“You’re just an endless well of secrets, aren’t you?” Victor sets the paper aside. “So, you have a theory that your teacher was conducting secret DNA experiments for someone—we don’t know who yet—and that led to her being murdered, which you are starting to suspect somehow involves Chief Culson?”
I nod. “I have fingerprints, an ink sample, phone records, and maybe a DNA test. And, I’m sure you heard that he practically tried to kill me and Spam yesterday.”
Victor looks skeptical.
I unlock my phone and swipe to bring up the photo of the earthmover and destroyed walkway.
“First, the chief let Spam and I in there and then, when we were in really far, he called out ‘all clear’ and this was the result.” I hand him my phone. He pinches to enlarge the photo before handing it back.
“We barely made it out alive. It’s a lot, isn’t it?” In my head it feels like a lot, but I’m clearly not igniting any flames in Victor.
“To charge the chief of police with murder? No. Everything you have is circumstantial. It doesn’t prove anything.”
I think for a minute. “What about Miss P’s forensic lab?”
Victor shrugs. “Schools and police departments sharing a lab is a new paradigm for smaller communities. Cities like San Mateo, California, are making a real go of it. I would think Chuck would welcome a deal like that. But then again, he is kind of an egotistical weasel.”
“But isn’t it weird that all my evidence points to him?”
“Weird, yes,” Victor says. “But evidence of murder? Not by a long shot.”
Victor picks up the Ziploc bag and closely examines the shred of notebook paper with the words “ur” and “DNA.” “Erin, this scribbling looks more like it was written by a high school kid than the chief of police.”
“I agree, but it matches his special pen. Miss P had one, too, so I guess it could be her writing. Either way, I think he’s involved.” I turn to the page in my notebook where I’ve taped the results of my ink chromatography test.
Victor takes the book and peruses the results. “Do you still have the pens?”
“Right here.” I pick them up out of the shoe box.
He chuckles. “Oh, God. That’s right. I was there when he gave you the black one. Ha! I’m a witness.”
“I’ll admit that when it came back that the fingerprints in the van were his, I was disappointed because I figured he just goofed up and touched Journey’s van without gloves. But think about it, would he really do that?”
“To be honest, I don’t know why he would touch Journey’s van for any reason. His people are trained and tasked with lifting prints … not him.” Victor inspects the cards and studies my laptop screen before giving me a very stern look. He taps the cards on the table. “You realize this is tampering with evidence, young lady.”
I scoff. “If it wasn’t for me, no one would even know there was evidence.”
He shrugs. “And you ran these through IAFIS by yourself?”
“Well yeah, it’s like using a copier.”
Victor looks back through everything. “I’m not buying your theory, but I’ll admit you have put in some first-class detective work.”
Swoon. Victor always knows the right thing to say. “So what am I missing?”
“A motive.” He sits back in his chair.
“Do we always need a motive?”
“If we want to indict the chief of police, we definitely need a motive.” Victor stops and looks up as Rachel walks in the back door.
“What’s all this?” she asks, a frown forming quickly around her mouth.
Victor helps me slide all the evidence together and clear the table. “Sit down, Rachel, and I’ll explain,” he says.
She looks suspicious as she walks over to the hall closet to hang up her coat and purse. “I don’t like the looks of the two of you. You’re up to something.” But she comes back and takes a seat anyway.
I’m wiggling in my seat, straining. Champing at the bit. I can’t wait to spill my guts. But Victor puts his hand on mine to slow me down.
“First,” he asks, “how was your dinner?”
Rachel shrugs. “Fine. How was yours?”
“Incredible. We had eggs à la Victor,” he says, oozing charm.
Rachel is not impressed.
“Can I get you some tea or coffee?” Victor offers.
Rachel narrows her eyes. “Stop trying to work me and just tell me what’s going on.”
“Well.” He speaks with a very soothing tone. “It seems our Erin here has been doing a little detective work—”
Rachel explodes. She locks the look of fury onto me. “I knew that little trip to Journey’s house wasn’t about homework!”
“Calm down, Rachel,” Victor says. “She’s fine. There’s no harm done. And, while I’m not sure I buy her theory, I think she’s brought up some interesting points.”
“Oh really,” Rachel snaps. “About what?”
“Miss Peters’s murder,” I interject. I’m hoping Victor will continue to have my back.
Rachel turns her volcanic gaze on Victor now. “Are you out of your mind? Given what she’s been through, Erin is the last person whose head you should be filling with your creepy forensic fantasies. I don’t even let her watch those shows on TV because of how susceptible she is to this stuff.”