[17]
His name was Aaron Thomas Jefferson. He was thirty-five, black, and by far the best damn identification technician Walt had ever worked with. His training had come through the FBI, his first on-the-job experience through the Criminal Identification Section of the department. Walt had only a cursory understanding of the deltas and dots and trifurcations that defined identification points. Aaron was the expert.
“I’ve got a full load,” Aaron said without looking up. He was using black ink to trace a photographically-enlarged print onto a sheet of thin tracing paper.
“Something for the FBI?” Walt asked, making reference to the tracing.
“It’s from that double homicide last week, on the west side.”
“I think I read something about that.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had three men working on a non-suspect match and it looks like the guy might not be a local.” Aaron raised the pen off the paper, let out a breath, and sat back. “So what have you got?”
“I’m not sure.” Walt pulled the 3x5 cards out of his pocket and dropped them on the counter next to the light box. Each card was labeled. One: Teri Knight. Two: Gabriel Knight. Three: Suspect. 5/13/95. Instep of right shoe belonging to Mrs. Knight. Four: Suspect. 5/13/95. Back side of right shoe belonging to Teri Knight.
“I see you haven’t lost your training.”
“Like riding a bike.”
Aaron glanced at the cards. “Isn’t she—?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly.
“Okay. So, what am I looking at?”
“An attempted abduction.”
“Is the department involved?”
“No,” Walt said.
Aaron shook his head. “Best I can do is probably four or five days. I’ll have to handle it myself. After hours.”
“I appreciate it, Aaron.”
“Yeah, sure.” He dropped the cards back on the counter. “So when you coming over for dinner again? Tina’s been asking about you.”
“Soon,” Walt said. It had actually been several years since they had last gotten together. At the time, Walt had been going with a law clerk, who worked for the county. Her name was Rachel Burack. They had met by accident one day, when Walt was searching records for a case he was working on, and Rachel sat down next to him in search of some records of her own. The relationship hadn’t lasted. She had become impatient with the sometimes relenting way he went about his business, the way he let himself become consumed by it. And when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change, she had moved on. It had no longer been Walt and Rachel after that. It had simply been Walt. Walt and his clients. Everything else had fallen away.
“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Aaron said.
Walt grinned.
“I am.”
“All right. All right. I’ll give you a call, I promise.”
“Good,” Aaron said, picking up the fingerprint cards again. He tapped them against the counter. “I’ll do my best on these.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Now let me get back to work.”
[18]
Teri had outsmarted herself.
She was standing at the front door of the Evergreen Dental Clinic, a small business space located at the back corner of the West Valley Shopping Center. This was where Dr. Harding had maintained his practice for as long as she could remember knowing him. But he wasn’t here now.
Taped to the inside of the glass door was a sign that read:
Teri’s hand fell away from the door handle. She had thought about calling first, but had decided against it, believing the doctor would be more likely to see them at the last minute if they were already in his office. Not the smartest thing she had ever done.
“What now?” the boy asked.
“Guess I better call Dr. Chittenden.”
[19]
Aaron Jefferson finished the tracing, re-photographed the print and scanned it into the computer. He set the cross hair references on the core and the axis and the computer began to run through its routine. It was as much of an opportunity to grab a bite as he was going to get today.
He fished his lunch bag out of the bottom drawer of his desk. Tuna fish. Not his favorite. His mother had turned him against tuna when he was a boy. She had always added egg and the combination had never sat right with Aaron. While there was no egg in this particular tuna fish, it didn’t matter. The taste of egg had long ago become part of his permanent association.
He dropped the sandwich back into the bag, took out a couple of oat meal cookies, and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. The photographic blowups of the prints Walt had brought in were sitting on the corner of the desk. They had come back nearly half-an-hour ago. Aaron had put them aside until he’d had a chance to look at them.
There wasn’t going to be a better chance.
Not today.
He picked up the stack and studied the first print.
Walt had taken the non-suspect latents from the back of a shoe. This set was smudged. They probably shouldn’t have even bothered with the blowup. He buried it at the bottom of the stack.
The next photo was also from the shoe. It was a good print, a plain whorl. Probably a thumb print. The big question, though, was did it belong to…
Aaron flipped to the next latent.
…to this Teri Knight or her boy.
You’re gonna owe me for this one, my friend.
He tossed the stack aside, took a bite out of one of the oatmeal cookies, and wondered if he should call Tina and let her know that he was going to be late getting home tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. At least this time, it was for Walt.
[20]
“No, I don’t have an appointment,” Teri said. She leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth and closed her eyes. “My name is Teri Knight. My son’s name is Gabriel. Dr. Harding is our regular dentist, but he’s out of town.”
“Is this an emergency?” the receptionist asked. “Did your son crack a tooth or something of that nature? Dr. Chittenden is only seeing Dr. Harding’s patients in the case of an emergency.”
“All I need is for the doctor to take a look at Gabe’s teeth and compare them to his charts.”
“I’m sorry. Dr. Chittenden doesn’t have access to any patient records. By that, I mean any of Dr. Harding’s patient records.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“What if my son did happen to break a tooth?”
“Then Dr. Chittenden would be happy to see him.”
“But he doesn’t have Gabe’s charts?”
“I don’t believe the doctor would need them in that situation.”
No, he probably wouldn’t now that Terry thought about it. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t much sense in stretching it out. She said a polite thanks, hung up, and returned to the car, where the boy was reading a comic book called The Swamp Thing. In the bright sunlight, she could barely see the wisp of gray in his hair.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Nope. Looks like you’ve got a reprieve,” Teri said. “No dentist today.”
“Mr. Travis isn’t going to like that.”
“No, I don’t suppose he will.”
She slipped the key into the ignition, and entertained the thought of swinging by the house. If you had asked her why, she wouldn’t have been able to provide you with a reason. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was still a sense of disbelief. Either way, she supposed, it would be one more thing that Mr. Travis wouldn’t much care for.