The tide had leveled The Apex with the dock. No downward leap like last night. Sergeant Wallace and Kopae had wrapped caution tape along the rail and posted two Keep Out signs. The warning might work on people who followed rules.
Graceful as a gymnast in hiking boots, she hopped aboard and settled on the bench to suit up. I’ve got this.
She photographed the scene, aware that the flat, lazy sea surrounded her. The cooler, once full of blood slurry, lay on its side. A whoosh of breath escaped from her lungs as she swabbed a sample of leakage. The stench lingered as she dusted the lid for prints.
She had less than an hour and worked industriously, calmed by procedure.
The knothole on the second level was now a crude irregular gash, and the gaff was, indeed, missing.
The knee-wall blood spatter she had spotted last night was gone, but Alexa smiled. Trick’s on you, buddy. Blood is almost impossible to eliminate. Even chlorine bleach only erases it to the naked eye. BLUESTAR FORENSIC spray would illuminate hemoglobin left behind. But dim light or darkness was necessary for the trace to glow. Stewart Island was good for darkness. She had read the island had recently been named as a Dark Sky Sanctuary. There was such a thing, and Alexa thought it was cool. In the daytime, anyway.
She’d come back at night.
The bullet evidence could not be brought back. The proof in her head that it had been here, lodged and lethal, didn’t count. But she did have photos of the exit wound on Gray’s body. And Constable Kopae had mentioned that the photos she had taken on her phone might still exist in the cloud, if her phone had been synced.
Fat chance. When in her life had she ever been synchronized?
She had waved to Madalyn and was walking up the hill when Constable Kopae crested it and pulled over so Alexa could get in. “Senior said to bring you straight to the airport,” Kopae said.
She had a busy day ahead examining evidence in a lab. “Stop by the medical center on the way. There’s more evidence I need to pick up.”
“Roger.”
Alexa filled Kopae in on Madalyn’s description of the man and truck.
“That sounds like Sean Warren’s truck,” Kopae said. “He owns the fishing boat. Bunks there, too, sometimes.”
“Do you know him?” She glanced out the rear window at Madalyn, a small figure against the ocean and sky.
“He’s going through a rough patch. No job, his wife kicked him out, I heard.”
A bad feeling kicked Alexa too. “Madalyn could be in danger if the truck driver had anything to do with Gray’s death. Get one of Supervisor Lowell’s rangers here to keep an eye on her.”