Unknown Means (32 page)

Evelyn’s surprise, he made enough coffee for all four of them, and even poured.

“So the case went to trial.” Where, perhaps, Marissa presented evidence. Evelyn accepted a cup from Markham with a grateful smile. “Did Grace have to testify?”

“I think so. I’m not completely sure . . . I had a big project going on at the time and Grace didn’t say much about it. She knew what I thought of Kelly Alexander.”

And after a year of marriage, she probably knew how much sympathy to expect from you, Evelyn thought. “Who was in the other car?”

“I don’t know, some guy who got hurt. That’s the only reason it went to trial, Grace said—because his family raised such a fuss.”

“One guy or two guys?” Could Sinclair’s father have been in the car with him? Maybe have been driving?

“I don’t know. Grace only mentioned one.”

“Do you remember his name?”

He looked at her as if she must be mad. “Of course not.”

Just because his wife had nearly been charged with critically injuring a very young man, that was no reason for the incident to stick in his mind. “Only Grace and Kelly were in their car?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t, if that’s what you’re thinking— Wait, that Frances chick was there too. The one that just got killed.”

“Frances Duarte?”

“Yeah. They always went to those kids’ hospital things together.”

Evelyn shook her head. “These three particular women wind up dead in the past week, and it never occurred to you to mention this accident to anyone? Not even the cops investigating your wife’s murder? Everyone has a right to be self-centered, but you abuse the privilege.”

“You think this is about the accident?”

“Don’t you?”

“Why would I? That was two years ago. Hell, I’m a more likely connection than that.”

“You?”

“Me.” For the first time, a touch of guilt registered on his face.

“I’m building a high-rise in the Flats and I live in a high-rise in the Flats. Kelly put a factory smack in the middle of primo real estate, and Frances helped her. That was the connection between us all that crossed my mind. That’s why I wouldn’t stay in that apartment.”

“Hell of a way to protest urban development,” Evelyn said.

“It sounded insane to me too. Then I got to thinking about all that money missing from the hospital Grace used to raise funds for and figured that’s a whole lot more motive than development on the east bank. Certainly more than some car accident.”

Money over a young man’s life. Sure. “You mean the missing fifteen million at Butterfly Babies?”

Markham pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That much, huh?”

“Did Grace suspect Mark Sargeant?”

“Who?”

“The capital campaign chair?”

“Don’t know him. Grace didn’t mention it at all. I saw the story in the paper, like I said.”

“And you didn’t mention that to us either,” David pointed out.

“You got so interested in Barbara and me that I thought I’d keep my theories to myself.”

David sighed. “Back to this accident. Did Kelly try to pin it on Frances when Grace didn’t pan out?”

“Nah. Kelly was tighter with Frances than Grace, and—and something else.” He concentrated, then snapped his fingers as another memory came back to him. “That was it. Frances drank way more than Kelly and Grace. Even though she was older, she always put more away than they did. I think that was another reason Grace dropped her.”

Perhaps Frances’s investment had salved a guilty conscience,

Evelyn thought. Frances blamed herself, not Kelly, for the accident because the two younger women had been drinking just to keep her company.

“I asked Kelly if anyone was hurt in the accident, and she said no,” David said. “No, wait, she said Grace wasn’t hurt. She never mentioned this other driver.”

“She forgot about it?” Evelyn asked in disbelief.

“From her hesitation, I doubt it. She remembered, all right, she just didn’t want to raise that specter again. She already had enough attention from the media with the mine disaster.”

“That’s Kel,” her ex-fiancé said bitterly. “She never thought of anything besides herself. Her and that damn mine.”

“OKAY,” David said in the confines of Evelyn’s Ford Tempo. Raindrops fell in a wayward pattern; flashes of lightning framed the tall buildings against the inky sky. “I’m convinced. Craig Sinclair’s father is killing the women from the car that crippled him. But if his motive is revenge, than why rape?”

“Because he likes to rape. We’ve already established that. Besides, what better way to express hate, contempt, and ultimate power?” She thought a moment longer, twirling her Egyptian mummy key chain.

