God is Watching You was spray-painted in red on the tent. Alexa stumbled to the other side. Wrath of God dripped like blood.
She’d looked over her shoulder several times during the ten-minute walk to the cemetery. The wide-open door last night, plus her news feed this morning reported Hammer hadn’t been found. He was at large, and the public was urged to take caution.
Now this.
She scanned the cemetery. Whoever vandalized the tent could be hiding and watching her reaction—maybe from behind the apple tree or a tall tombstone or crouched below the stone wall. The early morning mist didn’t help; it slithered across the ground, enshrouding monuments and swallowing tombstones. A hare hopped from behind the tent, so large it looked carnivorous.
Her greenstone pendant heated up against her sternum as she called the police. She turned in a slow circle, certain she was being watched.
Constable Blume arrived in a whirl of lights and siren. He jogged across the cemetery, found the gap in the rock wall, and crossed through. “Why is the tent over here?” he huffed.
“It’s where the remains were discovered.” Alexa looked to where the other grave had been filled in. Mist obscured the view. “There was another tent over that way, but Dr. Luckenbaugh had it removed.”
His Adam’s apple rose and lowered. “There were more bodies there?”
“One more skeleton.”
He looked at the tent. “Is it still in there?”
It came out in a little-boy soprano. Alexa choked back a laugh. “The skeletons have been moved to the morgue.”
“Who were they?”
He must not have been listening last night when she described the skeletons. She noticed he had a shaving nick on his chin and imagined how he’d cussed and stanched it. “We think one was a Chinese gold miner. The other one might be a European settler.”
He scanned the grass. “I don’t see wheel marks. They must have walked.”
“Might have been just one person,” Alexa pointed out.
“Was anything disturbed inside the tent?”
“I haven’t looked. I didn’t want to touch anything until someone was here. You know, as a witness.” She had grabbed her crime kit as she left the cottage. What if the bones in the morgue pointed to murder? There might be evidence in the fill-dirt, and she wanted to be prepared. She had made sure both doors were secured and locked.
She took out gloves and booties.
Constable Blume photographed the graffiti with his phone. “Doesn’t qualify as a hate crime. Nothing inflammatory or threatening. Maybe get charged with property destruction,” he said. “Too bad there’s no security cameras here.”
Alexa had already taken photos and sent them to Ana.
The constable slipped on gloves and shifted the flap open. Alexa held her breath as she looked over his shoulder. The interior was a dim jumble of overturned tables, smashed light bulbs, and a disarray of tools. The dirt Ana had wanted sieved was heaped back on the grave. The tarp was strewn aside as if it had been jerked from under the fill-dirt like a tablecloth. A shovel had been driven into the middle of the grave dirt like a knife.
Anger, Alexa thought. It looked like someone had acted out of anger.
“Has anyone been hanging around here, harassing you?” the constable asked.
The cast of cemetery characters paraded across her mind: Mr. Sun and his friend from the New Zealand Chinese Association, Mr. Howard of the DIY coffin kits, the taciturn man who had excavated the graves, the reporter at Cindy Mulligan’s grave and her cameraman, the older lady with the plastic rain hat. What had she said? Something like God doesn’t want you digging up the dead. Chill bumps broke out on her arms. “A woman was here yesterday. She complained about the dig. Dr. Luckenbaugh said she tried to get in the tent.”
“What’s the woman’s name?”
“I don’t know. She had gray hair and wore a clear rain bonnet thingy.”
“A granny tagger.” The constable harrumphed. “I’ll file a report, but you know we’ve got a lot going on.”
“It’s more than graffiti. Whoever did it trashed the tent and might have compromised evidence.” She heard a siren in the distance and thought of the searchers gathering for another go. “Any news about Ms. Bowen?”
“No sightings of Ms. Bowen or Hammer overnight. We heard from Vodafone. Ms. Bowen’s mobile was active up until Thursday at 3:10 p.m. The last coordinate was a kilometer from Plum Tree Terrace.”
A little over half a mile, Alexa converted. “What does that mean?”
He narrowed his light blue eyes, possibly aware DI Katakana didn’t consider her a team member, but his excitement took over. “Maybe her battery went dead or her phone was turned off. Or it might mean the phone was destroyed. Maybe thrown in the river. Seems to me…”
Alexa waited as he formed his thoughts.
