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Authors: Cassie Miles
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license.”
“I can describe him,” Kelly said. “He has white hair.”
“Already have that description. He’s not an albino, is he?”
“No, it’s prematurely gray. I’d guess that he’s only in his thirties.” She dug into her purse. “And I have his business card. Can you get fingerprints off that?”
“I can try.” O’Shea took the card from her, holding it by the edges.“Don’t count on getting a positive identification. Real life isn’t like those forensics TV shows. Okay, are we done with Trask?”
“Not yet.” Nick wasn’t ready to let this go. “It must mean something that you can’t find any information on him.”
“Simple conclusion.” O’Shea deposited the card in a clear plastic bag he took from his jean’s pocket. “Y. E. Trask is a fake name.”
“Can wetell who he works for?”
“Do you have somebody in mind?”
“Barry Radcliff.” If Trask was one of the minions or henchmen that Rod was worried about, Kelly might be in danger.
“I’ll check it out.” O’Shea’s gaze darted around the room. His new evidence must be really significant. He looked as if he was jumping out of his skin.
“Tell us,” Nick said.
“The autopsy report. It’samazing that we have results already. Rod said he’d pull some strings, but I’m impressed, and so was the medical examiner.”
“What did they find?” Nick asked.
“I’ll show you.”
O’Shea pulled Nick out from behind his desk and had him stand beside it. He pointed to the floor. “He fell here, right?”
“Yes.” Nick’s voice was terse. He didn’t want to reimagine that scene.
“Andthe blood was here. Not tracked all over the room.”
“That’s correct.”
“According to the autopsy report, the path of the bullet indicated a slightly upward trajectory.” Using his index finger to represent the barrel of a gun, O’Shea pointed to the right side of Nick’s body. “If Samuel committed suicide, the weapon would have been approximately here, and then fired.”
Nick’s interestwas aroused. “If he committed suicide? I thought that was a given.”
“Maybe not,” O’Shea said. “The autopsy showed that the bullet went up. That’s not the natural path for someone shooting at himself. Your hand would point down.”
“Not necessarily.” Nick swallowed hard. Imagining his uncle killing himself was painful. “He could have aimed up.”
“Try it.” O’Shea stepped back. “Pretendyou’re pointing a gun at yourself.”
Nick held up his right hand, but he didn’t need to aim it. He had the answer already. “Samuel was murdered.”
Rod Esterhauser shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“My uncle was left-handed.”
He should have realized last night that he’d taken the weapon from Samuel’s right hand. They’d wasted a day of valuable investigative time. Nick didn’t knowhow the murderer had gotten away without being seen. And he didn’t know the motive. But he was 100 percent certain that his uncle had been killed.
This changed everything.
* * *
K ELLY WAS ANXIOUS TO GO HOME to Serena’s farm. The chaos of meandering goats and llamas and kids would be a welcome relief from an investigation that had gone into high gear with a combination of policedetectives, CBI agents and more forensic researchers. She was glad that many of them wore jackets with the initials of their department on the back, allowing her to identify their jobs.
Nick stood in the eye of this storm. Though he never raised his voice or was unreasonable, he was the unacknowledged leader. Nobody was required to salute him or call him “sir,” but they looked to him forguidance, and so did she. She’d promised Nick that she wouldn’t leave until O’Shea had more information on Trask.
In Nick’s office, she sat quietly, watching and waiting as the minutes ticked slowly by. It was her nature to be patient, but time dragged. When she looked through the window, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t yet
“I can describe him,” Kelly said. “He has white hair.”
“Already have that description. He’s not an albino, is he?”
“No, it’s prematurely gray. I’d guess that he’s only in his thirties.” She dug into her purse. “And I have his business card. Can you get fingerprints off that?”
“I can try.” O’Shea took the card from her, holding it by the edges.“Don’t count on getting a positive identification. Real life isn’t like those forensics TV shows. Okay, are we done with Trask?”
“Not yet.” Nick wasn’t ready to let this go. “It must mean something that you can’t find any information on him.”
“Simple conclusion.” O’Shea deposited the card in a clear plastic bag he took from his jean’s pocket. “Y. E. Trask is a fake name.”
“Can wetell who he works for?”
“Do you have somebody in mind?”
“Barry Radcliff.” If Trask was one of the minions or henchmen that Rod was worried about, Kelly might be in danger.
“I’ll check it out.” O’Shea’s gaze darted around the room. His new evidence must be really significant. He looked as if he was jumping out of his skin.
“Tell us,” Nick said.
“The autopsy report. It’samazing that we have results already. Rod said he’d pull some strings, but I’m impressed, and so was the medical examiner.”
“What did they find?” Nick asked.
“I’ll show you.”
O’Shea pulled Nick out from behind his desk and had him stand beside it. He pointed to the floor. “He fell here, right?”
“Yes.” Nick’s voice was terse. He didn’t want to reimagine that scene.
“Andthe blood was here. Not tracked all over the room.”
“That’s correct.”
“According to the autopsy report, the path of the bullet indicated a slightly upward trajectory.” Using his index finger to represent the barrel of a gun, O’Shea pointed to the right side of Nick’s body. “If Samuel committed suicide, the weapon would have been approximately here, and then fired.”
Nick’s interestwas aroused. “If he committed suicide? I thought that was a given.”
“Maybe not,” O’Shea said. “The autopsy showed that the bullet went up. That’s not the natural path for someone shooting at himself. Your hand would point down.”
“Not necessarily.” Nick swallowed hard. Imagining his uncle killing himself was painful. “He could have aimed up.”
“Try it.” O’Shea stepped back. “Pretendyou’re pointing a gun at yourself.”
Nick held up his right hand, but he didn’t need to aim it. He had the answer already. “Samuel was murdered.”
Rod Esterhauser shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“My uncle was left-handed.”
He should have realized last night that he’d taken the weapon from Samuel’s right hand. They’d wasted a day of valuable investigative time. Nick didn’t knowhow the murderer had gotten away without being seen. And he didn’t know the motive. But he was 100 percent certain that his uncle had been killed.
This changed everything.
* * *
K ELLY WAS ANXIOUS TO GO HOME to Serena’s farm. The chaos of meandering goats and llamas and kids would be a welcome relief from an investigation that had gone into high gear with a combination of policedetectives, CBI agents and more forensic researchers. She was glad that many of them wore jackets with the initials of their department on the back, allowing her to identify their jobs.
Nick stood in the eye of this storm. Though he never raised his voice or was unreasonable, he was the unacknowledged leader. Nobody was required to salute him or call him “sir,” but they looked to him forguidance, and so did she. She’d promised Nick that she wouldn’t leave until O’Shea had more information on Trask.
In Nick’s office, she sat quietly, watching and waiting as the minutes ticked slowly by. It was her nature to be patient, but time dragged. When she looked through the window, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t yet
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