“That’s why he straps them up in a sitting position. It’s like they’re in a car. On top of that, we found Frances just sitting, but Grace and Kelly both had their hands out in front of them, as if holding a steering wheel. Maybe this guy really doesn’t know who was driving, Grace or Kelly.”

“Marissa proved that the driver was Kelly—and yet he still seems to have a beef with Marissa.”

“Maybe he thought Grace drove and she got off scot-free.”

“They both got off.”

A flash of lightning split the sky. Grace tensed, waiting for the following thunder. “Because they weren’t over the alcohol limit.”

“Maybe he’s just nuts.”

“Blood alcohol content is a Toxicology Department analysis.

What if one of our toxicologists is next on his list? What if I’ve been running around looking for this guy all week and his next victim works on my floor?”

“Don’t panic. We’ll do a head count in the morning.”

“God, David!”

“Well, what choice do we have? Do you really want to call every one of your coworkers in the middle of the night just to ask if they’re still alive?”

She said nothing, just worried, thinking that the killer had left a picture of sad people around a car at Kelly’s murder scene—the crux of his project. Did that mean he had finished, that he had no other victims lined up? “Is he done now that he got the three women from the car, or is he going to move on to the toxicologist, the cop who wrote the report, the jury members who let Kelly go? Is he going to go back to Marissa and finish the job?”

“I don’t know, hon.” David let one hand fall to her head, tucked her hair behind an ear. “She’s got an armed guard with her tonight.

We just have to have some faith. In the meantime, we have to find Craig Sinclair’s father.”

“I know where to pick up his trail.”

“Evelyn?”

“What?”

“Now you’re going to say ‘to the Batcave,’ aren’t you?”

C H A P T E R

32

EVELYN RAN THE FTIR SPECTRUM OF CRAIG SINCLAIR’S

crayons against the samples from the drawings and the victims’

clothing while David made phone calls. The compositions were identical for most of the crayons used in the drawings and similar for the samples from the clothing. Perhaps after the father used the crayons to draw on the victims’ clothing, he hadn’t returned them to his son.

Thunder rumbled past the building. “I can’t believe it’s still raining,” David said.

“Lake effect.”

“I thought that caused snow.”

“Any precipitation. The water stays warmer than the land and condenses the moisture in the cold air over it. We blame lake effect for everything. Any luck?” she added as the printer issued color graphs of her spectra.

“Not so far. You wouldn’t believe how many airlines have regular flights from Cancún.”

“It’s a popular spot.” The dirty areas on Kelly Alexander’s office carpeting had been fouled by carbon dust, similar to the dirt found in Frances Duarte’s apartment. The two samples were not identical, however—the carbon from Kelly’s office had been contaminated

with particles of salt. Probably every surface in the building developed a microscopic coating of salt, as air circulated through the mine and the huge loads of broken boulders were brought to the surface.

She slid the tapings of Kelly Alexander’s clothing under the stereomicroscope. They immediately revealed two things: that Kelly had a Siamese cat and that her turquoise shirt had been composed of silk and rayon. Evelyn also found three unusual fibers, very straight and clear. They looked almost like hairs without medullas. “Kevlar.”

“What?”

“There’s some Kevlar fibers on Kelly’s shirt.”

David frowned. “From one of us? Riley and I weren’t wearing bulletproof vests, and the patrol guys shouldn’t have been in there.”

Detective Womack would also have routine contact with protective gear, but who would wear such a heavy garment to murder a slender, unarmed woman? “It doesn’t have to have come from a bulletproof vest. Pathologists wear Kevlar gloves underneath the latex, to protect themselves from accidents. Scalpels can slip, even the bone saw can bounce up unexpectedly. Mechanics wear Kevlar gloves too, especially around moving parts or sharp parts. Kevlar can’t be cut and it doesn’t conduct electricity.”

“How do you know so much about mechanics?”

“I used to be married to one.”

He rubbed one eye. “Sorry I asked. What about— Hello, is this Continental?”

