Sara was still smiling at the afternoon's memory when she opened the box containing evidence for the rape of Susan Akers. Her happiness was soon set aside, though, as she immersed herself in the tragedy this woman had suffered, only one of many like it that happened every day.
The first thing she did after reviewing her notes was to call O'Reilly. "Hey, it's Sara," she said when the detective answered his phone. "I need to talk to a possible suspect/ witness in this rape case. Can you send someone over to his residence to ask him to come in?"
O'Reilly agreed only after giving her a stern lecture on why she should stay within the lab until the rapist was caught. "I'm serious, Sidle. You had a building full of police behind you and you tried to fight this guy alone. That's the dumbest thing a cop can do, not calling for backup when it's available. You just keep yourself inside that building, or if you have to leave, get Nick or Warrick to go with you, until I get there with this guy."
Sara agreed and hung up, wondering to herself why she was suddenly coming across as a weak woman who needed to be protected. Mentally shrugging, she began to look over her notes and results from the past three days. All the analyses that could be done had been done by this point, and she was left with trying to cobble together what she'd learned into something resembling a coherent case.
She started with the fibers. Two carpeting samples that came from the victim's home; those could be eliminated as evidence of the rapist. Next were the fibers that had come from a carpet. They were light blue, her notes informed her, and triangular.
Definitely vehicle, so now it was time to start comparing. She walked to the trace lab and retrieved a CD holding their carpeting database. Thanks to modern technology, she could scan in a magnified image of the fiber and the computer would compare it to the thousands of examples stored on the disc, hopefully giving her results in an hour or two.
Sara returned to her lab and started the process, then moved on to the next fibers, the as-yet-unidentified inked linen. She sighed, knowing that she wouldn't get anywhere with these fibers unless she started doing some checking in the area. Opening the phone book that was stored in a desk drawer, she flipped to the business section and located "bookstores," "libraries," and "antiques," then made photocopies of those pages.
This was the most mid-numbing part of the job, as any CSI could tell you. Cold calls take hours and often don't return anything useful, anyway. Sara took a deep breath, trying to stifle her frustration, and dialed the first number from the "bookstores" page. When the call she was answered, she began the spiel she'd decided to use. "Hello, is this 'Andrew's Bookstop'? Yes, my name is Sara and I'm an investigator for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'm looking for information on medieval-era texts. Does your store stock or deal in any such books, or do you know of any business or institution that does?"
One at a time, she crossed off the names on her photocopied lists. After two hours of frustration, Sara heaved a sigh and decided it was time to take a break. No one under "bookstores" knew anything about old books, at least up to "Vern's Volumes," which was where she'd left off. How could not one bookstore in the Las Vegas area know anything about old books? She was looking for books, these stores sold books! What was wrong with this picture? "Grrrrr," she said, gritting her teeth at the thought of at least two more hours of this.
Just as she was about the launch the phone book across the room, O'Reilly walked in. "Hey Sara, we're . . . uh, what are you doing with that, Sara?" His eyes widened as he took in the large yellow book she was holding over her head and the dangerous expression on her face.
"Oops." Sara quickly put the book down and smiled. "Just, um, exercising my triceps. Don't get to work them enough, you know?"
The detective nodded warily and moved back a step. "Ok, well when you're done . . . exercising . . . I have the suspect ready for you. He hasn't said anything other than 'hello,' 'no,' and 'do I need a lawyer?' so far, so it's up to you to rattle him."
"Will do, Jack," she said sweetly, and turned to leave. Just as she went through the doorway, the computer let out a loud beep. It had either identified the carpet fibers or run out of examples to compare it to. "One sec, I'll meet you in the room. Let me just see what I've got from that fiber run."
The view that greeted her on the computer was the first good news she'd gotten since she entered the building. "Bingo." According to the carpet database, the fibers came from a Ford carpet; more specifically, a "flint gray" Ford carpet. Apparently the "blue" she'd seen wasn't quite blue. Scribbling it down on a piece of scrap, she shoved the information into her folder and headed for the interview room.
Nodding to O'Reilly through the glass pane in the observation room door, she entered the interrogation room and sat across from the man who was waiting. A slight shudder ran through her as she realized the man sitting across from her with a dark scowl on his face had red hair. She stiffened her muscles, then relaxed them. "Jake Chaunce?"
"Yeah. Who're you?"
"My name's Sara. I have some questions for you. Were you aware that there was a rape in your area a few days ago?" While she spoke, she scanned his face for marks her attack could have left. His nose may have been the slightest bit swollen, but she just couldn't tell for sure.
"Nope."
Wonderful, she thought. He was the caveman, one-syllable-word type. This was going to be a pain. "Well, there was. A woman named Susan was raped. We have some evidence at the scene that you may be able to help us interpret. I'm told that you own chinchillas?"
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the table in front of him. "So?"
"So, do you own any black ones, or know anyone who does?"
"Yuh."
She fought the urge to throw something at the insolent man who was now eyeing her appraisingly. "Yes, you own one? Or yes, you know someone who does?"
