Chapter Twenty-Eight
After a quick trip to the hospital, it was almost closing time when they arrived at Brash. Since they had open cases, Irving insisted on business as usual.
Gretchen was at her desk, staring off into space and fiddling with a pencil when they walked in. She jumped to her feet. “How is he?”
Jess walked over and pulled the shaking women into her arms. Gretchen had on an ugly lightweight sweater in every color of baby poo brown and yellow known to mankind. At that moment, the familiarity of Gretchen and her ugly sweaters provided an anchor in an otherwise chaotic world.
“He’s resting,” Jess said. If not for Irving’s insistence that Brash stay open, Gretchen would have pitched a tent next to his bed and slept on a cot. That was undoubtedly another reason Irving wanted to keep her occupied. He didn’t like causing a fuss, no matter how well-meaning. “Why don’t I close up and you head on over?”
The assistant had her purse in hand before Jess got the last words out. “Thank you,” she said and was gone.
After taking out her keys, Jess locked the doors. “Irving keeps the letters in his desk. Follow me.” The offices that held sensitive info and Summer’s computer room all needed to be secured. She locked each room they passed. Her stomach tightened the closer they got to Irving’s office.
The door was closed. Taking in a deep breath, she pushed it open. The sight of duct tape patched over the bullet hole churned low in her belly.
“We could have lost him if she’d aimed better,” she said softly and walked to the glass to look out. Sam joined her.
“Your boss is one tough duffer,” Sam said. “He didn’t get where he is by being weak. Hell, if dealing with you three PIs hasn’t killed him off, a bullet has no chance.”
Jess leaned against his arm. “You’re right. For once.”
“I’m always right. You just don’t want to believe it.”
Standing side-by-side, she liked the closeness between them. Although reluctant to work with her in the beginning of the case, he’d become her ally in the fight. And more.
“Are you always so arrogant or do I bring it out?”
“Babe.” He leaned to kiss the side of her head. “I thought I was wrong once, but I was mistaken.”
Rolling her eyes up, she smiled and shook her head at the old joke. “Not funny.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m being polite,” she said and glanced sideways. “I don’t want to damage your fragile ego.”
Sam snorted, grinning. Despite his overwhelming confidence and protectiveness, she liked him. More than she should.
What happened after the case closed remained something they didn’t talk about. Sex did not a relationship make.
She couldn’t see them married with a couple of kids. He was more the born to be wild type, hitting the road on a Harley, a woman in every city. And she wasn’t about to sit on the porch waiting for his return. She wanted more for her future.
“Let me get those letters.” She unlocked the drawer in the big desk and pulled out the file folder. “Irving thought the author would eventually get bored and go away. That hasn’t happened. He got the last one a couple weeks ago. There’s no real pattern and nothing to give away the author. He filed them and moved on.”
He joined her. “Most stalkers are relatively harmless. Let’s see if his stepped it up to the next level.”
She opened the file on the desk. “Despite what I said, I’m still not 100 percent sold on the connection to the shooter. We’ve always thought these were from someone who was obsessed with Irving. He’s been in the paper and on cable TV several times over the three years since Brash opened. It wouldn’t be out of the question that someone thinks he’s speaking to them personally through the TV. It happens.”
Sam took the top letter from her. “Or it could be professional jealousy. He transitioned from making millions in cement pipes to opening a hot new PI firm. The guy is golden. That could piss someone off.”
* * *
On the surface, the letter was innocuous. Sam read it twice. Jess was correct. Nothing stood out to lead to the author. There was no threat. Calling someone a greedy leech wasn’t exactly a cause for alarm. “I assume you had those examined?”
“Irving put it off.” She handed him another letter. This one likened Irving to Hitler. “He didn’t see the point. The stamps are stick on, the writing on the envelopes is block print, and the paper is common stock purchased at any office supply store.”
He lifted his eyes and one brow. “I thought you didn’t investigate these?”
She smiled. “I didn’t say we three ladies let it go. Summer swiped a couple and sent them to a friend in the FBI. They did a cursory examination and came up with no interesting clues.”
“No fingerprints either?”
“Not even a partial.”
Sam dropped the letters back into the file. “I’d like to take these with me and do a more detailed examination.”
“If you think it’ll help.” By the tone of her voice, she was skeptical. But Jess was smart. She’d want to cover all bases. “We have a workroom in the basement. If you’d like, we can take them there.”
