him.