Sidney squinted. On the back of the shirt was a dirt mark in a horseshoe pattern. The smudge was faint and cut off by the bottom of the shirt.
“It says the body was in the ocean all night. I bet this stain was diluted by the salt water.”
Sidney remembered her trip to Sugar Beach when she climbed to Soufriere Bluff and stared down at Pitons Bay, where Julian’s body had been discovered by two kayakers on their anniversary. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d made that initial trip to St. Lucia. So much had happened to her career since she asked the island to tell her its story. Part of her wished she’d never listened.
“Here.” Gus removed his reading glasses and hovered them over the photo to act as a magnifying glass.
Sidney peered through them at the enlarged image that captured the mark on the back of Julian’s shirt.
“I don’t know,” she said. “What is it? A shoeprint?”
“Half a shoeprint,” Gus said.
He paged through the file until he found the photo of Julian’s shorts. They were also drawn out across the staging table. He pointed to an area on the back of the shorts. The blemish on the seat of the shorts was even fainter than the one on the shirt. Gus folded the pictures so the bottom of the shirt aligned with the shorts. The two smudges came together to form a nearly invisible, full shoeprint.
“I’ll be damned,” Sidney said.
“I’d love to know whose foot produced this.”
Sidney leaned closer to get a better look.
“Me too.”
* * *
It was past 10:00 p.m. when Sidney and Gus packed up the Julian Crist file, which they had spread across the tableand around the bed. Gus still had some contacts inside the New York Police Department, and offered to have them take a look at the print on Julian Crist’s shirt and shorts. His guys, Gus promised, could confirm that it was indeed a shoeprint, and also run an analysis on the make of the shoe if they were able to get details from the tread.
“I don’t want to put you out,” Sidney said.
“Are you kidding me?” Gus said. “I haven’t felt this alive in years. The last couple of hours were the first time I actually forgot that they took my leg. Please,” he said, “let me help.”
Sidney nodded her head. “Thanks. Let me know what you find.”
“I’ll make some calls first thing tomorrow.” Gus packed the last of the Crist file. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up an envelope.
“Oh,” Sidney said, taking her father’s letter from him. Inside were the fingernail clippings he had sent months ago for DNA analysis. Sidney had nearly forgotten about them. “It has to do with another case.”
“Anything interesting?”
Sidney smiled. “It’s a long story.”
“I barely sleep at night,” Gus said. “I could use a good story to pass the hours.”
“Maybe another time. This is a story best told over a couple of proper drinks.”
“Now you’re just teasing me. I haven’t had a drop in months, and this far removed I’m not sure I can go back to the hard stuff. How about we compromise with coffee? I’ll buy.”
Sidney got the feeling he didn’t want to be alone. The hallways had darkened, and the floor was quiet. “I saw a coffee machine down the hall.”
“Now you’re talking,” Gus said.
She returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups, and sat back down in the bedside chair.
“You really want to hear this story?” Sidney asked, holding up her father’s letter.
“No doubt,” Gus said.
“Stop me when it gets too bizarre.”
