Allison Brennan - The Kill

Missy had been there. But had Hall been involved in her kidnapping? Or was he the victim of circumstance?

Her cell phone melody startled her and she groped in her purse for the phone. Greg.

“Hi. Everything okay?” she asked.

“I got the DNA sample. Thanks for putting it on a plane; it gave us another day. I’ll start the tests tonight. It’ll take a couple of days, but I’ll get you the results as soon as possible.”

Most people who watched television thought they understood DNA profiling, but in truth it was a complicated and time-consuming process. Large portions of a single person’s DNA are actually the same as every other person’s DNA simply because they are human beings. But certain fragments of DNA are unique to each individual, and those are what scientists needed to build a unique genetic profile.

But the genetic profile was only one small, though important, step. They still needed a suspect with whom to compare the profile.

“Run them against any DNA profiles from those old cases,” she said. They had run the DNA profile from Missy’s case against known offenders in CODIS as soon as they got it two weeks ago, but there were no matches. The guy had never been put into the system. But while Olivia was out in Seattle, Greg was working his own contacts to see if there were any other profiles created at the local level that hadn’t, for one reason or another, been input into CODIS.

“I’d planned to.”

“It’ll just be one more confirmation when we finally find him. I don’t want him getting off.”

“I know my job, Olivia.”

Greg sounded irritated. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling guilty all over again that she’d put him in this position.

He sighed. “Be careful, Liv, okay? I’m worried about you.”

“I know you are, but so far it’s going okay. Chief Pierson didn’t bat an eye when I walked in yesterday. And I’m working directly with the detective in charge. Another body has been found, three months old.” She gave Greg the brief summary of Jillian Reynolds’s disappearance and discovery. “It’s probably the same guy. Detective Travis is in the autopsy right now.”

“How’s the lab there? Competent?”

“Very. There’s a state crime lab, but Seattle has its own lab as well and they’ve prioritized this case. I checked it out yesterday and they haven’t neglected anything that I could see.” Her phone beeped and she glanced at the caller-ID window, not recognizing the number but noting a Seattle area code. Was Zack already done with the autopsy? “I have to go, Greg. I’ll check in when I have news.”

“Be careful,” he repeated, then hung up.

“Olivia St. Martin,” she answered.

“Liv! It’s Miranda.”

Her heart quickened. Why would Miranda be calling her? Did she know she was in Seattle?

“Miranda-this is a surprise.”

“Quinn and I just got back from our belated honeymoon and heard about Hall being released. I’m so sorry.”

Olivia’s mind processed the information. That’s right. Their honeymoon had been cut short last June when Quinn had been called out on a critical investigation. She’d worked some of the blood evidence in the lab for him in a multistate shooting spree. Olivia vaguely remembered reading Miranda’s e-mail about them heading to the Caribbean a couple of weeks ago.

She tensed. Quinn Peterson was assigned to the FBI’s Seattle office. But he couldn’t possibly know she was here. Could he? Would Chief Pierson have called to verify her credentials with the local field office, instead of relying on Greg’s phone call and contact information? She didn’t think so; he’d appeared cordial and seemed to believe every word she said.

“Liv? You there?”

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yes, sorry, I was in the middle of something.” Lying. To her best friend. Her empty stomach felt queasy. It was one thing to ask Greg to break the rules for her; it was another to put Quinn Peterson in the position of having to lie to his boss.

“Sorry to bother you, I’m sure you’re busy, but I had to call and make sure you were okay. Quinn said Hall’s attorney challenged the DNA and proved Hall hadn’t, um…” Miranda’s voice trailed off.

“No, he didn’t rape Missy.”

Olivia had a strong urge to tell Miranda where she was and what she was doing. She was in over her head. Intensely loyal, Miranda would keep her secret.

“I’m so sorry,” Miranda repeated. “Do the police have any leads? What’s the FBI doing?”

Her questions were to be expected, but Olivia didn’t know how to answer. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Is the FBI doing what?” Olivia heard Quinn say in the background.

He was there. There was no way Olivia could talk about her activities now. And it wasn’t fair to ask Miranda to keep such a secret from her husband, an FBI agent. No, that would be putting her in a compromising position, and the last thing Olivia wanted was to come between Quinn and Miranda. Miranda had been through so much adversity in her life, she deserved happiness with a man who so obviously loved her.

“Thanks for calling,” Olivia said. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m okay. Really.”

“Have you spoken with the police in California? Do they have any other leads?”

“I spoke with Hamilton Craig, the attorney who prosecuted Hall. He’s of course reopening the case. But it’s cold. I don’t think they have the resources to pursue it.” She shifted on her feet, relieved Miranda couldn’t see her. She’d know she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Ask about…” Quinn’s voice cut out in the background.

“Quinn wants to know if the DNA from Missy’s case was put into CODIS now that it’s an active case and if he can do anything-hell, let me put him on and you two can talk shop.”

“No, really,” Olivia said quickly, “I have to get back to work. I trust the people working the case, but it’s cold and I’ve accepted that.”

“But-”

“I’ll call you later, when things are less hectic.”

“O-kay,” Miranda said slowly. “Take care of yourself. And Liv-”

“What?”

“I love you.”

The room was too cold. A deep silence permeated the atmosphere, as if the building itself were holding its breath, interrupted only by the clink of metal instruments on a metal tray.

Zack felt alternately ill and enraged during the autopsy of Jillian Reynolds. He watched without comment, his jaw tight. He’d attended many autopsies-never feeling completely comfortable, but it was part of the job and he did it without complaint. He’d never get used to the smell, but he’d normally banter with the pathologist and feign interest in what the old coot was doing.

Not now. Not with the little girl. No one spoke, not Zack, not Doc Sparks, and not his assistants.

Time dragged, but only seventy minutes had passed from beginning to end and Zack had everything he needed. Cause of death: multiple stabbings in the chest and abdomen. Death had blessedly come quickly, but not before the sexual assault.

Zack had never wanted a killer more than this one.

They had one bit of good news: a possible DNA sample. No semen, but three pubic hairs with nubs. There was no way of knowing if they had degraded to the point where the DNA was unrecognizable, but it was at least something to work with. He told Sparks that Doug Cohn would send someone over to pick them up once he had them prepared for transportation.

He hoped Olivia’s ex-husband was the good guy she seemed to think he was and wouldn’t balk at rushing another set of tests. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make him an ex-husband.

“Doc Sparks, were there any marks on her right forearm, like in the Benedict and Davidson cases?”