The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

She screwed the cap off her own water and gulped down half the bottle before she took a spot across from me.

“Where’s Finn now?” I asked.

“Still in the interrogation room with Morris. He’s never asked for a lawyer, but both Tom and Hilary Roth are scrambling to get him one. Finn said he’s tired of saying the same thing over and over. And you know what? I’m tired of hearing it.”

“Can’t you let him go?” I said. “I could take him back to my house, let him play with his dog, ask him a few questions. But I need to know about this evidence first. Otherwise, I’ll hear the same things, too.”

She held the cold bottle against her forehead. “If you hadn’t been so helpful to us in the past—especially to Chief Baca—I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you anything. I swear the chief would hire you as a consultant if he could get away with it.”

“That’s never happening. But I care about this kid, so anything I can do to help, I will. What’s this evidence?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We found Finn’s prints in Tom’s car.”

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“We can’t say when they got there. See, that’s the problem with prints. They could have been left on the door handle three days or three weeks ago. But we have other evidence. First off, the lab found traces of baking soda and potassium chloride on the hoodie.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“Those residues indicate he was in a car when air bags deployed,” she said.

“So he did hurt his head in the car wreck?” This is what I’d feared all along.

“Not so fast. I’ll get to his head injury. More important, we also got the DNA back from the blood on the hoodie. It belonged to the victim.”

I gripped the water bottle tightly and stared down at the scarred Formica-topped table. “You’re saying you’re positive he was in the car when Nolan Roth was shot?”

“Or was there immediately afterward,” she said. “His sweatshirt came in contact with the victim’s blood. Problem is, we found no blood on the sleeve. If he held a gun and shot Roth at close range, we would have found spatter on the sleeve.”

“So this is good news?” I said.

“It’s a bit confusing,” she replied.

“No kidding. Can you make it a little clearer?” I asked.

“The gun was wiped clean, for one thing,” she said. “Question. You were there when Tom took the gun out of the backpack. How did he pick it up?”

“He put his index finger through the trigger guard—like I’ve seen on cop shows,” I said. “He carried it to the other room like that.”

“He still could have wiped it down before he put it in his gun safe, though he denies doing this. I have no reason to doubt his word. We did find a smudge on the trigger consistent with him carrying the gun with his finger.”

“Tom may not tell you everything he knows, but he wouldn’t outright lie,” I said.

“Like I said, I agree. There’s more information in Finn’s favor. We know Roth was shot after the air bags deployed because we found his blood all over them. If Finn injured his head and the doctor who examined him believes he was knocked unconscious, could he really have woken up in a stupor, shot Roth, wiped the gun down, yet failed to wipe off the other surfaces he touched?”

I nodded, considering this. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. And why not ditch the bloody sweatshirt if he was with-it enough to wipe prints off the gun?”

“See? We’re on the same page. There’s something else very interesting—and it’s the reason I’m completely against arresting Finn.” Candace sipped her water. “I believe I’ve come up with a scenario that fits the evidence better than Finn being the shooter.”

I leaned forward, excited. “Really? What is it?”

“We found skin cells, a small amount of blood and one sandy hair clinging to the deflated air bag in the spot matching up to a round trace of potassium chloride and baking soda on the dashboard beneath the deflated air bag—which means it was deposited there with force after deployment. The blood and hair didn’t belong to the victim. We also found saliva on the air bag and it wasn’t Roth’s either.”

I was the one who was confused now. “The air bag would have prevented Finn from hitting the dashboard. Are you telling me he hit his head after the crash? How?”

“The air bag might have malfunctioned and he could have been injured in the crash, but we found no evidence to support this. Side and front air bags all inflated and deflated properly. Let me demonstrate what I believe might have happened—something I hope the evidence will back up.” She stood and came over to my side of the table. “Sit back in the chair like you’re a passenger in Tom’s car.”

I did as she asked, folding my hands in my lap, feet flat on the floor.

“You’ve just wrecked, air bags are popping out like inflating parachutes. You’re dazed.” She stared at me. “Come on. Look up at me like you’re dazed.”

I met her eyes. “Just pretend I’m dazed.”

“Anyway, someone comes up to the passenger-side window and you think this person’s a Good Samaritan. Maybe this person even motions for you to roll down the window—we did find the window rolled down, by the way, and Finn’s print on the button. You comply. You’re even grateful. Then this happens.” Candace put her left hand behind the back of my head and pushed my head forward. “Bam!” She shouted so loudly I jumped in my seat. “You are now lights-out thanks to this person you thought came to rescue you.”

“You mean someone smashed his head—”

“Please. Let me finish my demonstration,” she said, sounding excited. “This is helping me picture the scene. Now, lean forward like you’re passed out on the deflated air bag.”

I did, and from the corner of my eye I saw Candace pull her gun from her holster with her right hand. As fast as lightning, she pointed the weapon at what I assumed was our imaginary driver. “Another bam, a different kind. A horrible kind. This time Roth is shot in the right temple.”

She holstered her gun and I sat up, stunned and a little alarmed by her reenactment.

“You really think that’s what happened?” I said.

Candace wore a satisfied smile. “You wanna bet once Finn’s DNA results come back we’ll find his hair and saliva right where I said it was. And when we receive the autopsy report, the trajectory of the bullet will confirm my theory. The evidence is there. I know it.”

“You believe you have concrete evidence to prove Finn is innocent?” I said.

She nodded. “I do. This is good news, Jillian. I’ve had a gut feeling about Finn’s innocence and now I believe I’ve found what I needed to back up my instincts.”

“Thank you for working so hard. This is a huge relief. Can he come home with me, then?” I said.

“I can’t in good conscience hold him with what we’ve got. But I have to convince Morris to let him go because, of course, he thinks the kid’s guilty.”

“Why? You said there was no blood on Finn’s sleeve. And can you even tie the gun to him?” I said.

“Nope,” she said. “I checked and the gun is not in the firearm database.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

Candace said, “One way to track a gun is to see if the ballistic properties have been entered into the national database after a weapon has been used in a crime. Since this gun hasn’t been involved in any crime we know about and since the serial number was filed away and thus we don’t know who purchased it, we have absolutely no way of tracing it.”

“But you know it’s the gun that killed Nolan Roth?” I asked.

“Yes. But that’s all. Now, I’m dealing with Morris being Morris. I explained my theory to him, but he tries not to let hard evidence get in his way.” She smiled. “He bothers the heck out of me most of the time, but deep down I still like him. He knows when to give in, and he’ll give on this one eventually.”

“You can really get him to see things your way?” I asked.

“I am becoming a master at getting Morris to see things my way.” She smiled, grabbed her water bottle and started for the door.