“…that she wasn’t far from her house when something happened to her. Her last text was to the boyfriend. Something like ‘See ya Saturday night, heart emoji.’ So she wasn’t planning to see him the evening she went missing. That jibes with what he said.”
A wave of anger washed over Alexa again. She wanted to be at a team meeting instead of left on the outs. Concentrate on what you can do, she told herself. “I’ll dust the tent flaps and take a sample of the paint. Can you wrap the shovel?”
He checked the time on his phone. “I gotta be at Queenstown Airport at nine. A couple bigwigs from Auckland are flying in to help with the case.” He straightened his shoulders and sucked in his stomach. “It’s my job to pick them up and brief them.”
Bruce hijacked her mind. He headed the major crimes unit in Auckland. Was a missing woman and an escaped parolee a major crime? Bruce didn’t know she was in Arrowtown. Well, unless gossip spread from Auckland Forensic Service Center across the street to Central Police Department. It was possible, since the two of them had been seen together, out and about. But mostly they’d been behind closed doors. Bedroom doors. “Do you know who you’re picking up?” she asked.
“One of them is the head of Missing Persons Unit. Don’t know the other.”
She half-hoped it would be Bruce and half-hoped it wouldn’t. Her mind segued to the test on S2’s molar that she was scheduled to perform. “Can you drop me off at the Queenstown Medical Center on your way?”
“Not really on the way.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
He blushed and jogged off to his patrol car. Had she scared him off? She was relieved when he returned with two large paper evidence bags to top and tail the shovel.
Conscious of the time, she completed her work in a rush and left, the tent innards still a mess. Constable Blume whisked her to the medical center. There was only one car in the lot. “Nah, yeah, I’m off,” Constable Blume said. He left her standing on the curb with her awkwardly wrapped shovel protruding from under one arm and the crime kit at her feet.
She texted Sally, who met her at the door. “Your firm is keeping me busy,” Sally said. She looked less professional this morning, in jeans, a sweater, and tennis shoes. “What’s with the shovel?”
“Evidence. I need it locked up while I conduct the test.”
Once the shovel was secured, Alexa followed Sally to the locker room. It was time to disrobe, suit up, get masked and disinfected.
Sally opened a locker for her. Her Saturday-self was more relaxed. “I’ve been reading about the process. Did you know strontium is named after a tiny town in Scotland?”
“In North Carolina we have a Barium Springs.” It was hard letting go of “God is Watching You” to focus on strontium isotope analysis, but in the end her fingers holding the molar were steady and her focus keen. Sally promised to rush the results. “I’ll take the DNA sample; you get going,” she said.
While Alexa and the shovel waited for an Uber, she called Ana about the vandalism.
“I saw the pictures,” Ana said.
“There’s damage inside the tent too. Stuff scattered and the grave half full of dirt.”
“Do you think it’s teenagers?”
“‘God is Watching You’ is a weird tag. What about that woman who complained about the dig? The one who tried to get into the tent. What did she say?”
“‘Leave the dead in peace,’ something like that. A lot of people think it’s wrong to dig up the dead, but it’s hard to imagine her spraying the tent in the middle of the night, especially with Earl Hammer loose.”
Alexa agreed. “A constable came, took pictures, filed a report.”
“It’s a criminal offense to modify or destroy an archaeological site.”
“I’ve got a sample of the spray paint and fingerprints from the tent flap. Your shovel too. I’ll dust the handle at the lab.”
“That’s my favorite shovel,” Ana said.
“I can eliminate your prints. See what might be left.”
“I’m heading to the morgue as soon as I get the monkey situated. Can you meet me there at eleven?”
Alexa assumed the monkey was Shelby. She waved at a little green electric hatchback. She was worried the shovel wouldn’t fit. “My Uber is here. Gotta go. I’ll see you there.”
It was a ten-minute glide to the police station. The female driver looked at the shovel suspiciously and didn’t initiate conversation. After she dropped her off, Alexa stepped back and studied the Queenstown Police Station. It looked like a white stone manor house with Swiss chalet shutters.
She stood a moment longer to get her bearings. She felt like seaweed, pushed and pulled by squirrelly currents: Chinese miner and missing women. Escaped parolee and vandalized tent. A life at stake was most important. She hoped the evidence she had gathered would help find Eileen Bowen.
