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Authors: Wyborn Senna
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clock near the computer monitor. She had half an hour to get to 726 Higuera Street for her work-related date. It occurred to her to ask Nancy if she’d heard about Barbie collector Gayle Grace being murdered in upstate New York or Midge fanatic Hailey Raphael being bludgeoned to death in Tucson, but she was out of time. She released the pressure from the receiver cup, disconnected the recorder, wished Nancy a speedy recovery from her cold, and said good-bye.
16
After Hailey’s parents were had been led away from the crime scene on East Ocotillo Drive, forensic technicians in Tucson staked out the Raphael property, forming a perimeter along the road, down the side of the garage, across the backyard, and back to the front curb.
Bagging anything found on or near the lawn, driveway, and sidewalk, the force worked tirelessly, tweezing anything that might be important. Cigarette butts, strands of hair, bits of paper—all of it was collected in an attempt to determine who had killed the young schoolteacher who loved nothing more than eating popcorn while watching Westerns and volunteering her time on weekends to Meals on Wheels.
Everything outside the house that could be considered potential evidence was photographed and marked on a sketch. Collected, initialed, sealed, and dated bags went into the van. Two cotton-gloved investigators focused their attention on the left-side garage entrance, where the body-width walkway created cramped working quarters. Alek Bryce headed down the narrow path first. He stopped near the garage door and squatted down in the pale gravel. Scanning the area, he stopped and used his forceps to collect a long, vibrant strand of hair lying in pebbles.
“Get Sketch and Viper,” he said to his partner Eitan. “Got a blond beauty here.”
The first team of investigators combed the workbench inside the garage. An empty spot on the pegboard filled with hanging tools was photographed and sketched.
The entire garage was scanned visually with a laser for latent prints. Since the bench was dark, white powder was applied to the surface for contrast. Transparent tape was used to lift latent prints, which were then placed on dark backing cards for contrast. The garage floor was dusty, and examination yielded several footprints. Photos were taken using a manual-focus camera and a tripod to capture each impression directly from above.
Inside the home, a second photographer was shooting prints on the hallway carpeting, positioning the camera flash at a ten to fifteen degree angle to enhance the detail of the impressions. He added a few additional angles, moving the light and adjusting the sunscreen in a progressive path toward the laundry room.
Iden “Sketch” Wayne stood in the entrance to the laundry room and graphed out the small area. Clothes remained neatly folded atop the dryer, which had long since gone quiet. Through the cracks between the door hinges, Wayne noticed the lidded hamper, marred by smudges and blood spray.
The murder victim, Hailey Raphael, lay in a semi-fetal position on her right side, facing him. He glanced quickly, then sketched roughly, capturing her as best he could. He had an embarrassing habit others knew nothing about to prevent himself from getting sick. By squinting so he only saw through a watery, blurred field of vision, he could accomplish the necessary strokes on his pad without becoming overwhelmed by the blood.
Down went impressions of the fresh, young face. Down went the splayed hair. Down went the crushed skull. Down went the ravaged chest. Down went the battered arms and legs. Down went the bloodied clothing. Down went the bare feet. Wayne exhaled and stepped along the baseboards, moving toward the top of Hailey’s bloodied head. He continued along the wall to the washing machine, which still had its lid up.
Bryce stood in the doorway, watching his colleague. “Anything in the machine?”
Wayne leaned forward.
There were ten pennies inside the empty
16
After Hailey’s parents were had been led away from the crime scene on East Ocotillo Drive, forensic technicians in Tucson staked out the Raphael property, forming a perimeter along the road, down the side of the garage, across the backyard, and back to the front curb.
Bagging anything found on or near the lawn, driveway, and sidewalk, the force worked tirelessly, tweezing anything that might be important. Cigarette butts, strands of hair, bits of paper—all of it was collected in an attempt to determine who had killed the young schoolteacher who loved nothing more than eating popcorn while watching Westerns and volunteering her time on weekends to Meals on Wheels.
Everything outside the house that could be considered potential evidence was photographed and marked on a sketch. Collected, initialed, sealed, and dated bags went into the van. Two cotton-gloved investigators focused their attention on the left-side garage entrance, where the body-width walkway created cramped working quarters. Alek Bryce headed down the narrow path first. He stopped near the garage door and squatted down in the pale gravel. Scanning the area, he stopped and used his forceps to collect a long, vibrant strand of hair lying in pebbles.
“Get Sketch and Viper,” he said to his partner Eitan. “Got a blond beauty here.”
The first team of investigators combed the workbench inside the garage. An empty spot on the pegboard filled with hanging tools was photographed and sketched.
The entire garage was scanned visually with a laser for latent prints. Since the bench was dark, white powder was applied to the surface for contrast. Transparent tape was used to lift latent prints, which were then placed on dark backing cards for contrast. The garage floor was dusty, and examination yielded several footprints. Photos were taken using a manual-focus camera and a tripod to capture each impression directly from above.
Inside the home, a second photographer was shooting prints on the hallway carpeting, positioning the camera flash at a ten to fifteen degree angle to enhance the detail of the impressions. He added a few additional angles, moving the light and adjusting the sunscreen in a progressive path toward the laundry room.
Iden “Sketch” Wayne stood in the entrance to the laundry room and graphed out the small area. Clothes remained neatly folded atop the dryer, which had long since gone quiet. Through the cracks between the door hinges, Wayne noticed the lidded hamper, marred by smudges and blood spray.
The murder victim, Hailey Raphael, lay in a semi-fetal position on her right side, facing him. He glanced quickly, then sketched roughly, capturing her as best he could. He had an embarrassing habit others knew nothing about to prevent himself from getting sick. By squinting so he only saw through a watery, blurred field of vision, he could accomplish the necessary strokes on his pad without becoming overwhelmed by the blood.
Down went impressions of the fresh, young face. Down went the splayed hair. Down went the crushed skull. Down went the ravaged chest. Down went the battered arms and legs. Down went the bloodied clothing. Down went the bare feet. Wayne exhaled and stepped along the baseboards, moving toward the top of Hailey’s bloodied head. He continued along the wall to the washing machine, which still had its lid up.
Bryce stood in the doorway, watching his colleague. “Anything in the machine?”
Wayne leaned forward.
There were ten pennies inside the empty
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