With Jess leading the way, they went down to the bowels of Brash & Brazen, Inc. Most of the space was storage and a room to hide all of Irving’s spy gadgets. He’d recently added the workroom when the PIs expressed frustration with having to wait forever for crime labs to look over basic evidence.
“We’ve mostly used the room to examine still shots from surveillance cameras, and once to look for signature forgeries. Of course, the latter had to be confirmed by the lab, but it was fun to make the comparison.”
“It’s very James Bond down here.” Sam looked over the books and cameras and gadgets. He lifted a futuristic-looking tear gas mask in pink. What a Brash Girl would ever need that for was the question.
“Irving dreams of having his own private evidence lab.” Jess laid the folder on the table and pulled two stools together. “But that kind of investigation is above our pay grade. He’d need trained scientists for DNA and such.”
They took seats at the long table, put on gloves, and divided up the letters. “Hopefully our previous handling of these doesn’t compromise any evidence,” she said. “I think even the cleaning crew has had a look. Irving likes to share.”
The cop in him twitched. “I’m sure they’re tainted. A defense lawyer could make a case against using them in court.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“It is. But I hope they still have value to our case.”
* * *
The two from the FBI were set aside. This left nine for examination. Jess found two magnifiers and she and Sam clicked on the bright desk lights on adjustable arms.
“Since you’re the detective, why don’t you tell me what we’re looking for?”
Sam chose his first letter. “Don’t you watch murder shows?”
“I do.” Like any other viewer, she likened herself to an amateur armchair detective. However, it was kind of sexy to watch Sam work. “But you are the law enforcement professional.”
Their eyes met. She grinned. “You don’t have to stroke my ego,” he said, sending her back to their previous conversation. “I know you have skills.”
“I’m not stroking anything.” She flushed, realizing how that sounded. “I just want to cover all bases.”
“Uh-huh.” Still skeptical, he held the letter under the florescent light. “We’re looking for hairs, fibers, watermarks, licked stamps, and visible fingerprints, anything that sheds light on the sender, or links him or her to the sniper.”
“Good luck with that.” They’d probably find ugly sweater fibers all over these. Gretchen opened all of Irving’s mail. “I wish Irving had taken this seriously from the start.”
Sam lifted his magnifier and gave her the eye. “We still might get something useful. We won’t know unless we look.”
“Yes, boss.” She collected a letter and began a cursory exam. It felt very Forensic Files. The letter did not have a smoking gun to wrap up the case. She moved on.
The second letter had a small beige fiber that looked like the carpet in Irving’s office. She dug through a drawer for tweezers and stuck it in an evidence bag anyway. The third letter had faded ink on several words.
“It looks like the author’s printer was running out of ink.” She looked over at Sam. “Find anything?”
“Nope.” He set his letter aside, slid off the gloves, and rubbed his eyes. “I know why I don’t do evidence analysis for a living.” He stood. “I need a coffee. Want something?”
“I could use a candy bar.” She told him how to get to the vending machines in the breakroom on the third floor. “No coconut!” she called before the door shut behind him.
Jess yawned and stretched and bent over the next letter. She agreed with Sam. She didn’t have the patience or the desire to do forensic work, though she admired those who did. Big cases had been solved on small clues found in a lab.
Picking up the magnifier, she began again. She did an overview of the next letter, then went back for a second pass. At first, she didn’t realize what she was seeing until somewhere in the back of her brain, a past TV case stepped forward and smacked her between the eyes.
“It can’t be.” She slowly moved the magnifier over the page. “Are those numbers?” She moved the light closer. 5-0-7.
Her heart skipped. Whoever had sent the letter had written something on the page on top of it, causing indentations on Irving’s stalker letter. The black printer ink made the rest of the information difficult to read.
She set down the magnifier. “I can’t believe this.”
Sam returned a few minutes later. She couldn’t hide her excitement. “Put down the coffee and come here.”
“What is it?” He set his purchases away from the letters and sat beside her.
She handed over the letter. “I found something. Have a look.” Her fingers trembled as she waited for him to glove up, then handed the page over. If Sam agreed, they may have finally caught a break.
Waiting patiently was not her strong suit. Fidgeting on the stool, she waited to confirm her find. After a couple of very long minutes, he lifted his head and met her eyes.
“Shit.”