Page 50 of Flint
“First, I’ll collect whatever I can in the way of fingerprints and take samples of the paint. But my chain of command refused to let me use the crime lab to analyze evidence because the crime didn’t take place in our jurisdiction.”
I frown because this is just another example of how the police can’t be relied on.
“What I can do is process this car the way it would have been processed forty years ago, before any of us had labs to send things to. I have a print kit in my case. I have lifting tape. I have a camera. I can pull what’s on the surfaces of this car, photograph the trunk and its contents, and bag what I find. None of that will be much use legally because there’s no chain of evidence.”
Jasper interjects, “We get it. Whatever answers you find for us won’t be admissible in a court of law.”
“That’s about the size of it.” He looks up at Jasper. “I can run fingerprints through the system and match paint samples myself, but not much more than that.”
Jasper’s expression turns hard. “Let’s pop the trunk.”
Morgan came prepared. Opening his case, he pulls out a slim jim and slides it down the driver’s side door. He works it through the window seal for about thirty seconds, then the lock pops. In one quick movement, he opens the door with one hand and pulls the trunk release with the other.
I see the trunk pop open slightly. Morgan pulls a pair of gloves from his bag, snaps them on, and he lifts the lid the rest of the way slowly, one hand under the edge, the other hand braced on the bumper. We all gather around and have a look.
There’s nothing inside, just the carpeted floor that came with the car. Though the outside of the car is jet black, the interior is gray.
My hand flies to my mouth when I see the stains. There’s more than expected, including bloody handprints and a long dark stain that runs from the center of the trunk towards the back left corner. I can imagine where the victim’s head would have rested if a body had been laid in on his side. It’s dried to almost black at the edges and a deep rust color in the middle.
I make a strangled sound I didn’t plan to make, causing Flint to tug me closer.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
I nod and try to get myself under control.
“Does this blood change anything?” Flint asks.
The detective nods. “We can’t prove a crime, but there’s enough suspicion that I’ll be able to order the forensic testing. Could take a while though…”
“That vehicle ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Jasper mutters.
“I’m going to start fingerprinting with the trunk release handle. Take your time and tell me what you remember from that night on the beltline.”
Taking my mind off all the thoughts running through my mind, I tell him about the shoulder of the beltline and the three men wearing dark suits standing around this sedan. I tell him about the victim, how they yelled at him and then gave him a plastic water bottle, shoved him back into the trunk, and how I saw them slam the lid in my rearview mirror. I remember for the first time that one was older, and his hair was graying at the temples. He had a wedding band that glimmered in my headlights. Then I describe the smaller man, the one who looked up and saw me as I drove past. I add all the details I can remember from that night, including how they tried to run me off the road and what happened at the police station.
Morgan listens as he works. When I’m done, he says, “You did a good job of remembering details. That should be incredibly helpful.”
That’s when Flint speaks up. “She’s done you one better. She has a whole fuckin’ sketchbook filled with their faces.”
Jasper adds, “We already got a lead on who might be involved. They go by the last name Terrance, and they’re from LA.”
Morgan grumbles without looking up, “Fuckin’ gangsters. That figures. As if we don’t have enough shit going on around this town.”
“Look, it’s going to take me three or four hours to do it right. I can do it with the trunk open here in the gravel, or you can have your boys roll it into the garage where I’ll have shade and an electrical outlet.”
“Yeah, we’ll shove it into the shed,” Jasper says. “We have all the tools you’ll need if you need to take anything apart.”
They all group up and roll the car into the shed by hand. Morgan walks alongside it while carrying his now closed case.
Turning to Flint, I tell him, “I want to watch Morgan work.”
“You heard the part about how it’s going to take hours, right?”
“Yeah, I’m getting some ideas on how to find the victim.”
He bends and kisses the top of my forehead, and then he steers me towards the garage with his arm around my waist.
The garage is bigger than it looks from the outside. There is a workbench along one wall and a roll of brown paper on a holder above it. It’s well-ventilated and has plenty of light. More importantly, it’s temperature controlled. Morgan has his bag on the workbench and starts by taking out a digital camera and snapping pictures.
