Part 14 (1/2)

”Can't I stay here? I need some aspirin.”

”They'll have some there.”

”You don't trust me long enough to go to work and back? I'm not a puppy you can just drag along.”

Jamie measured her breath. ”You came to me, Tony. Not the other way around. My turf, my rules.”

They spoke little on the way to the station. Jamie turned up the music to fill the s.p.a.ce though the silence shouldn't have bothered her. In the Brooklyn duplex where they'd grown up, long silences were as common as honking horns on the streets below. As young kids, she and Mick and Tony had filled the air with the idle chatter of childhood. Dares and bets and arguments over whether or not Mrs. Brandigi's cat would survive the two story fall out her window and if saying about cats always landed on their feet was true even from that kind of height. But as they grew older, they, too, joined in their fathers' quiet natures. Until dinners were sometimes pa.s.sed in silence aside from the occasional grunt to request someone pa.s.s the carrot and peas or the salt.

At Hunters Point, she went straight to the lab. Tony shuffled behind. When she walked in, though, Roger wasn't there.

”He left you that,” Sydney said, pointing to a microscope.

She crossed to it and peered in. She had seen enough to identify the sample. It was s.e.m.e.n without DNA. ”I already saw this.”

Sydney shook her head. ”No. We just finished this one.”

”It's not Osbourne?”

”No. Devlin.”

Jamie felt her mouth drop. ”Devlin? I thought she had s.e.x with Tim.” As soon as the words were out, she felt Tony's stare. Her cheeks flushed. She ignored it.

Sydney nodded. ”She did. First Tim and then another guy.”

Jamie whistled. ”A guy with no swimmers?”

”Right.”

”Just like my serial.” Jamie was tracking a serial rapist with no sperm in his s.e.m.e.n. Now, Devlin's last s.e.xual encounter had been with a man with the same condition. She didn't like the coincidence.

”Maybe, but we're just doing an initial workup,” Sydney explained. ”We don't have the technology to do much with it.”

Jamie frowned. ”Because there were two samples, you mean?”

”Right. We're not even sure if the samples can be individually identified. This is just something Roger tried.”

Jamie felt her pulse run a little quicker. ”Has anyone talked to Hailey Wyatt?” She glanced around. ”And where's Roger?”

”He went back to the evidence storage locker for something else.”

Just then, the door opened and Roger entered carrying a cardboard file box. He set it down on the table and began rummaging through it.

Jamie waited, trusting he'd tell her what was going on when he found what he needed. In her opinion, Roger Sampers should have been the head of CSU. His reports were as meticulous as any she'd ever seen. He was the one people turned to for help in solving particularly complex evidence dilemmas. He was painstakingly precise, highly intelligent and great at thinking outside the box. Her suspicion was that the reason Roger wasn't in charge of the lab had to do with his appearance.

Roger had alopecia universalis, which left him completely hairless. Not just bald, but without hair on his arms or legs or face. No eyebrows, no eyelashes. She had always wondered if that was why he'd decided on CSU. After all, here he could be a model employee-one who never left a hair behind at a scene. But because he had no eyelashes, he blinked three or four times as often as someone with them. Plus, his appearance was odd. You didn't realize the impact of eyebrows on someone's appearance until you met someone without them. Jamie knew some people found it distracting to talk to him.

Just then, he pulled a manila folder out of the box. ”Got it.”

Jamie stepped forward. ”What have you got?”

Roger pulled on gloves and emptied a series of clear plastic cards onto the table. They were fingerprint cards. Each one had a black smudged print in the center of the plastic, one that had been lifted from the scene. ”These are the prints from Devlin's office that we haven't run yet.” He glanced up, blinked twice. ”We had nearly a hundred and it's a time-consuming process.” He paused, looked over at the microscope. ”You heard about the s.e.m.e.n sample?”

”Just like Osbourne.”

”Well, not exactly. Since there were two samples, it's going to take us longer to be sure we've got them separate. In the end, we may not be able to. But I ran some initial tests and it looks like one of the samples may not have any DNA. I'm not anywhere near certain, but when I saw that, I went back and looked at the scene a little more closely.”

He flipped through a few cards until he found what he wanted. ”I was in charge of processing the evidence from the department and Devlin's office. We focused on running the prints inside her office, but there was one we found on the outside of her office that struck me.” He shook the plastic card in his hand. ”Let's check it out.”

He crossed the room to a table with a gray computer and sat down in front of it. He slid the clear card into a reader slot. He typed a few commands and the computer began running the print for a match. Roger drummed his fingers on the table as he waited. ”Could take a few minutes.”

”Where did this print come from, Roger?”

He nodded and stood. ”I'll show you.” He lifted an iPad off the table and entered a four-digit pa.s.scode. Then, he flipped through ten or twelve images before stopping. ”Here,” he said, turning the device so she could see the image.

Jamie stared at a photo of the sign outside the Crimes Against Persons Department (CAP) where Devlin was an inspector. CAP acted as a catch-all for crimes that couldn't be divided into the other personal crimes units like Homicide, Robbery and s.e.xual a.s.sault. It also helped with other departments' overflow, of which there was always plenty.

The department's sign was a generic, black plastic plate base with individual nameplates glued on top of it. The plate was worn and scratched and dried glue was evident where names had been removed or replaced.

The first plate read the captain's name, Morris Travis. Below his, each inspector had his or her own plate. They were listed alphabetically. Devlin's name came first.

”What am I looking at?” Jamie asked.

Roger flipped to another photo. This one showed a close-up of Devlin's plate. It was taken at an angle and the flash had caught a smudge between ”Natasha” and ”Devlin.”

”See that?”

Jamie nodded. ”It's a print.”

Roger smiled. ”A perfect right index.” Just then, the machine beeped. ”A match. Let's see whose it is.”

Jamie followed, Roger's enthusiasm rubbing off on her. Even Tony came along.

Roger dropped into the chair and typed quickly. When he hit enter, a new screen appeared. ”Holy s.h.i.+t, yeah?” Roger said.

”Yeah,” Jamie agreed. Holy f.u.c.king s.h.i.+t.

At the very top of the screen, in bold yellow letters on a black background was the name whose print had been left perfectly centered between Natasha Devlin's first and last names.

It read Michael A. Marchek.

Chapter 16.

Jamie arrived at Michael Marchek's apartment with Roger and his team. Tony had opted to wait in the car. He had a schedule of AA meetings and she promised to drop him at one when she was done. The idea of joining in on the search of a rapist's house didn't appeal. Jamie didn't particularly blame him. She remembered hangovers like the one Tony had now.

Hailey arrived a few minutes behind them. She'd stopped off at the courthouse for the signed warrant. Marchek lived in a garage that had been converted into an apartment in the area of San Francisco where the Mission and Potrero districts met. The only window in the apartment was a rectangle seven feet off the ground. Twelve square feet of sunlight that faced Highway 101 just a half block over. At least the freeway managed to drown out some of the drunken neighbors.