Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gary finished his call with Rachel. “She says Forensics has the BMW, and if we want to take a look, we should go over there.”
Dan’s face brightened. “I get to watch real CSIs at work? I usually arrive when they’ve been and gone.”
Gary laughed. “Maybe this is where I should warn you—it’s nothing like what you see on TV.”
“Aw, don’t shatter my illusions.”
They went down to the basement. The BMW sat in the middle of the bay as people moved around it, dusting for prints, leaning into the interior, examining every inch of the vehicle. Rachel was already there, talking with an officer.
Gary approached the car and looked inside. Blood covered the headrest on the driver’s side, but that was the only sign of it in the car.
“Can I see?” Dan peered inside, and Gary knew the instant he saw the blood. A shudder jolted through him.
Gary went over to Rachel. “What have you got?”
She indicated the officer. “Niall is in charge.”
They greeted him. He arched his eyebrows at Dan’s introduction but didn’t comment.
“Any prints?” Gary asked.
“None so far, so my money’s on gloves. We’ve collected fibers and taken photos of the muddy footprints from the mat in the footwell and on the pedals.”
Gary frowned. “Mud?”
Niall nodded. “There was work being done in Wilmer’s street. Laying pipe. Mud everywhere. Plus it had rained not long before.” He grabbed a tablet from the countertop and scrolled. “Take a look at the crime-scene photos.”
Gary peered at the screen. “I didn’t see this on the CCTV footage.”
Niall snorted. “I’d have had a hard time recognizing my own mom from that footage.”
Gary gazed at the photos. There were a couple of the footwell, revealing what looked indeed like sneaker prints, along with a ruler for scale.
Another of the gas pedal with its muddy footprint, the markings clear.
Photos of the street, illuminated by bright lights, showed the muddy tire tracks leading away from the house.
“Can I take a look?”
Gary handed the tablet to Dan, then turned back to Rachel. “No witnesses, I take it?”
She shook her head. “A man out late walking his dog in Franklin Park spotted the vehicle. One glance inside had him calling us. We figured no one else had found it, not when the gun was still on the passenger seat.”
“Any prints on that?”
“Only Ray’s.”
He stilled. “Back up a sec.”
Her eyes gleamed. “I know. Makes no sense, right? No prints on the steering wheel or anywhere inside the car, so he wore gloves. There was a pair stuffed in his pocket. So he takes them off to shoot Wilmer?”
“Gary?” Dan was staring at the tablet.
Gary knew that look.
“What is it?” He glanced at the screen Dan held up for him to see. It was one of the photos of the muddy footprints.
“Can we go see Del? Now?”
He knew better than to argue. “Let me check to see if he’s still there.” He fished his phone from his pocket, scrolled to Del’s number, and hit Call. When Del answered, Gary got straight to the point. “You still at the morgue?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I got another client.”
“Ask him if he still has the evidence bags for Eddie Ray,” Dan said in a low voice.
Gary repeated the request.
“Yes, they haven’t been collected yet.”
He took one look at Dan’s face, noting the tightness of the skin around his eyes, the set jaw. “We’re on our way.” He disconnected. “So… what’s this about?”
“I’ll tell you when I know for sure.”
They said goodbye to Rachel, thanked Niall, and hurried out of the bay.
Gary said nothing as they drove to the Boston Medical Center. Dan was apparently lost in his own thoughts, and Gary let him cogitate.
Dan’s cogitations had proved invaluable so far.
As soon as they entered Del’s lab, Dan headed straight for the evidence bags.
“Good to see you again so soon,” Del murmured with a hint of a smile.
Dan ignored him. He picked up one of the bags and turned it over. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” There was a hint of pride in his voice.
Gary walked over to him. “Now tell me why you wanted to see them.”
Dan beamed. “There’s no mud.” He held out the bag, and through the clear plastic Gary saw that the soles, although dirty, didn’t have a trace of mud. A small pad of chewing gum was lodged between two of the treads.
Gary shrugged. “Maybe because it all came off on the car mat? There was a lot of mud on that. And on the gas pedal, remember?” Except even as he said the words, he dismissed them.
Dan was onto something.
“Sure, but all of it?” Dan stared at him.
“And even if that were true, there’d still be some in the treads.
Besides, the only way to get rid of mud is to wash it all off, or leave it to fall out on its own, and that takes forever.
” He peered intently at the soles. “Can Rachel send you the photos of the footwell and pedals?”
“Tell her to send them to my tablet,” Del suggested.
Gary called her and made his request.
“Why do you want to see these? Sending them now.”
A moment later, Del tapped on the screen of his tablet. “Got them.”
“Can I see, please?” Dan held out his hand for the tablet, then stared at the images.
“Have you found something?” Rachel demanded.
“Put her on speaker,” Dan said in an urgent tone. Gary did as instructed. “Rachel? This is Dan Porter. Something doesn’t add up.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Your images show clear prints from the sneakers, right? But I’m looking at them and there’s no mud. Plus they have something that isn’t on your photos.”
“And what’s that?”
“Chewing gum. There was no sign of it on the prints photo.”
“So? He stepped on some chewing gum.”
“When? After he died?”
There was a pause.
“Now wait just one minute. We saw Ray on CCTV. He was found with a gun at the wheel of Wilmer’s car, wearing the same clothes he wore on the CCTV footage. What if the chewing gum was on the pedal?”
Before Gary could shoot down that theory, Dan got in first.
“If that were the case there’d be some sign of it. That stuff gets everywhere. But it still doesn’t explain the lack of mud.”
“Rachel, we’ll call you back, all right?” Gary finished the call.
Dan glanced at Del. “Can you get DNA from a sample of chewing gum?”
“Sure—in a month’s time. And if you want to learn more about this guy’s movements, then may I suggest you start looking for a bar?”
“Why?” Gary inquired.
“Because he’d drunk a skinful not long before he died.”
Dan was back at the evidence bags containing Ray’s clothing. “Del? You said you’ve already processed these, right?”
“Yes.”
He peered at Gary. “So that means I can touch them?”
Gary nodded. “Go for it.”
Dan broke the seal on one of the bags and removed the clothing. He held the black jacket in his hands, his eyes closed. Gary watched, his skin prickling on his arms. Dan put the jacket down, then picked up the black tee. More minutes ticked by, and Gary prayed it wouldn’t be a bust.
Dan’s brow furrowed. “This is all wrong.” He met Gary’s gaze. “But Del’s correct. We should learn everything we can about Mr. Eddie Ray.”
“What do your senses tell you?”
“I’m getting a feel for him, that’s all.”
“And?” Gary pressed.
Dan ran his fingers through his brushed-up hair. “I’ve worked on a couple of cases now involving murder. I’m not saying every murderer sends out the same vibes, okay? But yeah, there is that certain something they have in common. Not that I could tell you precisely what it was, but—”
“Dan.” Gary grabbed his arm. “Spit it out before I have to kill you.”
That earned him a chuckle, but then Dan’s expression sobered.
“I don’t care what the evidence shows. Eddie Ray is no killer.”