“We’re also in discussions with Governor Dahl to get a new evidence and storage warehouse constructed behind the department because you’re running out of space in the basement. Obviously it’ll need to be a specialist build due to what it’ll be holding and the fact we need to keep it all as secure as possible, so it won’t be a quick construction job.”
“Damn,” I whistled, smiling at DB and Hurst. “It’s like we finally have a legit operation going on.”
Hurst didn’t smile like I expected him to. “Amazing what you can do when some crooked fuckwad isn’t siphoning necessary funds into his own pockets, isn’t it?”
“How much of the extorted funds are you getting back?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t let it drop now that the guy was in prison.
“Every penny I can. I already have buyers for his residence and any other properties he owned. Forensic accountants are working on his bank accounts and with the IRS to confirm how much we can get back from them.”
After a little more discussion about what was happening, we left DB and Hurst to discuss business while we returned to our desks. Well, for me, it was the new office I’d been given to go through the cold cases in.
And it felt weird.
“Hey,” a voice greeted at the same time that they knocked on the door jamb. Swiveling around, I saw Carter standing there with a pad in his hands. “Figured while shit’s quiet, I’d come and help you.”
Glancing back at the boxes, I huffed out a breath. “I don’t know where to start. We’ve got a case that goes back to 1979, another from ’82, and the rest are spread out between then and now.”
Wheeling over the other chair, Carter looked at the information on the desk, which outlined each case on it.
“Let’s pop the ’79 and see what we can do. I like the idea of doing them chronologically.”
So that’s what we did.
“So, this guy went missing, but they had nothing to indicate it was a crime aside from the fact he left his wallet, car keys, all his belongings, and there was a partial bloody fingerprint on the door of the house?” Carter sighed, dropping his head back after we’d read through the case file.
“That’s what they’ve put in this.” I tapped the manilla folder and then pulled the box with the ‘evidence’ in it toward me. “Let’s see what’s inside this.”
I don’t think either of us was prepared for what we found after we’d unsealed the outside and lifted the lid.
“Hard to believe that this is what they thought was evidence,” Carter muttered as he pulled out a bag with something folded up inside it.
“The last cold case box I had to open to review evidence was filled with the shit we automatically process nowadays. Sure, this one has a t-shirt with three small blood drops on it in it, but it’s like a time capsule.”
He wasn’t wrong there. There were receipts, some neatly folded up handwritten notes, some fingerprints, a wallet, keys, a ball cap, a sock, three brown envelopes with ‘swab’ written on them, a bible, two pens in evidence bags, a napkin, an empty packet of potato chips, sunglasses, and—
“Is that—” Carter pulled a bag out and held it up for me to see.
“Has it been used?”
Yup, in the bag was a rubber. No wrapping.
And from the looks of it, it’d been used.
Dropping it back in the box, he pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fuck me. What are the chances DNA’s still on it after forty-two years?”
“We’ll send it to the lab once we cross-reference the evidence with what’s in the notes in the case file. I guess all we can do is pray.”
“Speaking of praying.” He picked up the bible. “Bit weird to have this as evidence. Was the guy religious?”
I’d just flicked the page of the case file from the initial notes to the people who’d been questioned after the man had been reported missing.
“I can’t answer that, but I’m sure his wife could.”
Carter’s head shot up. “You know his wife?”
Getting up, I tapped the page I’d been looking at. “So do you.”
Seeing the name, he started rapidly shaking his head. “No, fuck no. I’m not going to the Bates Retirement Home. The last time I was there, a woman pulled her teeth out and tried to kiss me.”
Ah, Lydia Jenks. That was always fun.
“Help me put this stuff in the safe room, and then we’ll go and ask Gynnie Bane some questions.”
As we drove toward the retirement home, I mulled over some of the information in the file.
The officer who’d dealt with the case when it’d first happened had noted that the pastor at the time, Perry Wise, had been at the house comforting Mrs. Bane. He’d also said that Wise’s face had screwed up whenever they’d mentioned Alan Bane’s disappearance or asked her for information about their relationship, and for some reason, that stood out to me.