Read Online White Tombs by Christopher Valen - Free Book Online Page B

unwavering hazel eyes. “We’ve worked a number of cases together before, John. I consider us friends. So I know you’d never suggest that I would. I’m also aware that the mayor is looking for a new running mate and I’m first in line. So before you stick your foot in your mouth again and imply that I’m concerned about the direction the political winds are blowing in this town, I want to be clear that I’ll file the same time you do.”
    Canfield was the Ramsey County Attorney. Minnesota didn’t use the term district attorney. He had worked in the Prosecution Division of the Ramsey County Attorney’s Office, and had eventually become assistant Ramsey County attorney before being elected to his present position. Attorneys in the Charging and Trial Section of the Prosecution Division handled most of the adult level prosecutions for child abuse, sexual assault, theft, robbery, burglary and murder.
    Canfield had been asked several times to run for higher office. He had all the necessary qualifications. He dressed well, wore his dark brown hair just long enough to be fashionable, and could give a terrific speech without offending anyone or saying anything of substance. But he had never expressed a desire to run for higher office. Santana admired him for it.
    “I appreciate your candor, Pete. But I’m getting a lot of heat.”
    “Since when did that start bothering you?”
    Santana held up the evidence envelope. “The lab will match this bullet with Córdova’s gun.”
    “If you’ve got a problem with that and want me to run interference for you, just so say. I’m not going to pin the murders on Córdova unless you can prove he’s guilty.” Canfield took another sip of coffee. “God, this is awful.” He headed toward one of the sinks on the counter. “I hate to admit it, but I may have to switch to hot chocolate.”
    L arge flakes of snow fell as Santana drove back to headquarters. He took the elevator up to the evidence room on the second floor where he filled out a property-booking sheet on the .22 caliber bullet removed from Pérez’s brain. He placed the envelope with the bullet in a temporary storage locker where all evidence was stored until the property clerk could log it into the evidence room. The lockers had a self-locking system that could not be reopened from the outside once the door was closed. Each locker had a second door on the property room side that the property officer could open to remove the evidence. The officer could then reach through and release the door latch so the locker could be used again.
    Santana asked to see the sexually explicit photo Gamboni had found in Mendoza’s loft and the items found on Córdova the night he was shot. The property officer brought him the photo and Córdova’s wallet, notebook, and keys. Santana found Córdova’s address in the wallet. Then he signed a release for the notebook and the photo and went over to the crime lab adjacent to the evidence room. He pressed the speakerphone button on the wall outside the lab and identified himself.
    When the door buzzed open, he entered and found Tony Novak sitting on a metal stool under a bank of fluorescent lights near a large L-shaped metal desk and a couple of four drawer metal filing cabinets. The room smelled of chemicals and looked like a chemistry classroom minus the student desks. The gray laminate counters were cluttered with microscopes, beakers, volumetric and Erlenmeyer flasks for mixing and boiling substances, graduated cylinders, test tubes, small, concave dishes called watch glasses for dissolving powders and viewing materials under a microscope, a vacuum kit for picking up trace evidence, a television monitor and two VCRs, and a large gas chromatograph linked to a mass spectrometer, often called a GC-mass-spec, for separating and identifying organic substances.
    Santana had worked with Novak before and respected his intelligence. A former Golden Glove champion in the late 1970s and early