Don't Know Jack

CHAPTER TWENTY

Roscoe came back five minutes later, looking unconcerned. Kim said, “Beverly, we can figure this out. You’re looking for fingerprints, but what you really want to find is Sylvia, right?”

“Duh,” Roscoe said.

“Sylvia seemed out of place here, don’t you think? You said she wasn’t a local. So why did she come here? With respect, Margrave isn’t exactly the town every sophisticated girl like Sylvia dreams about, is it? Surely she didn’t just get off a bus and walk into town looking for a job in the local police station?”

Kim saw the briefest glint of surprise.

“What?” she asked.

Then the surprise softened to puzzlement. Roscoe leafed through the papers in front of her.

Gaspar said, “What?”

No answer. Kim waited to explain how to find Sylvia.

Tax returns.

Unlike fingerprints, tax returns weren’t kept forever. The IRS normally held them for three years. Prior returns had to be somewhere, and Kim knew where they hid.

And tax returns knew where Sylvia hid.

The clock on the wall showed 11:06 a.m. What could the GHP possibly be doing with that Chevy for more than thirty minutes before notifying the correct homicide team? Sure, the first officer on the scene didn’t want to make a mistake and set the wrong jurisdiction in motion. But this was GHP’s beat. They had to know who to call. Even those two yokels from yesterday couldn’t be that dumb.

Then Roscoe sighed and said, “Sylvia Black applied for her job here because Finlay recommended us. Sylvia had been living in DC and wanted to relocate. He told her he’d come from Margrave. Made it sound idyllic, she claimed. Peaceful. Just what she wanted.”

And there it was. The connection. Under different circumstances, Kim might have cheered.

***

Finlay’s name roused Gaspar pretty fast. He handed the personnel folders back to Roscoe and asked, “Did Sylvia say why she wanted to relocate?”

Roscoe hesitated before answering.

“Jealous boyfriend,” she said.

“She give you a name?” Gaspar asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Not Finlay himself, right?”

“No.”

“How do you know, if she didn’t give you a name?”

Roscoe didn’t answer. Kim sipped her coffee, unsure. Even five years ago, Finlay was a long way up the food chain from an aspiring administrative aide. Unless he had some sort of personal relationship with her. But she couldn’t see Finlay risking everything for Sylvia Black. He seemed too, well, smart, at the very least.

She asked, “Did you ever ask Finlay about Sylvia? For a reference, maybe?”

Roscoe considered that one for a while, searching her memory. Her tone softer, sentences slower, she said, “I don’t think so. We had an opening. Sylvia applied. We liked her. Her background checked out. There didn’t seem to be any reason to go further, I guess.”

Gaspar asked, “How did Sylvia know you had a job opening?”

“I don’t know,” Roscoe said. “Five years is a long time to remember details like that.”

Gaspar asked, “How long have Sylvia’s fingerprints been missing?”

“No idea.”

“That’s a lot of screw ups on your watch, Chief. Your one and only prisoner escapes by walking out the door. With the full cooperation of your desk sergeant. Prints and print reports were removed from the accused’s confidential file. You don’t even know when that happened, let alone how. Awfully convenient, don’t you think? ”

“You think I pulled Sylvia’s personnel file out today just to screw with you?”

Kim asked, “Why did you? Retrieve the file today, I mean? You booked Sylvia, right? Took prints? Why pull the old file? Looking for confirmation? Discrepancies? Or what?”

Roscoe ran her fingers through both sides of her hair. “Or what, I guess.”

“Meaning?” Gaspar pressed.

Roscoe held up the papers she’d collected during her brief absence. “This is her booking file. We took new prints yesterday. Sent them in last night. Report from AFIS came back just before you arrived. They say no such person is on record.”

She tossed the folder across to Gaspar. It landed in his lap and slid to the floor. He bent to pick it up, and winced. Something wrong with his right side. Not just his leg.

“Walk me through it,” Kim said, and watched Roscoe’s body language. She figured Roscoe had sound instincts. And she’d been on the job a good long time. Pride and anger and duty and uncertainty all crossed her expressive face. She liked her independence. She hated that help was required. Kim understood.

Roscoe said, “I’ve always been careful about fingerprints. Even with DNA now, fingerprints still solve cases. Early in my career, it was my job to take prints, and handle the reports.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Gaspar said.

Roscoe smiled. The first genuine smile they’d seen from her today. She had a nice smile, Kim thought. Kind. Like a nurse in a dental office, maybe.

“But,” Roscoe said, drawing the word out and mocking Gaspar a little, as she stared directly at Kim, “I learned how important fingerprints really are when I met Jack Reacher.”

The statement startled. Not what they were expecting. Not at all. Roscoe smiled. She enjoyed the upper hand. Who didn’t?

“How so?” Kim asked.

“You know about Joe Reacher’s murder now, right?”

“We have some open questions,” Kim said. “But we know Jack was mistakenly accused and later released when his alibi was confirmed.”

“Yes,” Roscoe said. “Jack Reacher was innocent.”

Kim said nothing. She doubted Jack Reacher was innocent, whether he had an alibi or not. Jack Reacher hadn’t been innocent since Moses was a boy. But Kim need to kill time until the call came. Reacher was a better topic than the Chevy.

Roscoe took another breath, and held it, and let it go. She said, “Joe Reacher’s fingerprints weren’t processed correctly. We got a false negative. And we didn’t know that until after Jack’s alibi had been confirmed. So we lost a lot of valuable time.” Her voice trailed off into memories. Whether good or bad, Kim couldn’t say.

Gaspar said, “Not to mention you accused and arrested the wrong dude.”

Roscoe flushed crimson. “If you’re trying to provoke me, Agent Gaspar, keep it up.”

Gaspar gave it right back. “You did accuse Jack Reacher of killing his brother, didn’t you? And you were wrong. You’re telling me you did that based on a false fingerprint report?”

Roscoe shoved back, rapid fire. “I didn’t accuse Jack Reacher of anything. Chief Morrison accused him.”

“And then Chief Morrison got killed. So let’s see: Bad fingerprint work, two murders, one false arrest. All coincidence? Or Margrave PD incompetence?”

“There was no incompetence.”

“Who was dirty, then? Finlay?”

Silence in the room. Bewilderment in Roscoe’s eyes.

She said, “Finlay? Dirty?”