Scorched (25 page)

She made a trip down to the master suite to complete her walk-through. She stood in the doorway and gazed at the bare mattress. She glanced down the hallway. The light near the stairs shone into the utility room, illuminating another pair of evidence markers where CSIs had collected a T-shirt and running shorts, which were presumed to be Blake’s. The clothes were currently being tested for DNA.

Elizabeth looked at the dryer and tried to imagine Blake doing his own laundry. Or did his maid do it? She pictured him dumping a load of clothes in the machine—probably mixing all the colors and whites together—before going to bed. She stared at the laundry room for a moment and then walked down the hall to examine the doorway.

No door.

No barrier to close off the loudest room in the home from the master bedroom. She flipped on the light and looked at the marks in the wood where hinges had once been. She noted a scuff on the baseboard. She crouched down and ran her gloved finger over the slight indention
in the wood where a door stopper had made its mark over the years.

Elizabeth’s pulse sped up. She took the stairs two at a time and returned to the upstairs hallway. The bedroom door got stuck on the carpet and she had to use her shoulder to open it, just as Gordon had done when they’d first toured this scene. Elizabeth examined the wood. She dropped to her knees and checked out the rubber doorstop. On the wall nearby was a corresponding scuff mark. Elizabeth pushed the door back.

The marks didn’t line up.

Someone had changed out this door. But when? And why? Explanations poured into her head. Maybe it had been damaged during a confrontation. Maybe it had evidence on it—blood, prints, possibly DNA from someone’s fist.

She stared at the doorknob and tried to imagine it. She got on her hands and knees and searched the carpet for splinters, blood, anything the CSIs might have missed. Slowly, she crawled around, examining the beige fibers. As she reached the bare mattress, her finger brushed over a depression in the carpet.

“No way,” she murmured.

She reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. She pulled it to the floor and dragged it close to the spot. Metal glinted.

An embedded slug.

Elizabeth sat back on her heels and held her hand to her chest. Her heart pounded. Her breathing was shallow. An armed confrontation involving someone—presumably Kelsey—had occurred right in this room. And someone—presumably Kelsey—had managed to
get away. The CSIs had missed this, but she had the evidence right here.

Elizabeth’s mind reeled. She thought about combat knives and alibis and a beer bottle that never should have been left on that coffee table.

She pulled the phone from her pocket and made a call.

“Moore,” came the brisk answer.

“Sir, it’s Elizabeth LeBlanc.”

Silence.

“I’m calling from San Antonio. I’m at the crime scene, actually.”

“You’re no longer on this case, LeBlanc.” His voice was laced with irritation.

“Yes, I know, but I was free today, so I decided to follow up on a few questions. I’m glad I did, because I’ve found some critical evidence that was apparently overlooked by the CSIs.” She cleared her throat, which suddenly felt dry as sandpaper. “Sir, I think this crime scene was staged.”

No response. Elizabeth knelt on the floor in the silent bedroom, holding her breath and waiting.

“Let me make myself clear, LeBlanc. As of noon yesterday, you are no longer associated with this investigation. Is that understood?”

“Sir, I—”

“You are to go home, right now. Do not stop by your office. Do not make any phone calls. Do not, under any circumstances, repeat a word of what you just told me to anyone. I’ll call you later. Are we clear?”

Elizabeth tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t work.

“Are we clear, LeBlanc?”

“We’re clear, sir.”

•   •   •

Kelsey spent most of her time at Delphi in what she thought of as the catacombs, while Mia inhabited the top. As the Delphi Center’s crown jewel, the DNA laboratory occupied the sixth-floor penthouse.

Kelsey led Gage down the glass hallway leading to Mia’s office. The windows on one side offered views of the Texas Hill Country while the other gave a glimpse into the center’s cyber-crimes lab.

“Impressive,” Gage said, looking around.

