“They used saliva and a little blood in the face mask, here?” Zehra said.
“Right. The BCA did nothing wrong. In fact, they’re one of the best labs in the country. But if you give them a phony sample, they’re going to come up with phony results.”
“And you can prove this?” Zehra looked at Dr. Stein.
“Simple. Our test is accepted by many scientists.”
“Why doesn’t the BCA do the same test?”
“They don’t have the test. Why should they? Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of their samples are legit. We’re working with a pretty sophisticated group of criminals in this case. Highly unusual.”
Zehra sat back and looked up at the ceiling. Now what? She looked back at Dr. Stein. “I thought DNA was so reliable?”
He smiled through gray teeth. “Oh, it is. But what’s happened is that, it’s so good, everyone depends entirely on DNA testing. We’re creating a criminal justice system that increasingly relies on this technology. It was only a matter of time before smart criminals figured out a way to beat it.”
BJ drummed his fingers onto the table in a syncopated rhythm. “You gotta keep one step ahead of ’em all the time.”
Dr. Stein looked at his big watch. “Have to run, guys. Anything else I can help you with? I’m available to testify at trial. I charge mileage and courtroom time from the minute I walk into the building. That okay?”
“Sure,” said Zehra. She rose with BJ. They both shook the doctor’s hand. After they left, riding in the car, she sighed and slumped into the seat.
“Wha’s up? We caught a home run, girl.”
She looked out the window as BJ drove out of the parking lot. Without turning around, she said, “Now what?”
“Well … we tell Harmon. He should dismiss.”
“Doubt it. Not with a case this big. They’ll fight it all the way, including Dr. Stein’s test.”
“But you heard him tell us the test’s accepted.”
“Hey, Denzel. Too much publicity. They’re not going to dump it. They’ll give it to a jury, so if El-Amin’s acquitted, the prosecutor can blame it on the jury.”
“Yeah … you’re right.”
After a long moment of quiet, Zehra said, “So, if it’s not El-Amin, who killed the Ahmed boy? And can we find him in time before the trial starts?”
BJ drove slowly toward her condo. Twenty minutes later, they arrived.
“Want a cup of coffee?” she offered.
“Sure. You still got that stuff from Costa Rica?”
In her third-floor unit, she pushed her bike out of the way and told BJ to relax. She started the coffee. He walked in and seemed to fill the place entirely. He stepped out onto her deck, hanging from the sliding door in the living room, and took a deep breath. “The Garden of Eden,” he kidded her.
“You like it?” she called from the kitchen.
“Love it. Put on some music, would you. We need music with this beauty.”
Zehra put a copy of BJ’s CD he’d given her, into the player. She heard two horns start up. “I like it,” she told him.
“One of our guys wrote it. He calls it ‘Ben’s Trumpet.’” When his cell buzzed, he took the call. In ten minutes, he came back inside. His face drooped.
“What? What’s the matter?” she asked.
BJ sighed. “My momma. She’s on dialysis twice a week. She’s having trouble. I may have to go to Chicago. I’m the only family she’s got this close.”
“Hey, anytime. Don’t worry about this. Go anytime.”
He nodded and wandered back outside. “Hey, what’s this, Z?” BJ’s voice carried into the kitchen.
Zehra came out with two steaming mugs. Handed one to him. “Careful,” she said. “What’re you talking about?”
“Uh … this thing.” BJ pointed to the new orchid.
“Don’t you even know what an orchid is? A friend gave it to me. Michael’s his name.”
BJ bent over and peered at it. He stood and laughed. “I know what he’s got on his mind.” His eyes darted up to hers. “You tight with this dude?”
“None of your snoopy business. But, the answer is, no. Just a friend.”
“I could always check him out.”
“Butt out, BJ.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Let’s talk about something important. What’re we gonna do?”
BJ sipped and nodded. “The mask … remember Dr. McWhorter said the mask was commonly used in hospitals? It’s an unusual one. A perfect disguise to hide the real killer’s face. Maybe he works in a hospital.”
“Yeah, and no one could get access to this kid without arousing suspicions unless the killer were Somali, or at least Middle Eastern. There can’t be too many Somalis working in hospitals, are there?” She looked out from the deck and could see the corner of the new bridge crossing the river, replacement of the one that had collapsed two summers ago.
BJ sighed. “Don’t know. And we don’t have a lot of time to run this all down.”
“Wait a minute! I’ve got my friend Paul Schmidt with the FBI. They’ve got the resources. I’ll check with him. See if I can get any info, or if he’s willing to look into it. You’d think they’d want to find the real killer as much as we do.”
She stopped talking. Remembered the odd fact that Paul knew about the alibi witness before anyone else. Maybe she shouldn’t trust him.
BJ left.
Jackie called ten minutes later. She sounded out of breath. “Hey, Z. I think I got something.”
“What’s up?”
“I was going over the autopsy line by line.” She paused. “Gruesome stuff. And the photos … anyway, there’s a note from Chopsticks in the report about something odd she found.”
“What?”
“The victim had these red-like things on his hands and feet.”
“Did Chopsticks say what they were?”
“Nope. But it was unusual enough that she noted it and photographed them.”
Zehra thought for a moment. “We could get second opinion. Go to the Ramsey County ME. I’ll get on it. We’ll have to email all the reports and photos to him right away.”
Twenty-Two
The next morning, knowing she had a more than full day, Zehra left the condo early. She dropped down the elevator to the underground parking lot. From inside the complex, she had access. Otherwise, the lot was secured.
She found her old heap of a car in the corner where she’d left it. Long ago, the remote lock had broken so Zehra started to reach for the key. She stopped.
She found the back window cracked open an inch. She never left her windows open. Panicked, she pulled on the door handle. It popped open, unlocked. After working with criminals, she never left her doors unlocked. Could she have forgotten last night, with all the stress on her?
She bent down slowly to look inside the car. Every part of it had been trashed.
Seats pulled up, glove compartment opened, contents scattered across the floor like a bomb had exploded. Files she had left in the back seat were gone.
Zehra backed away and started to shake. Her mind tried to assert that it was only vandals who’d trashed the car. A random act so common in urban areas. No. She knew that wasn’t true.
Paul’s warning clanged through her mind. Zehra stood still and looked around the deserted lot. Were they still
