Dixon, Travis, and Emma follow close to Neilsen; Kristin trails a little farther behind, casting her eyes around. This is where samples come for testing, from the dead bodies in homicide cases. A lab like this one probably examined the forensic evidence that convicted her brother.
The awareness registers in a small way; then, as they navigate through the lab to a low-set table, it increases into a building pressure beneath Kristin’s ribs that makes her breath catch. She exhales slowly to will it away, focuses back on the paperwork that Glenn Neilsen is looking through and talking about with the others.
‘Your tip about the pink nail polish hit the jackpot, Miss Lewis,’ Neilsen says approvingly. ‘Gerry got a partial print from the left forefinger of the Doricott girl – it was embedded in the polish.’
‘You got a print?’ Travis’s cheeks flush in his excitement.
Neilsen works to tamp that down. ‘Only a partial. It’s a whorl – probably off a thumb. Gerry says it’s unlikely to be enough for an identification, but he’s gonna play with it more when he gets back.’
Emma’s eyes are darting. ‘Was there any result on the polish itself?’
Dixon clears his throat. ‘Yeah. It’s Revlon brand, but it’s old – about seven years old. I didn’t know polish lasted that long in the bottle, but there you go.’
Neilsen picks up the thread. ‘We’re doing our best to track it, but it’s a discontinued line. The color is called Frosted Pink Cloud.’
Dixon nods. ‘We think he might’ve already had it at home. It’s not something he’d be able to buy currently, unless he picked it up at a charity shop or maybe a vintage market.’
‘If the police found it during a search of his residence, it would be a strong lead,’ Travis interprets.
‘But only circumstantial,’ Emma notes. She chews dents into her bottom lip. ‘What else?’
‘The bouquet flowers are asters, goldenrod, chrysanthemums, dahlias, and bud roses, as well as some Christmas fern.’ Neilsen moves his papers around on the table, along with a number of glossy photographs. ‘They’re all seasonal wildflowers or garden flowers local to the Pittsburgh region, which means they’re common.’
‘Oh.’ Emma deflates a little.
‘But they only growtogetherin certain areas, so we’re canvassing those sites. It’s a guess, but we don’t think he’s driving all over Pittsburgh to collect the flowers, if he wants them fresh.’
‘Okay,’ Travis says. ‘Any other trace from the wedding dress?’
‘Yeah, and the fingernail grit.’ Dixon’s expressive brows waggle. ‘This is where I get to go into exciting detail about carpet fluff …’
The two men, and Emma and Travis, launch into a conversation about additional trace evidence. As they get technical, Kristin runs her fingers lightly over a nearby lab table surface, tunes out theboring forensic details. The conversation stretches, and she looks around. No one seems to be paying her much attention, and there are no barriers to prevent her from wandering quietly away, so that is what she does.
She meanders back out the door of the lab. Across the corridor, another door, which is closed. On the door is a nameplate panel that readsL. BROWN – DOCUMENTS.
Just below the nameplate, in a frame, is a short length of parchment paper that bears an illuminated quote:
For nothing is hidden, that will not be revealed; nor anything secret, that will not be known and come to light.
– Luke 8:17
Kristin stands before the parchment and loses herself for a while in the curves and strokes of each letter. In her imagination, she traces the artist’s movement with the quill nib. She only looks up when she feels a sense of movement to her right. Someone else is nearby.
An elegant Black woman in a burnt-orange skirt and a brown knit blouse has arrived holding a file folder. She looks to be in her forties. Her hair is styled in a flipped bob, and she has simple gold drops in her ears. Everything about her is very uncluttered and orderly, which Kristin likes.
‘Can I help you?’ the woman asks. Her voice is firm but not unfriendly.
‘Oh, hello,’ Kristin replies. She is still mentally engaged in the bold flourish of ana. It takes her a moment to detach and remember that she is on government property. ‘Excuse me, I hope I’m notintruding – I’m with Miss Lewis and Mr Bell. They’re still talking with the two gentlemen in the laboratory …’
She waves a hand vaguely toward the lab. The woman in the burnt-orange skirt looks between the lab door and Kristin.
‘You’re not intruding,’ she says, before pausing. ‘Were they talking about carpet fluff?’
Kristin’s shoulders relax. ‘Yes! Yes, they were. And it seemed like a rather scientific conversation, to which I could contribute very little, so I came out here. This illumination is lovely.’
She gestures toward the framed quote, and the other woman follows with her eyes. Her face softens. ‘Yes, I’ve always thought so.’
‘The calligraphy is so striking.’
