“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”
“Sure. The conference room.”
Adler followed Davenport, and when he closed the door, Adler said, “I’m working a murder case. Jennifer Ralston.”
“I heard about that. We went to high school together, but I haven’t seen her for several years. May I ask why you’re here?”
“Gina Mason’s name has come up several times during this investigation. You dated Gina, didn’t you?”
Davenport slid a hand into his pocket. “I did.”
“She broke up with you?”
“That’s right. And yes, I was pissed at the time, but looking back I can see she was right. A clean break made the best sense.”
“Looking back as you say, it had to hurt like hell.”
“Sure. But as I told the cops fourteen years ago, I wasn’t angry enough to hurt her. I loved her and was devastated when she vanished.” He rattled change in his pocket. “Did Kaitlin Roe send you? She wanted to interview me for some project, but I hung up on her.”
“No, but why hang up?”
“I don’t need any more of her manipulative bullshit.”
“How so?”
“She was trouble. Gina and I were doing great, and then Kaitlin moved in with the Masons. She brought so much chaos with her. Gina felt obligated to spend more time with her cousin. I even tried to help where I could, but I got pushed out.”
“How is that Kaitlin’s fault?”
“Gina and I were fine before her.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have left Gina that night when she needed help. And now Kaitlin has some fleeting idea she’s going to fix all this, now?”
“It sounds like you’re still mad.”
“Not at Gina. But sure, I didn’t and still don’t trust Kaitlin Roe.” He shook his head as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I wish she’d been the one taken, not Gina.”
Davenport had known Jennifer, Erika, and Kaitlin, but Kaitlin had been certain she didn’t recognize her attacker’s voice. She’d spoken to Davenport recently, so she should have been able to identify him. “Did you know someone stabbed Kaitlin?”
His eyes widened with shock. “She’s dead?”
“No, she’ll recover.”
Davenport drew in what felt like a calculated breath.
“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?” Adler asked.
“With my wife and son.”
“And she can confirm this?”
“Yes, but why should she have to?” Davenport was growing angry.
“I’m just covering all the bases.”
“It sounds more like you think I’m a suspect. But then why shouldn’t you? Cops go for the low-hanging fruit, don’t they?” He sounded outraged, insulted, and afraid.
The original investigation had nearly cost him his future, and now he sounded scared this one would as well. “Should you be, Mr. Davenport?”
A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You cops raked me over the coals fourteen years ago. If you have any more questions, submit them to my lawyer.”
Adler had read nothing overtly threatening in the notes written to Jennifer. Now at the state forensic department, Adler would have the opportunity to discuss the handwriting with the technician in charge of the case.
Adler rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made his way down the hall. The glass walls offered a peek into the scientists’ workstations, which were equipped with high-powered microscopes designed to analyze everything from bullet striations to automobile paint chips. Other work zones were outfitted with powerful computers built to analyze drug toxicity, DNA, and any other evidence left at the scene of a crime.
Down the hallway at a lone door, he pressed the intercom button and identified himself. The door latch opened with a click, and he pushed through the secured entrance to find Dana Tipton sitting at her desk peering into a microscope. A white lab coat covered her short frame, and her curly hair was twisted into a tight knot, accentuating large dark-rimmed glasses and sharp green eyes. She rose to shake his hand. “Detective Adler.”
“Dana, thanks for seeing me. I understand you had a chance to look at the notes from the Ralston homicide.”
“I did. I went through them late yesterday.” She carried a file to a light table. She spread out the five notes and clicked on the light. “I checked all for fingerprints. I was able to pull a partial print from the fifth note. It’s a right thumb. But there aren’t enough indicators to make a definitive identification.”
“How many?” Fingerprints had dozens of characteristics, but to make a conclusive identification, the technician needed to match at least six traits.
“I identified four indicators within the print. But I did submit the partial to AFIS. We’ll see what pops.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was administered by state police throughout the country and contained millions of criminal and civilian prints. If the owner of this fingerprint had a record or ever worked for the government, it was in the system.
“Okay. Anything else you can tell me?”
She adjusted her glasses. “I do have some ideas about the author.”
Handwriting analysis wasn’t an exact science, but it still could help. “Let’s have it.”
“Every letter begins with ‘My Girl.’ ‘My Girl, you’re still a beautiful woman. My Girl, would you like a ride to work?’ At first glance, the words could be considered an endearment, but ‘My Girl’ is written in bolder letters than the others. The author pressed down much harder when he wrote those words.”
“He’s angry.”
“He’s certainly making a point when he calls her ‘My Girl.’”
“He considers her a child? Lesser than himself, perhaps?”
“Maybe. Or she’s a possession.” She adjusted her glasses again. “The text suggests their connection goes way back. ‘My Girl, remember that last summer by the river?’”
“He’s known her a long time, or he’s stalked her for a long time. What’re the chances it’s a woman?”
She shrugged. “Given the shapes of the letters and the nature of the crime? Slim to none.”
“What else?”
“The handwriting is deliberate and written with care. Note how well formed and neat the letters are.”
“Remind you of an engineer?”
“A drafter’s style exhibits a more specific block style, which I don’t see here. These letters also slant to the right, suggesting he’s left-handed.”
“Could all this have been written deliberately?”
“Sure.” She pointed. “The last note is different than the others. ‘My Girl, what is your biggest regret?’ It appears to have been written quickly, and the letter formations are slightly different than those in the first four. Basically, he’s showing more of himself here whether he realizes it or not.”
“Any indication of when it was written?”
“Unfortunately, no. But if you find this guy, and you can get a handwriting sample, I can match it, Detective.”
Forensic analysis was great at supporting an arrest in court, but when it came to finding a killer, old-fashioned detective work ran circles around the science. In the fir
st few critical days after a murder, every hour counted. “There’s a heart drawn at the bottom of each page.”
She nodded. “It’s not symmetrical, but it also doesn’t feel casually drawn to me. And because it appears in each note, it has meaning to him. I understand the flowers under the victim’s bed were arranged in the shape of a heart.”
“Correct. Anything else?”
“The author chose a nice paper stock. White vellum. Not cheap. Makes me think it’s the second page of more formal stationary.”
“A brand used by one of a million offices?”
“I would say professional offices.”
“What else can you tell me about the author?”
“I’m no profiler, Detective. And some in law enforcement see graphology as one step above witchcraft.”
“Understood. Just looking for general impressions that will help narrow down the author.”
She paused over the third note. “The overall shape of the letters is smaller in scale. People who write smaller tend to be shy and more introverted. The spacing between the words is large, suggesting he likes his space. The edges are sharp, meaning he’s aggressive and assertive.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s all I’ve got for now.”
“Have the techs had a chance to examine Erika Crowley’s car?”
“We are pulling prints, and I know multiple dark-hair samples have been found. Mrs. Crowley had blond hair, so we know they don’t belong to her. We did find samples of blond hair in the trunk as well as urine.”
“He put her in the trunk.”
“That’s my guess. I can tell you the GPS in her car tracked the vehicle path. It went directly from the yoga studio to the gas station on Route 1. A forensic technician did take several tire casts beside the vehicle.”
“He switched cars.”
“Most likely.”
“Thanks, Dana.”
As he left the offices his phone rang. It was Quinn.
“I just received a call from a local vet. A woman found a Siamese stray and dropped it off at the vet. He checked for a chip.”
“It’s Jennifer Ralston’s cat?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Where was the cat found?”
“Chesterfield County near Hull Street and Courthouse Road.”