Three cops in full uniform glanced at the wrapped shovel tucked under her arm when she entered the lobby. She grinned: shoveled and dangerous instead of armed and dangerous. She gave her card to the sergeant at the information desk. His eyes landed on the shovel. “Digging into crime, eh?”
“I’m meeting Leigh Walker in the lab.”
He called to verify. “Says she’s supposed to meet you, eh?” He nodded, pulled his pants up over his large belly, and pointed toward the hallway. “Through there.”
The lab tech waved to her from a doorway. “Kia ora. I’m Leigh.” Her unbuttoned lab coat revealed an orange Jungle Juice T-shirt. A wide-eyed lion was sipping something. Alexa guessed Jungle Juice was an energy drink. She also thought Leigh, whose light-blond hair was pulled into a super-tight ponytail, looked seventeen. Alexa introduced herself and stepped in.
There was always a moment of tingly anticipation when she first saw a lab. Ideally, a crime lab had separate spaces—rooms even—for different functions: toxicology, fingerprints, firearms, trace evidence. That’s how Auckland Forensic Service Center was. Not so here; everything seemed crammed into one room. She lifted the crime kit and shovel. “Where can I unload?”
Leigh cleared a desk space by stacking folders. “Cheers. Here you go.”
Alexa leaned the shovel against the wall and set the kit on the desk. She washed her hands, slipped on gloves, and removed the fingerprint cards and a vial of paint. It had been tricky lifting prints from the tent flap. The polyethylene material had been shiny and slippery. She’d used black powder, a feather brush, and lifting tape. The results had been a mishmash of smeary partials. She didn’t think any would be of use. She had higher hopes for the shovel handle. She filled out the custody of evidence forms, and Leigh signed off, eyeing the shovel. “Does it factor in with the missing woman?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. These are from a vandalism case at the cemetery. Let’s log them in and then see where you are with the evidence I sent in yesterday.” The haul had been paltry: the woolen hat from the creek, fingerprints from the Smart car door handle, and the two drink glasses from Eileen’s sink. Leigh had said on the phone that she’d already fumed the glasses.
Leigh signed for the transfer. “I’ll check them into the property room and get what we need.”
While she waited for Leigh, Alexa studied a portable fuming chamber on a counter. She located the heating tray for the super glue pack. All the tech had to do was set the glassware inside the chamber, shut the door, insert a super glue pack onto the heating element, and press PROCESS. The heat would cause a polymerization reaction which would bond to the oils left behind in the latent prints.
Alexa thought of her middle school science fair. Her “Chamber of Secrets” shoebox had consisted of an electric coffee cup warmer, cotton balls dabbed with super glue, and a plastic Hardee’s cup. She had placed the cotton balls on the cup warmer. The heat vaporized the super glue, which bonded to the fingerprints she’d planted on the cup and hardened, forming a visible, white structure.
Brilliant.
She had expected applause, but her battery-operated fan hadn’t been strong enough to mask the released fumes, and Ms. Clarke had evacuated the gym for thirty minutes. Eddie Fronczak won the blue ribbon for Sailboat Stabilization. How had wine corks, toothpicks, and a tub of water beaten the miracle of cyanoacrylate?
This fuming chamber had a fume evacuation button. When Leigh reappeared, Alexa asked, “Where are the glasses?”
“In the property room.” Leigh handed over two envelopes. “These are the prints I lifted from them.”
The first envelope, when Alexa broke the seal, held two backing cards. The first was labeled Sample 1, A: t . Alexa knew t stood for thumbprint. Sample 1, B contained three prints labeled i, m, and r. Index finger, middle finger, and ring finger. Lifting tape was smoothed flat against each card, sealing the finger marks. The little fingers were missing. Maybe the holder of the glass raised his or her pinkie while drinking, or maybe used the little finger to support the glass from below.
The other envelope held the samples from the second glass, which were labeled accordingly. Alexa took out her magnifying glass and studied the spiral-like pattern of a thumbprint. “Have you scanned them into AFIS?”
Leigh had buttoned her lab coat and looked more professional without the Jungle Juice lion staring out. “I already got the results. Can you verify?”
All results had to be verified by more than one examiner. Leigh knew to walk away. Doing so minimized bias. If Leigh thought a print was a good candidate, and they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, Alexa might agree with her. Alexa recalled a study in which examiners were told a suspect confessed. This influenced their findings. With Leigh busy doing something else, Alexa opened the file.
