It was a small window-less than two hours long-with nothing tangible to back it up. From what she could tell, the calculation was based less on science or physical evidence and more on the statements made by Jacob Gant and Tim Hight. The time line began when Gant claimed to have left her and ended when Hight said he found her. The case hinged on that window because both men had been there.
Lena walked through the basement at Parker Center and gazed through the plate-glass windows into the property room. The storage facility was one of two in the system and had the look and feel of a dilapidated bank. There was a man filling out a form at one of the two tables by the door. Another waited at the counter, watching a female clerk-an old woman-log in his package behind the beige wire mesh. Lena knew that both men were detectives, but didn’t recognize either one as she entered the room.
No one looked up. Still, she kept her head down and turned her back as she stepped over to the second table and began filling out a property request card. She knew that the evidence was tracked by computer. Anyone paying close attention would notice and could bring trouble for both her and Vaughan. But somehow she managed to push her fears aside.
She wasn’t looking for blood, semen, or even saliva because they wouldn’t be there. The crime scene photographs indicated that Lily’s jeans and boots had been tossed into a pile three or four feet away from where the victim’s corpse had been found.
What Lena needed were skin cells. The kind found beneath the surface of the killer’s hands that would have been exposed if he stripped away Lily’s jeans and boots with any force.
Force was the key issue-the main ingredient-because the cells needed to be alive at the time of the murder. Without force there wouldn’t be enough DNA to detect a transfer.
As Lena completed the request card, writing the case number down and signing her name above her badge number, she couldn’t help but think about the odds. It might have been the right thing to do, but it was a long shot. Even getting Martin Orth to agree to perform the tests was a long shot. It would mean working in secret, jeopardizing his career and putting himself at risk at a time when the crime lab was under so much scrutiny.
And for what?
She should have told Vaughan the truth. She should have told him that what came next was pure desperation. That this is what you did when you ran out of road-hoped that your victim’s killer had been amped up enough to leave skin cells.
She turned to the counter and looked at the old woman behind the wire mesh. One of the two men smiled at her as he left the room. The second detective was dropping off an evidence packet. When he walked out, Lena slid her request card through the slot and waited while the clerk adjusted her glasses and entered the case number into a computer.
“Lily Hight,” the old woman said finally. “Her daddy got the guy. What do you want with this?”
Lena saw suspicion growing on the clerk’s face, her antenna rising out of what looked like a bad wig. She didn’t need to justify her request, nor did she have any desire to. At the same time, the case could have been flagged and she didn’t want the old woman to pick up the phone.
“Just cataloging evidence for my boss,” she said, feigning drudgery. “More reports. More paperwork. You know how it is. I was hoping it hadn’t been moved over to Piper Tech. That’s all I’d need today-another drive across town in this heat.”
The old woman bought it and grinned at her. “Got it, honey. Everything’s still here. I’ll be right back.”
Lena watched the clerk walk down the long aisle and disappear around the corner. The storage room behind the counter was enormous and it would probably take a while.
It was the waiting that she found the most difficult. Standing in a room with plate-glass windows and a view of the hall outside. The fact that so many people were walking by. The basement corridor was the quickest route between the building and the parking garage across the street. Lena checked her watch, realizing that it was almost noon. When she looked up, she saw Barrera and Deputy Chief Ramsey and turned back to the counter. When the door opened behind her and she heard Barrera’s voice, the dread hit her in a flash like dragon’s breath.
“Gamble?”
She pulled herself together and turned. Barrera was holding the door open with Ramsey behind him in the hall. She didn’t have time to think about what she was still showing on her face.
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up,” he said. “That piece-of-shit gossip reporter’s out. Dick Harvey. He was released this morning. It sounds like he blames you for his arrest and wants to get even. I wouldn’t spend too much time watching TV.”
Lena could hear footsteps behind her-the old woman starting back down the aisle. Timing was everything if life. She took a deep breath.
“Great,” she said. “Thanks for the tip.”
Barrera took in the room, picking up on something, then shaking it off. Lena was waiting for him to say something like, what the fuck are you doing in here? Instead, he told her to keep an eye out for Harvey, called him a rotten piece of shit again, and closed the door.
“That the boss, honey?”
Lena turned around as Barrera and Ramsey walked off. The old woman was standing behind the wire mesh holding an evidence box. She nodded at her and watched as she unlocked the window and pushed the box across the counter.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s the boss.”
28
It wasn’t a very large box. As Vaughan pulled out of the lot heading for the freeway, Lena cut through the tape with a key and opened the carton. Inside she found an inventory of the contents and checked to see that everything was there. The girl’s jeans, her boots, a belt, and a pair of socks-it didn’t add up to much. A note attached to the list indicated that what remained of the teenager’s other clothing-her T-shirt and blouse-had been frozen and placed in the vault at the lab because both items contained blood evidence from the victim’s wound.
Vaughan reached the freeway and shifted lanes, steering the car east toward the San Bernardino Freeway. “If it’s possible that the killer’s DNA was transferred to her clothing, why didn’t they send it to the lab before the trial?”
“I’m sure they did.”
“Then why are we doing it again?” he said.
Lena tried not to show any doubt. “Because they weren’t looking for what we’re looking for. Think about what they already had. Gant’s semen. His saliva. Why waste time and money when they already had everything they thought they needed? It wouldn’t have made sense after they locked Gant in. They had their man.”
“Right,” he said. “I keep thinking that they knew about the lab screwup before the trial, not one week in when it was too late. But this clothing has been handled. It would have been examined for hair and fiber. The lab would have gone over every inch, looking for bodily fluids. After that, it was thrown in this box and sent to storage. What could be left?”
Lena didn’t say anything; she was still wrestling with the same question.
What could be left?
She turned and looked out the window. The air was no longer transparent, the city barely visible through the brown haze. According to a weather report she had heard on the drive into town, the city would break another record as temperatures climbed to 117 degrees. She wondered when the heat would break-and when the case would break.
The drive out to the crime lab only took another ten minutes. As Vaughan parked, Lena glanced at the sign and admired the building. Officially named the Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center, the new crime lab was set on the campus at Cal State University and housed the LAPD’s Scientific Investigation Division as well as the Sheriff’s Department Scientific Services Bureau. The facility was capable of handling evidence from more that 140,000 criminal cases every year-the people who worked here were dedicated to their jobs. The fact that the evidence went missing in one of the city’s biggest cases was more than unfortunate for everyone.