With two fingers Bosch pulled Blitzstein’s dollar bill out of his shirt pocket and held it out.
“Shit,” Cantor said. “You’ve been carrying it in your pocket?”
“Just a couple minutes. It’s been in our suspect’s pocket and he just handled it. I’m looking for anything and everything. GSR, blood, anything. We think he killed his wife this morning but we’re having a hard time making the jump from thinking to knowing. He’s got a big-time lawyer heading our way as we speak.”
Cantor grabbed a pair of tweezers off the lab table and used them to take the dollar bill from Bosch.
“Can you do it?” Bosch urged.
“Yes, I can do it. But the prospect of contamination is very high.”
“It’s unofficial. If you find something, we’ll make the arrest and do it all over again according to protocol.”
“All right, then.”
“Good, Ronnie. I’ll go get the hot chocolate and be right back.”
Gunn offered to make the hot chocolate run but Bosch told her to stay in the lab and watch Cantor work. He said she might learn something. Going for hot chocolate wouldn’t teach her a thing.
Bosch was gone fifteen minutes, and when he came back with two black coffees and one hot chocolate, Cantor said he was finished analyzing the one-dollar bill.
He put the foam cup containing his drink off to the side and gave his report. He spoke without inflection, using the tone and words he employed when testifying in court.
“SEM analysis shows quantifiable amounts of primer, powder, projectile material and the products of their combustion. While the amounts identified in this analysis are low, I would be confident in testifying that the last person to handle this currency had recently discharged a firearm.”
Bosch felt a stab of excitement go through his chest. For a moment he visualized the scene of Tracey Blitzstein sitting dead in her car. He nodded to himself. Her killer wouldn’t get away with it.
“Thank you, Ronnie,” he said.
“I’m not finished,” Cantor said. “Further analysis reveals microscopic particles of blood in the material being examined as well.”
Bosch held up his coffee cup to Cantor.
“Cheers, man. We gotta go hook this guy up.”
Bosch and Gunn quickly left the lab. While they waited for the elevator, they talked about what needed to be done next. First, they would officially charge David Blitzstein with murder and put a no-bail hold on him. Mickey Haller would not be getting him out today. That was for sure. Second, they would seek another search warrant allowing them to use adhesive tape discs and chemically treated swabs to collect gunshot residue from the suspect’s hands and arm. They would additionally ask the judge to allow for a luminol test, which would reveal microscopic blood spatter on the suspect’s body as well.
Relief showed in their faces. They felt good about where things stood with Blitzstein. Less than four hours into the investigation they were about to make the arrest.
“That was smooth,” Gunn said. “You were smooth, Harry. Kiz Rider was right about you.”
“Yeah? What did she say?”
“She told me never to play poker with you.”
Bosch smiled. The elevator opened and they got on.
About the Author
Michael Connelly is the author of the recent #1
