“Yes. They had the Jordans’ DNA on bloody clothing that Lola Daggette was washing in the bathroom of her halfway house,” Jaime agrees.
“I can see why the GBI, why the prosecutor, wouldn’t have been unduly caught up in the details of the alarm system,” I remark.
“I’m curious about why you’re caught up in these details.” She reaches for her glass.
“An intruder knowing or not knowing whether the alarm was set tells us something about this person.” I get in deeper, as Jaime knew I would. “Do you happen to know if the keypad was visible from outside the door? Could an intruder have looked through the glass and seen the alarm was or wasn’t set?”
“It’s not easy to tell from the photographs. But I think it’s possible someone could have looked through the glass and seen the light on the keypad was either green or red, indicating the status of the alarm.”
“These details are important,” I explain. “They tell us something about the mind-set of the killer. Was the Jordan house random? Was it luck of the draw? Did someone break out the glass of the kitchen door and unlock it, deciding, if an alarm went off, to run like hell? Or did this individual have reason to know there was a good chance the alarm wasn’t going to be set? Or could the person see it wasn’t set? I assume the Jordan house still exists?”
“The kitchen has been remodeled. I’m not sure what else has been, but there’s an outbuilding in back that didn’t used to be there. The original kitchen door is gone, replaced by a solid one. The alarm company used by the current owner is Southern Alarm. There are signs posted on the property and stickers on the windows.”
“I bet there are.”
“We’ve found nothing that might indicate what the facts are about the Jordans’ alarm system except that the company was Southern Cross Security.”
“Never heard of it.”
“A small local company that specialized in installations in historic buildings where the main priority was not to damage original woodwork, that sort of thing.” Jaime takes another sip of her drink. “It went bankrupt several years ago when the economy tanked and real estate values went into the toilet, especially for grand old homes from the past. A lot of these mansions are now condos or office spaces.”
“This is what Marino found out.”
“I’m wondering why it matters who found it out.”
“I ask because he’s an experienced and thorough investigator. Information he gets as a rule is reliable.”
She studies me as if what I just said isn’t true. She’s checking to see if I’m jealous. She expects I’m unhappy that Marino is here because of her and planning to resign from his full-time position at the CFC. Maybe she’s experiencing a secret satisfaction that she’s stolen Marino from me, but jealousy is not what I’m feeling. I’m unhappy about her influence on him, and not for any reason she might divine. I don’t trust her with his well-being or with the well-being of anyone.
“Did you ask Colin Dengate if he knew anything about the alarm system?” I ask her. “Did you ask if he might have heard the investigators discussing why the alarm wasn’t set?”
“Any matters relating to the police investigation he doesn’t share with me,” she says. “He directs me to the source, which is proper but not helpful. Not even cooperative, if we’re honest about it. He’s allowed to talk and voice his opinions but chooses not to with me.”
“Does he talk to Marino?”
“I wouldn’t have Marino approach him directly. That wouldn’t be appropriate. Colin should talk to me. Or you.”
“What kind of doctor was Clarence Jordan?” I ask, as if what happened to him has become my responsibility.
“Had a very successful family practice on Washington Avenue. You don’t murder someone like Clarence Jordan, and you don’t kill his wife.” Jaime’s eyes are steady on me as she talks and drinks. “You certainly don’t kill his beautiful little children. People aren’t going to want to accept that Lola is innocent. Around here, she’s Jack the Ripper.”
“Your method for inviting me to help you as an expert isn’t exactly what I’m accustomed to,” I finally say.
“There’s more than one thing going on. By getting you down here, I’m helping both of us.”
“Not sure I see that. What I do see is you know how to work Marino. Or, better put, you still know how to work him,” I remark.
“You’re a person of interest in a federal investigation, Kay. I wouldn’t trivialize that fact.”
“It’s also pro forma, and you know that better than most,” I say. “In light of who I am, and especially because of my affiliation with the Department of Defense, any allegation has to be looked into. If I’m accused of being the Easter Bunny, it has to be checked.”
“You wouldn’t want it in the news that you’re being accused of anything at all. Certainly not accused of attacking someone and maiming that person. Wouldn’t be pleasant to wake up to that headline.”
“I hope you’re not threatening me. Because that comment sounds like one a defense attorney might make,” I reply.
“Good God, no. Why would I threaten you?”
“I think it’s obvious why you might.”
“Of course I’m not threatening you. In fact, I’m in a position to help you,” she says. “I might be the only person in a position to do so.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. I don’t see how Jaime Berger can help me, but I don’t ask.
“A lot of people might be sympathetic to Dawn Kincaid,” she says. “In my opinion, you might be better off if your attempted murder case never sees a jury.”
“So she can get away with it? I fail to see how that’s helpful.”
“Does it matter which case she’s punished for, as long as she is?”
“She’ll be tried on cases other than mine. For homicide. Four counts of it.” I assume this is what she’s alluding to.
“A shame she has the scapegoat of Jack Fielding for those homicides, the Mensa Murders.” She stares thoughtfully at what’s left of her Scotch. “Blame those sadistic crimes on a dead man who was a bodybuilder, an unstable and aggressive forensic expert who was involved in a number of activities that will offend your average juror.”
I am silent.
“If the worst happens and the murder cases don’t go well, that rather much leaves you hanging out to dry. If Dawn manages to successfully blame the murders on Jack, you have no case, in my professional opinion,” Jaime says, and now she’s the prosecutor talking. “If jurors believe Jack was the killer, then it will appear you attacked an innocent woman who happened to show up on your property to retrieve her dog. If nothing else, you’re going to get sued and it’s going to be expensive and ugly.” She’s the defense attorney again.
“It wouldn’t be good if the belief is that Jack was the killer,” I admit.
“What would help your case is a silver bullet, don’t you agree?” She smiles at me as if ours is a pleasant conversation.
“Yes. We always hope for silver bullets. I’m not sure they exist, except in folklore.”
“It just so happens they can exist,” Jaime says. “And we happen to have one.”
13
She lets me know happily, confidently, that DNA results from recent retesting of evidence connects Dawn Kincaid to the Jordan murders.
“Swabs and samples taken in the Jordan house, including blood from the handle of a knife, samples that came back as unknown at the time of the murders, are a match,” Jaime explains, as I check my iPhone for
