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.It hadn't worked.And even though my ovaries still had a few parting shots left in them, forty-six was too old to start thinking about babies, and families.If I got pregnant now, I'd be in diapers myself by the time the kid was old enough to buy me a beer.So why did I feel all gooey inside when I pictured Latham and myself leaning over a crib, watching our child sleep?The cab spit me out at my car.I paid the hack, and used my cell to try Latham again.No answer.So I turned my attention to the Alger house.Seeing it again made my stomach do flip-flops.A few police vehicles and the SRT bus were still there.A bombie saw me and approached."Lieutenant Daniels?" Her name tag read Wells.She wore enough body armor to protect her from a point-blank bazooka hit."There's something in the house you need to see."My reaction was physical.The thought of going back into that chamber of death scared me more than anything had ever scared me in my life.Wells seemed to sense this."We've cleared the remaining traps.There were only two left.""There may be others.""We went in with X-ray, ultrasound, and a K9 unit.The house has been disarmed.You can use my mask." Her voice trailed off, implying the if you're afraid."No need.Let's go."I had to will my legs to move, as they'd suddenly become stiff.It was like approaching a firecracker that should have gone off but hadn't.Bravery isn't the absence of fear.It's the ability to still function when fear overtakes you.Some people are naturally brave.Others, like me, learn to fake it.I still had no idea if faked bravery and real bravery were the same thing.Cops didn't talk about their fears.Instead they drank, got divorced, committed suicide, or all three.It beat dwelling on being killed in the line of duty.So into the house we marched, stiff upper lips in place.Wells took me past the living room, past the staircase, and back into the kitchen, where a black, charred stain marked the linoleum where Stryker had burned alive.The refrigerator was open.Curiosity overtook my jitters and I peered inside.Standard fridge contents.Milk.Cheese.Lunch meat.Beer.Condiments in the door.But one item was out of place.On the top rack, laid out on a CorningWare plate, were three severed fingers.I knew immediately whose they were.Officer Scott Hajek, my lab guy, was short, plump, and needed both hands to carry his crime scene kit, housed in an oversized Umco tackle box.He came into the kitchen and set the heavy case by my feet."Anything good to eat in there?" Hajek asked."Only finger food," I replied.Hajek squinted into the fridge through Coke-bottle glasses, then frowned."That's bad.""It was that, or a hand on rye joke.""Where's Herb? He has that gallows humor schtick down to a science."I had no idea where Herb was.After he'd disappeared last night, I hadn't heard from him.Hajek opened up his case, the hinged drawers expanding to three times the size of the base.After digging around for a few seconds, he came up with a vial of black fingerprint powder--to contrast the white appliance--and a horsehair brush.He found several latents on the door handle, and several more on the front surface of the fridge.He used Pro-Lift stickers to remove and mount the prints."Got a glove mark."He handed over the Pro-Lift card, and I noted the black oval smudge, no ridges.Someone had opened the refrigerator wearing gloves.I compared two other decent partials to a laptop display showing Alger's prints, and found that they matched.The homeowner used his own fridge; no surprise there.Hajek then printed the severed fingers.He used modeling clay to avoid getting ink all over, and as I'd suspected the fingers belonged to former Chicago police officer Jason Alger.It had been my suspicion that the cop had been killed, his fingers severed, and then his prints manually placed on the letter to the superintendent.The Chemist had known Alger's prints would be on file, and had wanted to lead us to this death trap."Can you lift any latents from the dead tissue?" I asked, hoping that perhaps the Chemist had handled Alger's fingers without using gloves."I could fume with iodine or cyanoacrylate, but let's try good old low-tech to start off."Hajek dug around in his box and found a glass microscope slide.He handed it to me."Press this between your palms.My hands are always cold."I did as instructed, and after a few seconds he took it back, wiped it with a nonabrasive cloth, and pressed the slide to the back of one of the fingers [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]