Page 76 of Little Girls Sleeping
“Katie?” said Blackburn. He had been talking, but she was lost in her own thoughts.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just this case has hit me hard. Excuse my momentary lapse.” She forced a smile.
Blackburn moved closer to her. “I’ve been doing this job for about eight years. I’ve worked with many detectives, both in-house and from various jurisdictions.”
“Your point?” she said.
“My point is that I can tell the difference between competent detectives and detectives just going through the motions not clear about what they’re looking for, much less what direction they should take.” He took an additional moment to look Katie in the eye in order to make his point.
Katie knew he was telling the truth, but the intensity between them was almost too much to bear. She felt her face ignite with heat. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” She moved away from him.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” announced McGaven breathlessly. It seemed he might have run all the way to the lab.
“Good morning,” Katie managed to say.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked eagerly.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Katie, feeling the warmth dissipate from her face.
Blackburn moved to the other side of the room. “There were no fingerprints apart from those belonging to Katie and her uncle. Sheriff Scott’s fingerprints were around the door frame and at a high level. And many areas were completely clean of any prints.”
“Well, he did quite a bit of work with the water leakage. That’s probably why some areas were clear,” she said.
“I suppose,” Blackburn replied. “That dish towel you found at the crime scene was indeed soaked in chloroform. It was from an old sample.”
“Meaning?”
“Chloroform is not available to the average consumer; in fact, it’s been banned since the seventies because it eventually turns into a carcinogen, especially when it’s exposed to oxygen. I believe it’s available in small doses to the pharmaceutical industry, and it is used as a solvent in pesticides and dyes.”
“So are you saying that the killer had it stored for a long time?” she asked.
“It would appear so.” Blackburn went on, “The two footprints at your house and the ones at the gravesites are all a man’s size twelve. It’s not an average size, but most men who are six feet tall or more wear a twelve.”
“Anything else?” she said. “What about the message on my wall? Anything interesting or potentially usable?”
“I sent a photo of it to a friend of mine who is a handwriting-analysis expert, to see if she could shed any light on it. She has worked some high-profile cases with interesting results.”
“Could she tell if it was a psychopath?” asked McGaven, his eyes wide with intense interest.
“Not exactly,” began Blackburn. It was difficult to read his expression because of his intense demeanor. “I forwarded the report to you, but I can sum it up. The message was written by a man, thirties to possibly fifties in age, and he always writes in block letters. From the square lettering she could tell that he was trained in some type of technical school, like as an electrician, or in auto repair, carpentry, perhaps even computer-programming work.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” Katie said.
“Fifty percent minus anyone who doesn’t wear a size twelve,” added McGaven, trying to lighten the mood.
“One interesting thing is that the author had difficulty forming his block letters in the words ‘you’ and ‘never’. I don’t know if that will mean anything to you.”
There was a momentary silence.
“It doesn’t right now, but who knows, it may help when we have a solid suspect,” said Katie.
“What about Cisco’s saliva?” McGaven asked.
“It’s inconclusive right now due to the dilution, but I’m expanding the testing. There’s still the chance of finding something significant, but then again, it won’t help until we have something or someone to compare it to.”
“Thank you for rushing these tests. I was just hoping for something more,” Katie said. She turned to leave.
Blackburn stopped her. “I have your cell number and I’ll text you anything new as soon as it becomes available.”