The Automated Fingerprint Identification System reported possible candidates in descending order. There were four. Alexa homed in on the top. She studied the print, using the software to mark it. Afterwards, she pulled up the print Leigh had lifted from the glass and followed the same process. She was comfortable they were from the same source. She quickly checked the others; they didn’t qualify.
Only then did she glance at the name attached to the print on file: Eileen Bowen. “Makes sense the prints are hers,” Alexa said.
“It’s the same with the other glass,” Leigh said. “They also have her prints on them.”
Alexa left dishes and glasses in her sink too. It was embarrassing when Natalie cleaned up after her. But these results didn’t get them anywhere. “What about the car door handle prints?”
“I haven’t scanned them yet.”
“I’ll do it.” Alexa thought back to yesterday, remembering how Constable Blume had looked at her strangely when she’d dusted the car with a giant cotton ball. Now, she scanned the prints one at a time, oriented each, added a filter to enhance the images, pressed Send, and twirled in the chair.
She thought of her Toyota as she waited. No one but she touched her car door handle that she was aware of except the guy at Cheap Tyres. She’d replaced well-worn tires two months ago. She anticipated that the prints would be Eileen’s.
She stopped mid-twirl. Expectations were dangerous. They could lead an examiner to make incorrect conclusions and impartial decisions. Maybe Earl Hammer or the ex-husband had grabbed the handle and jerked Eileen out.
AFIS responded with a candidate list on the lower door handle prints. She quickly determined the prints were Eileen’s.
But prints from above the handle belonged to someone else. Alexa did a double take. Misty Tandy was number one on the candidate list. She vacated the seat and let Leigh check the list.
Leigh reached the same conclusion. “Who is Misty Tandy?”
“The missing woman’s sister.”
Leigh pulled her ponytail tighter. “My sister and I shared a car when we were coming up. She was cheap as chips, always leaving it empty of petrol.”
Misty and Eileen weren’t teenagers, but Alexa supposed there were reasons Eileen might lend her sister her car. Alexa decided to inform DI Katakana.
The DI answered her phone with, “What?”
Alexa stammered her news. “I dusted Ms. Bowen’s car door for fingerprints and some of them belong to her sister. Maybe you should ask Ms. Tandy why.”
The DI was quiet for a moment. Alexa heard muffled voices, the cackle of someone’s laugh. Finally DI Katakana said, “I’ll send someone to find her. She’s on one of the search teams that just left.”
Alexa felt emboldened. “Any updates?”
“Neither hide nor hair of either Hammer or Bowen.” The DI hung up without saying goodbye. Heat radiated from Alexa’s core. She ripped her gloves off and tossed them. That job in Abertay was looking better and better. She took a deep breath and turned to Leigh. “Let’s examine that hat now. Is it dry?”
“It dried overnight.” She went to fetch it.
Alexa pulled out her phone as she waited. It was ten fifteen. She still had time before she was to meet Ana at the morgue at eleven.
They slipped on fresh gloves, sterilized a workstation, and unwrapped the hat. The red poppy applique looked wilted against the gray wool. “It wasn’t home knit,” Leigh said. “The tag says Great Kiwi Yarns. One hundred percent merino wool. How will you take a DNA sample?”
People left skin cells behind on everything they touched with bare hands. Alexa was banking on the possibility that Eileen’s abductor had contact with the hat. She closed her eyes, imagining the scene. Eileen abducted in the woods. Screaming. Thrashing. The hat coming off. The assailant throwing it in the creek. Two seconds of contact was all it took. But where was Eileen?
“Ms. Glock? What method?”
Her eyes flew open. “Tape-lifting will be quickest.”
Leigh found a roll of Scotch tape. Alexa tore off a two-inch piece. “Have a vial ready,” she instructed. She pressed the tape along the headband area, plucked it up, and repeated it twenty-five times, counting silently, hoping skin cells would be picked up via the adhesive. She knew the repeated pressure increased the chances of extracting more touch DNA. Then she placed the tape into the tube, capped and labeled it, and instructed Leigh to send it off.
“All good,” Leigh said.
Alexa glanced at her phone again. Ten forty. If she left now, she’d be on time to meet Ana. It would mean trusting Leigh to dust the shovel for prints. It wasn’t a hard job, and the cemetery vandalism wasn’t a top priority. “Will you process the shovel handle for prints? I’ve got a date with a skeleton.”