“Do we have any previous record about Igor’s DNA?” He feverishly panted as he reached him.
“Yes, we do, and that’s why we could determine that it was him who was holding the gun— but why?” Leonardo wondered, turning his chair toward Maurizio.
“Were those traces gathered on a crime scene or were samples obtained as a routine when he got imprisoned?”
Leonardo grimaced and stood from the chair. “I believe they were taken as a sample when he was in jail, but I need to check on our archives.” He headed to his desk and reached his computer. “So, let’s see what we have here.”
“Igor Leonov...” Leonardo muttered as he browsed the archives. “Here, we have only one when he got arrested for drug dealing.”
“What about the traces collected on the car steering wheel? You said he was the driver, so there must have also been a record about it,” Maurizio’s voice flickered as his heart started to race.
Raising a finger mid-air, Leonardo turned to get the phone. “Miro took care of the collecting and reporting of those traces. I’ll ask him right away where it is.”
That said, he called his colleague, and as he ended the call, he looked to Maurizio, impatiently waiting for any response. “He said he saved the temporary report on another folder. I’m getting it—here it is!” he cheered opening the folder.
Silence fell between them as Leonardo stared at the screen.
“What’s there?” Maurizio urged, his hands trembling.
“There are the traces of DNA recovered from the steering wheel, and also those on other parts of the car. Generally, the ones on the outer parts, like the trunk, the doors and handles, are easily deteriorated, either by the wash, rain or other agents that can weaken with the time said traces.” Leonardo pointed the finger at Maurizio. “Nevertheless, they were still clear.”
Maurizio mentally returned to the dossier he was reading, trying to find the missing piece that would have made sense to the big mystery.
Narrowing his eyes, Leonardo kept his gaze on him, trying to figure out his thoughts.
It took at least a few minutes of silence, when suddenly a wide grin opened up on Maurizio’s face. “THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM!” he yelled.
“What do you mean?” Leonardo asked, taken aback by the sudden reaction of Maurizio.
With a sudden move, Maurizio opened up the dossier of the previous report he carried in his hands. Frantically flipping the pages, he reached the part where the traces were described.
As he reached the point, he slammed the folder on the desk with a loud smack that resounded in the room. “Now explain to me the reason why the traces of DNA in the car were clear and, in the pistol where you also confirmed they should have been evident were, instead, weak!”
Leonardo tensed his shoulders, trying to find a plausible reason for the differences in traces. Indeed, considering the emotional state, his hands would have probably sweated, and it would make sense to have more DNA material on the pistol, rather than in any of the parts of the car, particularly on the outside frame, where it’s easier to have them weakened. Yet, they were clearly stronger there. He didn’t dare make any suggestion to Maurizio, knowing him, and recognizing the crazed expression in his eyes, he was expecting a solution from his coworker.
“I tell you what it means!” Maurizio thundered. “That man had nothing to do with the murder of Mr. Calvani,” he pointed his finger outside the door as if to point in the direction of Igor, to slam it furiously on the desk immediately after.
He searched around in hopes of finding whatever object that could prove his point. His eyes met a cardboard box where a few test tubes destined to be brought to the adjacent room of the laboratory were waiting. He grabbed a couple of latex gloves and unpacked one of the test tubes.
With a swift move he returned to Leonardo and grabbed his hand resting on the mouse and laid it for a few seconds on the test tube immediately after. “Now tell me, where do you think I will find more genetic material, on the mouse or on the test tube?”
He was panting, barely breathing correctly from excitement, and once again didn’t let Leonardo speak. “I tell you, where—on the mouse, because you’ve touched it and actually used it. The test tube was just recently placed in your hands, where some sweat might have still been present and thus your own DNA. My version of the story is this: Irina, killed Mr. Calvani. She needed a scapegoat, and framed her father, who had a perfect motive.” He collapsed on the chair, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead, trying to take deep breaths to help his heartbeat slow down its rapid pace.
Leonardo didn’t look convinced, and rubbing his nose, he shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill Mr. Calvani? What would have been her gain in the murder? She hardly knew him.” There was something that didn’t fit in Leonardo’s mind. It was true that the theory would have perfectly fit the difference in DNA material collected. Yet why?
“I don’t know. This is something I need to find out, and perhaps given the right pressure, the captain of the Sea Rider, might offer us some information about it. In the meantime, I need to have another chat with Senior officer Milani and Officer Silvani about the team following Ms. Fazekas and Mr. Calvani, whether they have some news to share, some strange and suspicious moves or some peculiar telephone call.
Without waiting for any reply from Leonardo, he turned and walked away. Shaking his head, Leonardo watched him leaving, heading to the door; with