"Own one."
"Listen, Mr. Chaunce. This will go a lot quicker if you'll just cooperate with me and answer my questions with some actual information. We want to get this cleared up, and you may be able to help us catch a rapist." The man was staring at her and she was sure she could see rage in his eyes. If he knew something, she was going to get it out of him. "If you won't talk to us, we'll have to assume that your reluctance to share has something to do with the crime, and in that case we can hold you for further questioning."
"Fine," the man ground out. "Whaddaya want to know, little girl?"
"First, I'd like to ask if we have your permission to take a sample of your pet's blood for DNA comparison."
The man looked at her blankly and shrugged. Sara wondered if he even knew what DNA was. Hopefully he didn't, and would see no reason to resist her requests. Imagining O'Reilly behind the glass, sending out a uniform to collect the animal, she added, "Second, I'd like to get a similar sample from you."
"Hold up there," the man said with a wide, fake smile. "I don't want some chick sucking my blood."
"Fine," Sara said, smiling back just as widely and not telling him that she had intended to collect an epithelial sample, not a blood sample. "We'll get one of the men to do it. Warrick's got a nice, strong needle technique . . ."
"Fine, fine. Take the damn blood and let me out of here."
"In a minute, Mr. Chaunce. I have two more questions for you." She shuffled through her papers, letting him stew for a minute. "First, what kind of car do you drive?"
"A truck. Listen, lady, do I have to sit here? Am I under arrest or something?"
Sara shrugged elaborately. "You're free to go, Jake, but I'm telling you that you're better off staying so we can clear this up. I'm sure there's a good reason for evidence implicating you to be at the scene, and I'm going to have to be able to report the reasons to my superior, or they'll want to arrest you."
Hiding her revulsion, she fluttered her eyelashes at the man charmingly. "It would be silly to have a nice man like you locked up just because he was nervous about talking to a girl like me."
Jake Chaunce preened, and Sara would have sworn she saw his chest puff up. "You're not so bad, girlie. Whatcha doing after this?"
"Well," she said softly, "I was hoping I could get a policeman to take those samples from you and your animal before you leave here tonight. It'd be better to get everything cleared up now, you know, because they don't like if I'm friendly to people who haven't been cleared yet. So . . . let's get you cleared." She gave him what she hoped was a sultry smile.
From behind the one-way mirror came the sound of choking. Apparently O'Reilly found her performance amusing. Hoping that her face showed neither the hilarity not the disgust she was feeling, Sara kept talking in an intimate tone. "So, Jake, tell me about your truck. What kind is it? You know, they say I can judge a man by the size of his . . . truck."
The redhead grinned lasciviously. "Oh, it's plenty big enough for you and me. I got an Expedition. You ever seen the cargo area in one of them? Big as a bed, let me tell you." Sara continued looking at the man meltingly and he kept talking. "It's got a black exterior, flint-blue interior. All the girls who've seen it love the blue." He smirked at her. "Maybe I'll show you when we finish here."
"Hmmm, maybe I'll let you," she smiled. "Oh, one more thing. Do you know anything about old books? It doesn't have anything to do with you, I'm just wondering since I've got another case where some girl got herself raped in a bookstore." That's it, Sara – talk on his level, blame the victim. She hated to even pretend to believe it, but she knew it would be effective. "You look like the kind of guy who knows stuff like this." She raised an eyebrow, still smiling.
"Aw, hell yeah. I know a lot of stuff, sweetie. I work in the ULV library, we got a couple of those medieval-type things hanging around taking up space."
Sara stood up and cocked a hip to the side, allowing the suspect to eyeball her figure. "I had a feeling you knew about stuff like that! God, I love smart men. So what do you say we get that blood stuff done and get you out of here for tonight? I'll be right back, let me just get my weapons," she added, wiggling her eyebrows at the word "weapons."
"Bring it on, sweetcheeks."
Sara was back within seconds with a syringe and vacu-tube. She smoothly took the man's blood, talking all the while. "You know, I dated this guy one who loved needles. He thought it was so hot that I knew how to use one. I kept telling him that I have better talents – at least that's what all the guys tell me – but that's all he wanted me for. You know, why can't someone want me for my body every now and then?" It sounded completely absurd to her ears, but Jake Chaunce was lapping it up, at least while he wasn't occupied staring down her v-neck shirt.
"There," she said sweetly, smoothing on a band-aid. "Why don't you just hang out in here for a while and I'll go bring this to my boss. Then we can get out of here in maybe an hour." She licked her lips and gave him a big grin, then walked out.
O'Reilly met her in the hallway, just around the corner. "Damn, Sara, why aren't you on Broadway?" he said disbelievingly. "That was absolutely inspired!"
Sara grinned, this time a real smile. "You never know what you can do till you try. And in my case, you never know what you can do without throwing up until you try it on a raping bastard. If you hadn't noticed, the guy's guilty as sin. Pleeeeease get him somewhere far away so I don't have to get ogled any more tonight."