Kelsey felt a surge of pride. He’d never been to the lab before, and it
was
impressive. Just being here gave her a sense of comfort. It wasn’t just the familiar surroundings that made her feel that way, but her confidence in what they did here. Investigators from all over the world turned to Delphi for help with their toughest cases.

“This floor is our showcase,” she told Gage. “The DNA research is really the guts of what we do, and it generates most of the private funding, so this is where they take all the VIPs.”

“No one visits you in the bone basement?”

“I don’t mind. I’m not there that much, anyway. When the weather’s not too terrible, I prefer to be outdoors with students or out on a recovery.”

Kelsey stopped in front of Mia’s office. The door was open and Mia stood at a tall worktable, tapping away on her computer.

“Hi there.”

Mia glanced up. “Hi! When did you get here? I was
getting worried.” She crossed the room and pulled Kelsey into a hug.

Gage stepped through the doorway, and his enormous size made Mia’s office seem even smaller than it actually was.

“Mia.” He nodded at her.

“Gage.”

Her cool tone told Kelsey exactly where she stood on the Gage question. In an effort to cut the tension, Kelsey walked between them and placed her evidence on the counter. It consisted of a glass vial and a sealed paper bag.

“Thanks for meeting us on a Sunday,” she told Mia. “I’ve got several things for you.”

Mia switched on an overhead lamp that was bright enough for a dentist’s office. She adjusted the metal arm and held up the vial to the light.

“Dirt sample?”

“Mixed with blood,” Kelsey said. “We’re working on the premise that the victim is someone Blake knew. We believe his name is Charles Weber, but that’s about all we know about him.”

“Victim?” Mia looked at her.

“It looked like he died from a shotgun blast to the head, but we haven’t confirmed that.”

Mia put the vial on the counter and regarded it skeptically.

“What? Didn’t I get enough?”

“No, that’s plenty here to run tests,” Mia said. “I can use PCR to amplify the sample.”

“PCR?”

Mia glanced at Gage. Kelsey wasn’t sure whether he
really cared about the process or was simply trying to draw Mia out of her shell.

“A polymerase chain reaction. It’s a technique we use to get what’s essentially a Xerox copy of the DNA we need from a very small sample. It even works on old or degraded samples, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” She turned to Kelsey. “But what makes you think he’ll be in a database? You said he was a victim. Does he have a criminal record?”

“We’d like to find out.”

“What’s this?” Mia donned a pair of latex gloves and used an X-ACTO knife to unseal the bag. She pulled out an aluminum beer can. It had been crushed by someone into a nice portable size, which was one reason Kelsey had snatched it up and stuffed it in her pocket on her way through the kitchen.

“This was recovered from the crime scene,” she told Mia. “It seemed like the killer was staying there, so you might be able to get some DNA from the can.”

“Or prints,” Gage added.

“I’ll swab the can here first, then run it down to Ident to see if they can get anything. I’ve got to be honest, your chances with them are better.”

“You don’t think you’ll get DNA?” Kelsey asked.

“No, I will. But AFIS includes far more records than CODIS—about seventy million.”

“When you’re dropping off the can, give them this, too,” Gage said, pulling out the business card he’d wanted from Aaron. He held it by the edges. “We’re interested to see if any prints from the can match the ones on this business card.”

Mia read the name and lifted an eyebrow. “Special
Agent Lohman.” She gave Kelsey a pointed look. “He was here last week.”

Kelsey’s phone rang again and she pulled it out to check the number.

“Hey, Aaron, what’s up?”

“Thought you’d want to know,” he said, “I just left the lab, and as I drove through the gate, the feds were pulling in.”

CHAPTER 15

Gage watched from behind a storage shed as the gray Taurus circled the Delphi Center’s employee parking lot.

“What are they doing?” Kelsey asked.

“Probably looking for the SUV. Maybe they talked to the guard.”

The Taurus made another slow loop. Because it was Sunday, the lot wasn’t full. Many of the cars looked to be unmarked police vehicles, probably belonging to detectives who were dropping off evidence. At last the Taurus pulled into a space.

