His shoulders tensed infinitesimally before his easy demeanor returned. “Yeah, that was damn unfortunate. We combed over the entire station and couldn’t find them.”
She pushed a little harder. “So, I saw the lock is a simple key. Do all the officers have access to the keys?”
He shook his head. “No, only the on-duty deputies carry keys, and the sheriff always has a copy on him. If the officers need access to the evidence locker, they have to come ask one of us.”
“No cameras in here or anything?”
“No, none in here. There’s only one inside the station that’s not in the interrogation room and cell, and it’s in the pen facing the front door. No angles on this hallway, and especially not on the door.”
“And you saw no signs of forced entry on the lock? When you investigated the disappearance of the evidence?”
He moved to the shelf and ran a finger along the case names on the boxes facing them before sliding one off the shelf and holding it at his chest. “No, nothing. Can’t say we investigated it too extensively, though. It was a small flash drive that went missing—we figured it was dropped somewhere and thrown out by accident. Here, take this and follow me. You can look it over in my office.” He pressed the box into her hands before walking out of the room, holding the door for her to follow him and locking it behind her.
Kelsi headed back out to the open space with the officers’ desks and mulled over how Banksy so clearly believed the evidence had been tampered with, but Sheridan wrote it off as an accident. Was Banksy being cynical? Or was Sheridan being naive?
Sheridan came up behind her where she’d stopped to wait for him and placed a firm hand on her lower back, gently directing her toward his office. “There’s more available desk space here for you to use.”
In his office, she set the box down on the desk and eagerly removed the lid. She peered inside and began pulling out the meager contents. First, she grabbed the sheet of paper that rested on top of the evidence bags. It was a sign-in sheet, logging when and who had reviewed this box. No date was written that corresponded with the dates the evidence had disappeared. Not surprising, though, considering that this essentially runs on the honor system.
Barely holding in a sigh, she continued to pull the evidence bags from the box. Sheridan nudged one of the chairs near her in her direction, but she waved him off. He went around the deskand sat in his chair, attention going to his computer while she pored over the items she had laid out.
It was ...disappointing. She’d known going in that there was little physical evidence, but, looking at it now, it was even less than she’d expected.
There was a small bag with a watch the victim was wearing when his body was recovered. Kelsi discarded it, as well as the larger bag with the polo shirt and board shorts he was wearing that night as well. None of those would help her now. The sea water had destroyed all trace evidence, anyway. She looked for anything else, but that was it. The only other pieces of evidence collected were the pictures the cops had taken where the body was recovered and of a scrape along the portside hull of the McGuinnesses’ speedboat. Unfortunately, those were all on the memory stick that disappeared.
Frustrated, Kelsi threw the evidence back into the box and slammed the lid down.
Sheridan glanced at her, brows furrowed. “Not what you were hoping for?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head and sat in the chair he had offered earlier. “I have never prosecuted a first-degree murder case before with so little physical evidence.” She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes.
“You think you can still prove it?” He studied her seriously, as if trying to puzzle the answer out of her face.
She decided to be honest. “I don’t know.” She chewed her bottom lip, staring at an American flag sticking out of the pencil holder on the desk. “It’s a tough case, that’s for sure. Without physical evidence, our case relies entirely on circumstantial evidence, and what limited eyewitness testimony we can put on.Most cases are dependent on circumstantial evidence, so that’s not what worries me. It’s proving the intention of McGuinness that’s going to be difficult.”
“What do you mean?” Sheridan leaned closer to her over his desk, appearing genuinely interested in what she was saying.
“Well ...” She paused, thinking through how she could explain the key points in a way that wasn’t overwhelmingly technical. “As you know with any homicide, the intent is important for deciding what degree it could be, and whether it’s murder or manslaughter.”
He nodded along, likely already knowing these basics from the police academy.
“So,” she continued, “for first-degree murder, the prosecution has to prove that the defendant intended to kill the victim. Here, we’re proceeding based on the belief that McGuinness murdered Tripp willfully, deliberately, and upon premeditation. Typically, you could do this by pointing to how the victim died, any motive the defendant might have had, if he took steps in advance to prepare for the murder, those kinds of things. But all we have now is conjecture. The cause of death is drowning, which in itself doesn’t necessarily show there was any kind of deliberate intent on McGuinness’s part for killing him. Motive? No idea. McGuiness certainly never shared any with the officers when he was interrogated. And, as we’re not entirely sure of the events that led to Tripp being in the water, I can’t even prove to the jury that Tripp was on the boat that night, not really.”
She chuckled sarcastically to herself and buried her face in her hands with a groan. “Basically, this case is fucked before it’s even off the ground, unless I can find any witnesses, convince them to speak with me and testify.”
“Well. From that explanation, I can tell you that if anyone could put together a successful case, it’s you.”
She snorted and lowered her hands to look at him. “You don’t even know me.”
His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile, and he said, “No, I don’t know you. Yet.”
He winked, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop a smile from forming. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind Sheridan, surprised to see she had already been there for a while.
“I should go.”
Slowly standing, she moved to grab the box to return it to the evidence locker, but Sheridan stopped her with a hand on hers.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll bring it back safely.”
