Maddocks peered more closely at the hair images. “And from the looks of things—if those male pubic hairs were obtained from Hocking’s pubic combings, both black-haired men potentially engaged in intercourse with Hocking.”
“Pubic contact and probably rough friction in order to forcibly remove the hairs, at the least,” she said.
“And Mr.Blond Male, he’s not connected?”
Silence.
He turned and looked down at her. Maddocks’s pulse quickened at the look on her features. “Okay, Doc, spit it out—what have you been withholding to the last?”
“He’s a match to the semen DNA from the used condom. Hocking’s DNA is also on the condom. Plus, techs found one of his blond head hairs on the exterior of Drummond’s coat.”
He stared at her, his brain spinning. “Holy cluster—”
“I know.”
“Three men. One blond, two dark,” he said quietly, staring at the slides on the board. “With the DNA profiles of Mr.Blond and Mr.Black One connected to both homicide victims.”
“And so far,” she said, “we still have no matches to any known subjects for those three unknown male profiles—nothing in the National DNA Data Bank, CODIS—they’re not in the system.”
Maddocks’s mind turned to Jayden Norton-Wells, Zach Raddison—black hair. Jon Jacques Junior and Senior—both blond. Tension and adrenaline twisted through him. They needed DNA samples from those men. To rule them in or out.
But they still had no new evidence that would give them RPG—reasonable and probable grounds—for a DNA seizure warrant. They needed to find something that would show a judge that one of those men probably committed the designated offense or offenses. Or was party to the offense.Thatwas their stumbling block right now. That was what they needed. They were a long way off.
“I owe you, Sunni,” he said.
“I’ll hold you to that, Detective.” She grinned again.
CHAPTER 53
Merry shifted to ease the cramps seizing her leg, grateful for her down jacket and toque. While the clear Friday night was great for visibility, it meant cold.
The pregnant moon was waxing. It shone a path like beaten metal over the sea, and it made the white yachts in the marina gleam eerily. Zooming in with her telephoto lens, she clicked off another rapid series of shots, making sure she captured the name of the luxury mega-yacht clearly—theAmanda Rose—and the flags she was flying.
There was a fair bit of activity on board the big vessel—the silhouettes of people moving across the lighted windows, some occasionally filtering out onto the deck to smoke, cigarette ends flaring bright orange in the dark as they lit up or inhaled. Faint strains of music and snatches of laughter trailed up to where she squatted between a Dodge truck and a Kia Sorento parked along the road that curved around the northeast end of the small bay. Her VW Bug was parked just a few cars down, on the opposite side of the street, but she had a better sightline from here.
Action seemed to quiet down as the minutes ticked past midnight and into Saturday morning. Cold was crawling deep into her bones now. This must be what cops felt like on stakeouts. Hours of nothing, just waiting, getting cramps. Her mind went back to the altercation this afternoon, when she’d gone to find Damián Yorick.
Damián was the pimp Nina reported having seen Faith with some months ago. Merry had gone to ask Damián about the blond guy with the Bimmer.
She was with that pimp of hers from way back, Damián, and some other blond guy—rich prick who was driving a small, black BMW. Young, like in his twenties ...
Damián, however, claimed to Merry that he hadn’t seen Faith in almost two years. It was a lie. She’d believe Nina over that bastard pimp any day. She’d confronted him over his lie. The argument replayed in her head as she watched theAmanda Rose.
You fuck the hell out of my business, you little meth-head whore. You wanna end up floating in that gorge, throat slit, like your friend? This is big shit, too big for you, you little two-bit tabloid trash. Fuck off out of here now before I do something I’m going to regret ...
She’d taped it ...my business ... this is too big for you ...those words led Merry to believe Damiánwassomehow connected to Faith’s death, thatsomethingwas going on with the blond guy. So she’d waited outside his place until he’d left his premises around 10:00 p.m. She’d followed his car to this marina. He’d turned into the private marina lot, while she’d driven a little farther around the bay and parked. From her vantage point, she’d seen Damián making his way through the marina security gate and down along the dock, to where he’d boarded theAmanda Rose.
Merry tensed suddenly as another man came striding purposefully down the dock toward the luxury yacht. She zeroed in on him with her telephoto lens. Dark hair—black maybe. About the same age as Damián. Tall. Decent build. She clicked off a series of frames as he climbed the gangway and boarded the yacht.
The seconds ticked by. Things grew even quieter. Cold began to bite hard, and Merry started to shiver in spite of her down gear and toque. She was about to pack it in, thinking that maybe she’d return tomorrow to see if she could learn more about the boat, when suddenly she saw Damián returning down the gangway with the dark-haired guy.
The two men walked together along the dock toward the exit gate, heads bent in close conversation. She shot images as they went up the gate and then up into the parking lot. She zoomed in closer over the distance. The guys paused at Damián’s vehicle. The other male then turned his face her way, and she clicked. He then made his way over to a dark-colored Porsche. Looked red in this light. The stranger opened his driver’s side door, got in. Merry’s pulse quickened. She could run in a crouch behind the row of vehicles parked along the waterfront, get into her Beetle, and follow Damián as he pulled out of the private lot. Or she could follow that Porsche, try to find out who the stranger was. She chose the Porsche. Scurrying along, bent low, she opened her Beetle door, climbed in, fired the ignition. She pulled into the street and rounded the small bay as the Porsche sped out of the lot. Its brake lights flared red, and it turned onto the road that led into the ritzy Uplands neighborhood.
Because the streets were so empty and the night so clear, she held way back while still trying not to lose him.
He turned left, and then right again, climbing into a wide tree-lined street of estate homes. His taillights flashed red, and abruptly he swung into a driveway, disappearing from view.
Merry drove past the driveway entrance and drew up alongside the curb. She stared at the lit gold plaque on the stone pillar flanking the driveway, and her mouth turned dry with excitement.
