Page 38 of Midnight Creed

Racine shook her head and looked at Kuszak, anxious to give up this responsibility. Maggie tamped down her simmering irritation. Why was she surprised Racine chose the easy way out? And yet, D.C. had both bodies.

Izzy Kuszak didn’t even notice Racine’s deflection. Her eyes were on her yellow notepad, her pen scratching out messages to herself. It wasn’t until she noticed the silence around the table that she looked up.

“Our lab doesn’t have anything belonging to the victims,” Kuszak said. “Can’t help you there.”

Maggie felt the shift of impatience around the table. But Kuszak didn’t seem to notice.

“Has D.C. provided a copy of the autopsy?” Maggie asked Kuszak, but her eyes were on Racine.

“Not yet,” Kuszak told her.

Before Maggie could question Racine, she put up a hand, gesturing to give her a minute. “I brought copies for everyone.” She opened a file folder and rifled through loose-leaf papers inside. She pulled out sets of stapled copies and slid them across the table to each team member.

Maggie asked Alonzo, “How did you get your information to do the victim searches?”

“Oh, I have my ways.”

“Give me a break, O’Dell,” Racine cut her off. “This last one just happened yesterday morning.”

The young forensic investigator didn’t appear bothered by Racine’s flippant attitude. Instead, Kuszak examined the contents and jotted down notes.

“Both victims sustained head trauma,” Racine told them. “Stan—” she stopped herself when she realized not everyone around the table would know who Stan was. “The medical examiner,” she continued, “says the mark left looks like a ball-peen hammer. He doesn’t believe it was a fatal blow. That came from a weapon with a double-edged blade. Neither was recovered at the scene of the crime. Unless something was found in that Dumpster throwaway?”

She looked over at Kuszak.

“No hammer. No knife,” Kuszak said. “The plastic grocery bag does contain some interesting things. Latex gloves. A ticket stub and receipt. A pair of well-worn shoes, size eleven with blood stains. I’ve already pulled samples. It is blood. If I can get some DNA from the victim, I can tell you whether the blood is his.” She was looking to Racine now for confirmation.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Racine told her.

Shouldn’t be a problem, instead of yes. Maggie found Racine’s lackadaisical attitude beyond annoying. Asking for the FBI’s help didn’t mean checking out completely. And if she’d truly done just that, why even bother coming here today? Racine had made it sound like her boss didn’t have time for a couple of homeless people getting killed. The fact that the killer could be the same person should warrant attention. At least from Racine.

Maggie was so sick of politics. She considered how she might go around the detective, when Kuszak added, “If the blood matches the victim, then it makes sense the bag belonged to the killer. That’s our agreed supposition, right?”

“Yes,” Maggie told her. “And I’m hoping the shoes and their treads will tell us more about him.”

“We might not need that,” Kuszak said in a no-nonsense tone. “I actually have his fingerprints.”

26

“How do you know they’re the killer’s fingerprints?” Maggie challenged the young forensic investigator. She didn’t mind confidence. She wouldn’t tolerate cockiness.

“First, we need to prove the blood found on the items inside that plastic bag actually belongs to the victim. If the blood is the victim’s, then the fingerprints are the killer’s.”

R.J. Tully leaned in, his elbows on the table. He didn’t bother to hide the skepticism from his face. “He probably wasn’t the only one to touch that bag.”

“I didn’t find prints on the bag.” Again, Kuszak didn’t seem to mind the others around the table questioning her. “I found them on a pair of latex gloves.”

“Is that even possible?” Racine asked.

“Possible. But rare,” Maggie answered, not taking her eyes off Kuszak and waiting for an explanation.

“There was blood on the outside of the gloves. Some of it rubbed off. I don’t have the item he wiped his hands with. When people take off latex gloves, they peel them off. They’re tight enough that the fingerprint doesn’t smear. Like you said, it is rare,” Kuszak said, looking to Maggie. “Finding these within hours of him peeling them off helps. These were fresh. There was still perspiration.”

“Fingerprint powders attach nicely to sweat,” she continued, “and to the oil residues left behind. I used a magnetic fluorescent powder combined with cyanoacrylate fuming.”

“Cyanoacrylate?” Tully asked.

“Superglue,” Maggie answered, and Kuszak nodded at her.