“Nothin’ yet. Hit a dead end after her prints popped. Sam have anything new?”
“Outside of the possible poisoning? No. She sent everything over to Simon. It’ll be a day or so before we know what the poison might be.”
“If only we could identify the poison, I could plug it into ViCAP, maybe broaden the scope a little.” Lincoln’s eyes were shining. He loved playing with the technical stuff.
“Once we have it identified, you can put it in the system, but not before. We need to keep it quiet, like the herbs. Especially with her parents.” She looked pointedly at Marcus, a silent warning to keep his own counsel outside of the squad room.
Price’s phone rang, and Taylor picked it up. “Homicide... Okay, thanks.” She cradled the phone. “Marcus, Shelby’s parents are here. Wanna go out and get them?”
“Damn, they’re early. I’ll meet you in the interview room.” He stood, brushing invisible lint from his pants. Taylor could see the air of discomfort that washed over him; facing grieving family members wasn’t his favorite thing to do either. He squared his shoulders and walked out. Taylor gave Lincoln a small smile.
“Do we have any coffee or anything we can offer them?”
“I’ll go make some.”
“Thank you. If the chaplains are out there, see if they want some, too. I’d best go save Marcus. Bring the coffee when it’s ready.”
He smiled in acknowledgment and left the office. Taylor pulled her hair out of its ponytail, unsuccessfully attempting to smooth it down. Impatiently reholstering the unruly mess, she squared her own shoulders and marched the short distance to the interview room in the hall. Marcus already had Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid inside. A box of tissues had miraculously appeared at Mrs. Kincaid’s elbow.
The Kincaids were small, unassuming people, easily in their late fifties. Mrs. Kincaid’s eyes were rimmed in red, but there were no tears threatening to overflow. Mr. Kincaid had a vacant look on his face but seemed to be holding up. Marcus introduced Taylor. She pulled up a chair.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid, thank you so much for coming down. I am so sorry for your loss.” Her cliché was worn but sincere. Mrs. Kincaid nodded and sniffed. Shelby’s father took control of the meeting.
“Where is our daughter, Lieutenant? We want to see her.”
“Could we get you anything to drink? Coffee, water...”
Mr. Kincaid cut her off sharply. “No. Where is our daughter?”
Taylor looked at Marcus, signaling him to tell Lincoln to forget the coffee. He stuck his head out the door, gestured to Lincoln, then stepped back in and shut the door behind him, lounging quietly against it.
Taylor took a deep breath. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well. “She’s still at the medical examiner’s office, sir. We had to do an autopsy to see...”
Mrs. Kincaid lost it. “You cut our baby open? How could you do that?” She started crying. Her husband put a hand on her arm. She immediately quieted.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but her death was ruled a homicide by the medical examiner at the scene. We’re required by law to conduct an autopsy.” Taylor hated having to give that pat line to a child’s parents, but there was no way to cushion the blow. “There was no identification found with the body, so in order to obtain an identification we had to follow protocol. That’s how we found out who she was. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
Mrs. Kincaid reached for a tissue and buried her face in it, dignified sobs leaking out. Again her husband squeezed her arm. Taylor didn’t think it was meant in a kindly way. She got the impression he was uncomfortable with open displays of emotion, which seemed interesting for a man of the cloth.
“Lieutenant, Detective Wade said Shelby was murdered. Who did it? I want to know who killed our baby.”
“We don’t know yet, sir, but we’re doing our very best to find the killer and arrest him. We have some evidence that will be helpful...”
“DNA?”
The advent of TV cop shows made every layman an expert in criminal investigations.
Taylor nodded. “Yes, sir, we do have some DNA evidence.”
The light went out of his eyes, and he rubbed his chin. “Was she raped?”
Taylor didn’t want to go into detail. “We believe that may be the case, sir, but we won’t have any answers until the laboratory results come back.”
“How was she murdered, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Kincaid had finished crying. Taylor could see the steel creeping back into her eyes. When Taylor didn’t answer immediately, the woman’s voice softened. “It’s only fair that we should know. Was she shot? Strangled?”
“No, ma’am. There were no obvious signs to tell us how she died. The medical examiner is doing a number of tests to see what killed your daughter. We won’t know anything until the toxicology reports come back.”