“Sure, Evan. No problem,” Max said. “While you have it open, let the CSI guys take a quick look inside.”
Evan frowned and stalked off, fuming.
Once the family cleared the house, the forensic unit spread out inside. Two techs splintered off to search the barn and stables.
While I listened, hoping to hear someone call out that Delilah had been found, I walked Max and the lieutenant in charge of the CSI unit into the kitchen. There the flashlight sat on the counter, just as I remembered it. “Collect that,” I said. “Bag it. Then bring it out to Max’s car.”
“In here,” the lieutenant yelled. A forensic photographer responded. He took photos of the flashlight where it sat on the counter, then he moved to the side and an evidence collection technician took over.
A few minutes later, we had the flashlight in a paper bag. Max brought it out to his squad. We kept the bag open and looked inside, while I held Lily’s flashlight next to it. “Well, they sure look similar,” Max said. “Same size, material, shape, design, the on-off button is identical.”
“They’re a match,” I said. “This has to be Delilah’s.”
At that moment, I felt the burn of someone’s eyes trained on me. Evan Barstow, his face distorted by anger, stood on the side of the house watching us, his cell phone up to his ear. “I wonder if he’s calling a lawyer,” I whispered to Max.
The CSI lieutenant took the flashlight from us. He folded the top of the bag down and sealed it with tape. With a black marker, he noted the case number associated with Delilah’s missing person report on the bag. He jotted down that we recovered the evidence from the kitchen counter inside Evan Barstow’s home. Finally, he dated and signed the bag across the tape’s lowest edge.
“Give me that other flashlight,” he asked, and I did. He went through the same process, logging them both into evidence.
The flashlights processed, the search of the house continued, to my disappointment no one crying out that they’d found my sister. Meanwhile, a metal-sided shed a hundred yards away caught my eye. I walked over, hoping. I knew Delilah wasn’t inside when I realized the door stood wide open. I peeked in at saws, hammers, and other tools dangling from a pegboard. On the opposite wall hung a whip, horse leads, and an old buggy harness. I thought of the binding marks on the body in the field. Without touching it, I examined the black braided horse lead, wondering if it could cause such marks. My heart missed a few beats when I discovered a pile of coiled chains in one corner.
This was a sticky situation.
The warrant was tightly written. Limited to Delilah’s case, we were only authorized to confiscate certain things: the flashlight and any blue dresses that would fit a girl. White hair ribbons, tan sandals and white socks. We needed a convincing reason to legally take anything else into evidence.
On my knees, I inspected the chains, looking for any signs of skin or blood. I saw nothing except dirt and rust.
“What’s up?” Max asked when he walked into the shed.
“No one’s seen any signs of Delilah, I gather?” I had to ask, even though I knew he would have told me.
“No, nothing indicating she’s been here,” he said. “Did you find something?”
“Call the CSI folks in here. We’re going to take these chains and have them tested. The horse leads, too,” I said, staring up at him. “One or the other might match the binding marks on the girl in the field. The lab may be able to find DNA.”
Max frowned. “Every ranch in the county has chains in the barn. They’re used for towing and hauling. Everyone with a horse has leads.”
“I know, but—”
“Unless you see evidence that these particular chains were used in the commission of a crime, they aren’t covered by the warrant,” Max said softly, almost as if apologizing. “You know that, Clara. If you take them and they aren’t covered by the warrant, it’ll be an illegal seizure.”
“I know the law, but—”
“Then follow it,” Max said, an undercurrent of irritation in his voice.
I stared at him. “Max, we’re going to regret this. Once we leave, Evan can throw the chains in a vat and clean them. We need to take these now.”
“No,” he said. “We’re going to stick to the rules. I don’t want to do anything we’ll regret later.”
I stood, simmering. Three feet away from him, I frowned and said, “While I appreciate that you don’t want to stray outside the law, the overriding goal here is finding my sister while she’s still alive.”
Max’s expression softened, but he said, “Clara, taking the chains isn’t an option. We can’t. Evan may end up tied to a murder. I won’t let you jeopardize our case.”
I knew he was right, but it didn’t matter. I wanted those chains in evidence. Max stood in the way. I swallowed my anger and followed him out of the shed back to the house.
After the CSI unit finished up, Max handed Evan a list of what we’d taken, while I glanced back at the shed and again regretted leaving behind what might be valuable evidence.
“You’re gonna take good care of that stuff. Those clothes belong to my daughters,” Evan said, as he signed the inventory. “When you find out I have nothing to do with any of this, I’ll expect everything back in good shape.”
“We’re getting the flashlight processed ASAP. Fingerprints. DNA,” I said. “We’ll be getting in touch. Until then, a squad will watch your house. Consider yourself under surveillance.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Evan’s eyes drilled into me. “I want to be available to hear you explain to the judge that you lied to get in my house. Something about a sick sister?”
Max looked over at me, not pleased.
“I didn’t lie on the warrant,” I said. “Everything is factual. Evan, don’t leave