Gage gripped his SIG in his hand as he waited to see who would emerge. If Trent Lohman got out, he was going to have a tough time resisting the urge to take him out right now.

The driver’s-side door opened, and an FBI agent got out.

“That’s not Trent,” Kelsey said.

“Supervisory Special Agent Gordon Moore.”

She turned to look at him. “You know him?”

“He interviewed me back at base. Where’s your phone?”

“Right here.”

“Call Mia,” Gage said. “Ask her to intercept him in the lobby and get his cell number. She can tell him anything she wants—she’s expecting to hear from you, she’ll let him know when you call—whatever she needs to say to get his number.”

“Why do we want his number?”

Gage watched as the agent walked up the white marble steps to the Delphi Center’s front entrance. He hoped to hell he hadn’t misread this guy.

He turned to Kelsey. “Because it’s time for Plan B.”

•   •   •

Kelsey fidgeted with the Mace inside her pocket. It was pretty useless, considering who she was up against, but Gage had insisted that she have it ready, just in case the plan went sideways.

A child squealed, and she glanced over her shoulder. A little boy of about five or six stood on tiptoes, peering over the outer wall of the elephant habitat where a mother elephant was giving her baby a bath. Kelsey glanced over her other shoulder. More children, more parents, a cotton candy vendor. Her nerves jangled as she thought of the many things that could go wrong.

And then she spotted him. He’d traded the suit and tie for khakis and a navy blazer—which made him only slightly less conspicuous in the late-morning heat. The agent’s gaze zeroed in on Kelsey, and she made an effort to appear calm as he strode toward her.

He glanced around, then stopped in front of her and gave a crisp nod. “Dr. Quinn.”

She waited a beat, then offered a handshake. “Agent
Moore. Greg, is it?” She held on to his hand and leaned forward to hear the answer.

“It’s Gordon.”

Gage appeared behind him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Gordon. Nice to see you again.” Gage snaked his hand inside his blazer and relieved him of his pistol. It happened so fast that Kelsey would have missed it if she hadn’t been standing there, gripping the agent’s hand.

“No offense,” Gage said, “but we’d like to keep this friendly.”

“None taken,” he said tightly.

Kelsey settled back against the low stone wall beside Gage. Moore watched them, clearly seething.

She smiled. “Did you come alone?”

“He did,” Gage confirmed.

Moore looked at Kelsey, then at Gage, then at the Saharan backdrop they’d chosen as a site for their meeting.

“I’m sure you’re busy investigating, so we’ll keep this brief,” Gage said. “Kelsey wants to set the record straight on a few things.”

The agent’s attention shifted to Kelsey, but she could tell he still considered Gage very much a threat.

“I’m listening.”

“Over the last six days,” she said, “it’s become painfully obvious that your investigation has taken a wrong turn.”

She took him through what she’d seen on the night of Blake’s murder, then followed up with the shooting incident in Piney Creek. Moore listened without interrupting.

“The next time I saw Trent Lohman,” Kelsey told
him, “was in Briggs, Utah. I understand you’ve had agents up there recently.”

He nodded.

“Trent was at the home of Charles Weber. He was with an accomplice. I believe one or both of them killed Weber before setting fire to the crime scene.”

Moore gave them a long, hard look. “How can you be sure who killed him?”

“We can’t,” Gage said.

“We’re not even certain it was Charles Weber we saw in that barn,” Kelsey said. “I collected some evidence from the crime scene that’s now destroyed, and I’m hoping to get something through DNA. But you’re right, we don’t know for sure. What we
do
know for sure is that Trent Lohman is directly involved in one murder, and directly involved in the cover-up of another. Whether the victim was Charles Weber or not—”

“It wasn’t.”

Kelsey stared at him. “It wasn’t?”

The agent looked at Gage, then back at Kelsey. He gazed out at the elephants again and seemed to be struggling with a decision.