Evelyn took a break to get a diet cola from the staff kitchen; only a copious amount of caffeine would get her through the rest of the day, or night, or whatever the hell it was. She had crayons, carbon dust, and Kevlar. And oil on a mesh strap. Where did that take her?

“Found her.” David tossed the phone back in its cradle with a triumphant dunk shot. “She’s on a red-eye from Miami. She’ll touch down in forty-five minutes, unless this thunderstorm holds them up.

I’m going to pull Riley out of bed and form a welcoming committee. Want to come?”

“No, I’ll stay here. The answer’s here somewhere, I know it.”

“All right.”

He kissed her, and she grasped the lapel of his jacket to keep him close. “I suppose you think you can cook one meal and chat up my daughter and you can breeze right into my household?”

“Yep.”

“You’re right.”

He kissed her again, taking a little more time with it, and left.

Evelyn stood at the window to watch him drive away in the pouring rain, feeling the damp settling into her bones. She went to the closet to get her lab coat, more for warmth than for cleanliness.

Not that the coat was clean anyway. A streak of oil still stained the bottom hem.

The streak of oil she’d picked up at the salt mine on the day of the explosion—the same building where Kelly Alexander had been murdered three days later.

As long shots went, it wasn’t the worst she’d tried. She pulled out her gold-plated slide and transferred some of the oil to its shiny surface. The FTIR waited, warmed up, cooled down, and got ready to go.

The sample nearly matched the smear found on Grace Markham’s arm. It had slightly more silica and of course the ubiquitous salt, but otherwise, the spectra were the same.

Evelyn had dirtied her lab coat when she spilled the bottle at the salt mine. The man there had said it was cable oil for the elevator.

As if on cue, the elevator in the hallway rumbled open its doors.

Perhaps David had returned. She couldn’t think who else would be there at that hour.

She moved across the lab to the door. The lights were on in the room and the door had glass panels, so she had no chance of remaining unseen. But the door also locked automatically, so she didn’t feel too nervous. Until she thought of all of Grace Markham’s security features.

If her luck had changed, the newcomer would be one of her coworkers from the Toxicology Department. If it had not—

Through the glass panels she saw a man’s huge back, shoulders straining the seams of a flannel shirt, and wispy brown hair caught in a long ponytail.

She burst out of the lab door. “Ed! Am I glad to see you!”

He did not seem the least bit glad to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“I came in early. Listen, I have a question—”

He unlocked his laboratory door, stamping his hand on the wall for the lights. “Three in the morning is not early, it’s ridiculous.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I am remarkably dedicated.”

She followed him in. “Listen, I have a question—”

“I also have neighbors prone to insomnia. They deal with their wakefulness by watching TV.” He deposited his lunch in a small refrigerator next to his desk, locked it with a hasp and a padlock, and dropped the key into his pocket. “They never choose tender ro-mances or sound tracks with gentle music, no, they are addicted to action adventure themes replete with car chases, explosions, and a great deal of shooting. All in surround sound.”

“You have my sympathy. I wanted to know—”

“You want to know about the sample of grease you gave me the other day, and yes, I have characterized it further. It’s most likely used in—”

“Elevators?”

Evelyn would never have made such a blunder if she hadn’t been so very sleep-deprived. The stout scientist puffed up like a blowfish, agitated and lethal.

“If you already know all about your little glob of lubricant, then why did you waste my time? It’s difficult enough doing the most with the least in the time-honored tradition of all government workers, but then when I do agree to wear my fingers to the nub a little more purely as a favor to a friend—”

We’re friends? Evelyn wondered. Then she realized that, given Ed’s temperament, appearance, and amount of time spent at work, she might very well be the closest thing he had. Which was downright pathetic. “I’m so sorry. Your data is still important, vitally so.”

He threw himself into a task chair and faced his computer, stonily watching the screen come back to life.

“My conclusion is just an inductive guess,” she went on. “I need the scientific proof.”

The ponytail gave an irritated little shake.