[February 14, 18:00]
Stella took a deep breath as she stepped out of the elevator. The familiar glass walls of the lab greeted her like an old friend. Through them she could see technicians, scientists, and detectives milling about, a slew of brilliant minds all dedicated to solving crime. In the span of thirty seconds, she saw one person doze off while surveillance footage played on fast-forward, another carefully drawing a liquid into a tiny syringe, and Adam playing air guitar to whatever track was playing through his earbuds. Shaking her head, she donned her lab coat and joined Danny in front of a monitor, pulling up a chair.
"Husband give you anything?" Danny asked, glancing up from the screen. The fingerprint search kept flashing by in front of him, one negative match after the other.
"It might be the husband." Stella leaned back in the chair. "They've been married less than a year, but they're separated now. They don't live together, he has a mistress, and no alibi." It sounded like a closed case when she said it like that.
He let out a low whistle. "You didn't bring him down?"
"He was cooperating until we brought up the mistress. Besides, we don't have anything but motive. Flack's trying to get a warrant for his place and his prints. Until that comes through or Juliana wakes up, we've just got our evidence. Whatever wasn't contaminated, at least."
"I went over Lincoln to process the vic this morning after she came out of surgery but..." Danny blew his cheeks out in a sigh. All the swabs, envelopes, and carefully folded papers he had brought back to the lab were perfectly mundane. Pavement from the abrasions on her palms and cheek. The standard mix of dirt and grime from city living everywhere else. "Guy must've been quick. Sprung her from behind, she didn't get a chance to fight back. Nothin' under her nails, nothin' in her hair." He shook his head. "No signs of sexual assault, at least."
"Thank God for that." At least something was going their way this morning. "What are you running?"
The man pointed to an adjacent table. "That guy. Hospital also gave me the pictures of her wounds, already put 'em on Hawkes's desk. He's at the ME's office for a bit, helping Sid with three floaters that came in."
Stella nodded absently, only listening with half an ear. On the light table lay a large pocket knife. Its silver blade and handle were stained with brownish blotches. The bloody water it had been found in had dried up. The handle was heavily textured, no chance for fingerprints there. Some DNA, maybe. Thankfully, the straight 4-inch blade was smooth, and Danny had raised one print on either side with dark powder. "Thumb and index," she smiled, picturing someone unfolding the blade. "If AFIS doesn't come up with anything, my money is on the husband."
"I already sent swabs to DNA. Blood's gonna come back to the vic, but we might be able to get a profile for the owner." The computer trilled, emitting the beautiful sound of a positive match. "Boom. Don't need to wait for DNA. And, get this," he held up a finger, "not the husband." The prints on the blade matched to Vladimir Markelov. 45, male, charged for aggravated assault on Christmas Eve two years ago.
"Let's bring him in."