“Because Sydney probably sent your shoes to the FBI so they would analyze them as part of the evidence, right?” I look to Victor for confirmation.
“She’s right. The FBI is available to local PDs, who don’t have crime labs, to process and analyze evidence. So anyway, about your shoes…” Victor continues. “It was determined that the prints did not come from this exact shoe.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. Journey’s shoulders relax as well.
“Good news, of course. But how do they know for sure that it wasn’t Journey’s shoe?” I ask.
“Because the shoe that left the prints had a faint kidney-shaped smear on the outside of the right shoe, but it was lower, more toward the heel. The smooth spot on Journey’s shoe is at the top, near his big toe.” Victor points out the areas as he talks about them. “Also, just so you know, your shoe was tested for blood residue and it came up negative.”
“So, if you knew it wasn’t a match, why did you ask Journey to identify his shoes?”
“I was spot-checking to see if the evidence was what they said it was.”
Journey and I share measured smiles across the table. It sounds like this issue with his shoes is settled.
35
Intentionally withholding or destroying evidence in a legal proceeding can result in dire consequences.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
After we finish eating, Victor cleans up the kitchen while I walk Journey out to his van to say good-bye.
“Your uncle’s cool,” Journey says, leaning back against his van. He rests his arms on my shoulders and pulls me to him. I lay my head against his chest. I listen to the faint thrum of his heartbeat and wish I could sync mine with his. Mine is racing. I’ve never been close to another person this way, except maybe Rachel.
“Yeah, he is.” I drift into Journey’s circle of warmth, loving how his fingers twist the very tips of my hair.
“Maybe he’ll solve this thing and we can stop worrying about psycho killers.”
“Mmm. That would be nice,” I whisper.
Journey moves me away from his body so he can look at my face. “Have you told him about the—you know—connection?”
“Not yet.” I step back. “But I think I should. What do you think?”
Journey pulls me back against his chest. “I think we’re safer if you don’t tell.”
“Why?” I pop my head back again, studying his face.
“Because that connection between the two murders is the one thing no one else knows. Even the killer doesn’t know we know it,” Journey says. “And, since we’re not sure who we can trust, I think we should keep it that way.”
“Except we know we can trust Victor.”
“Probably. Yeah.” Journey rakes a hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead. “But can we trust who Victor would tell?”
I haven’t discussed my suspicions about Chief Culson with Journey, but I see what he’s saying. If I give the tie to Victor, he’ll tell Rachel and she’ll tell the chief. Even though Victor thinks he’s safe, I’m still not so sure.
“That makes sense.” I de-stress by forcing the air out of my lungs and then taking in a long deep breath. Thoughts of possible motives for murder used to be a silent dark knot that lived quietly inside me. It was not something I ever talked about openly. I don’t have to hide any of this from Journey, which is a relief. But our lives would be better if we didn’t have to worry about it at all.
Journey pulls me to his chest again and rests his cheek on top of my head. “I have to get back to work.” He whispers this into my hair. In one swift move he pecks me on the cheek and climbs into the van. “I’ll call you later.”
The van finally rattles to a start on the third try and he backs down the driveway toward the street.
“How?” I wrap my sweatshirt a little tighter around me, my voice buried by the rumble of the van. “You lost your phone.” I watch him back into the street and pull away.
Returning to the kitchen, I find Victor in full-fledged field DNA test mode. The table is littered with all kinds of stuff and he’s slumped in his chair, going through my notebook. I take a seat.
Victor sets the notebook aside. “So we know your bio teacher collected samples from you and from Journey. And, I can maybe buy that she would put herself in the mix, too. Can you see her doing that?”
“Definitely. Miss Peters used to say we are our own best test subjects.”
Victor gnaws on a hangnail. “So, if she had a degree in forensic chemistry, she probably knew what her own DNA string looked like.”
“We all knew what it looked like,” I say with a laugh. “She had it blown up, framed, and hung on the wall.”
“She included her own DNA in order to validate the test. That’s logical,” he says.
“She was a stickler for things like that. I can hear her voice in my head. ‘Always include a control sample.’”
“She’s her own control sample. I’ll buy that.” Victor stabs the notebook with his pen. “I don’t expect to match the last sample because we don’t have enough information. But let’s say CC indicates it was Chuck. Why would she include him?”