A guy from building services shows up, talking on a walkietalkie. “I’m looking into it right now,” he assures whoever is on the other end of the line.
“You two work for the forensics camp, right?” he says to Samantha and Lloyd. “I understand this mess has something to do with your camp, but people from two floors up are complaining about the odor. You’re going to have to get rid of that”—he grimaces when he points to the spoiled food—“now.”
Samantha’s purple glasses have slipped down her nose. As she adjusts them, she looks straight at the building-services worker. “You’re going to have to give us an hour,” Samantha says. “Our forensic scientists in training need to document the scene before anything gets touched or moved around.”
Samantha’s firm tone works on the guy. “Forensic scientists in training, hey? That’s a mouthful.” He checks the time on his watch. “One hour,” he tells Samantha. “But no longer than that. And you’d better open some windows—air out the place. Sheesh, does it ever stink!”
The windows are high up, so Nathaniel, who is the tallest, goes to open the nearest one. Lloyd stops him. “Not just yet, Nathaniel. We won’t touch those windows…not before you guys have some idea how the vandal got into the cafeteria.”
Lloyd and Samantha explain that we’ll be working in pairs, the way real forensic scientists do. One team will be responsible for taking photographs, one for taking detailed notes, and one for collecting fingerprints and miscellaneous evidence. “What’s important to remember is that this is going to be a team effort. You need to work together to solve this case,” Lloyd says. He makes a point of looking at the twins and also at Mason and me. “A positive attitude”—Lloyd directs this comment to Nathaniel—“benefits the entire team.”
“Wanna be fingerprinting partners?” I ask Muriel. Something tells me she could use a break from her brother.
Nico and Stacey partner up. They are cousins, and I guess Nico doesn’t mind hearing about environmental disaster, and Stacey likes corny jokes. They are going to be our note takers. Note taking is the perfect job for a person who likes lists as much as Stacey does.
“That leaves me and you for the forensic photo team,” Nathaniel says to Mason.
Mason looks pleased. “Sure, I’ll be your partner.”
Nathaniel makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “I wasn’t asking you to be my partner. I was just saying there was only us left.”
I nudge Nathaniel. “Hey,” I say. “Play nice.”
Mason looks surprised that I’ve come to his defense. To be honest, I’m a little surprised myself. I know I can be hard on Mason, but it’s different in our case. We’ve got history. Nathaniel only met him this week. He hasn’t earned the right to pick on him yet.
“All right then,” Nathaniel says to Mason. “Let’s be partners.”
“Okay,” Mason says, and he gives Nathaniel a shy smile. Nathaniel smiles back. All that smiling bugs me, but I’m not sure why. I guess, in my own way, I’m possessive about Mason.
Mason and Nathaniel go upstairs to the Department of Forensic Science with Samantha for supplies. Lloyd wants the rest of us to begin by looking for signs of forced entry. “Check the windows and doors. Keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual. Remember: don’t touch anything until you’ve got your gloves on. And keep those notebooks handy.”
Muriel and I peer up at the windows. We do not see any shattered glass or cut screens. Stacey has compiled a list of all the possible points of entrance into the cafeteria. She and Nico report that the doors look normal too.
Once Samantha and the boys come back with the cameras, a box of gloves, magnetic powder, wands, tape, cue cards and brown paper bags for collecting evidence, we get down to real work.
“Forty-nine minutes,” Lloyd tells us, “before we need to toss the meat and fish. I need the photography and fingerprinting teams over here. Don’t bother trying to get prints off the meat or the fish. The surfaces aren’t flat enough, and they’re way too wet. It’s too bad about the grease trap. You’d have got some good fingerprints there.”
Now that they have their gloves on, Stacey and Nico are testing the handles and locks on the doors to the cafeteria, checking to see if they have been tampered with. “The locks seem normal,” Stacey calls out.
“You could say we’ve got this part of the investigation all locked up!” This time, we are all too busy to laugh (or groan) at Nico’s joke. We are down to about forty-five minutes—and there’s still a lot to do.
Mason and Nathaniel are photographing the spoiled food. Samantha reminds them that when they are done, they need to get to the four corners of the cafeteria for some overall shots.
Nico and Stacey are recording information in their notebooks—the weight of the meat and fish packages and their condition. “This five-pound package of beef is completely thawed,” I hear Stacey tell Nico.
“Good observation, Stacey!” Lloyd says. “That kind of information could help us determine what time the vandalism occurred. With no air-conditioning in here, things probably defrosted pretty quickly.”
Maybe our noses are getting used to the smell, or maybe it is because we are so focused on our jobs, but the smell is not as gross as before.
Muriel and I spot fingerprints on the counter and on the handle of the freezer door. “See,” I say to Muriel when two thumbprints emerge from the magnetic powder we have dusted on the edge of the counter, “these ones are both arched. There’s another thumbprint over there.” I point to a spot a few inches away. “That one goes around in a continuous circle. Let’s dust there next.”
“Twenty-six minutes left!” Samantha calls out as she hands Muriel the tape and cards for lifting the fingerprints. Dusting for prints is not as easy as it sounds—and the time pressure makes it harder. Those first two thumbprints are nice and clear, but some of the other fingerprints on the counter are already smudged, making it hard to see the tiny identifying ridge details. My hands feel hot and sticky inside the rubber gloves.
Stacey is at the counter too, looking at the mustard words. “What about the message?” she asks Samantha. “Do you think building services will want to wash this up too?”
“Good point,” Samantha says. “Mason! Nathaniel! We need lots of pics of the mustard message. Mid-range and close-ups, please.”
My eyes are tearing up, so I grab a Kleenex from my pocket and blow my nose. I am about to throw the Kleenex into the garbage when I spot the mustard container. It is one of those squirt jars, making it perfect for writing with. “Hey, come see what I just found!” I call out to the others.
Mason takes several photographs of the mustard container. Then, once Samantha gives me the go-ahead, I fish it out of the garbage. There’s a paper coffee cup next to the mustard container, so Muriel and I decide to collect that too. Muriel hands me two brown bags for collecting evidence. The counselors have already explained that it is important to store pieces of evidence separately—it is another way to avoid contamination. Muriel labels the first bag, marking the date, time and contents. Then she seals it with red tape.
Lloyd crouches down to examine the tile floor. Because it is so oily, there are lots of footprints—including ours. “Boys!” Lloyd calls Mason and Nathaniel over. “We’ll need some photographs of the floor too. It looks to me like we might have some useful footwear evidence.” Lloyd checks the time. “Better hurry—we’re down to six minutes!”
“Footwear evidence?” Muriel looks up from the second brown bag she is labeling. “I know fingerprints are like snowflakes—everyone’s are different. But I didn’t know footwear was important too…”
“Footwear tells stories,” Samantha says. “And Lloyd just happens to be the forensic department’s footwear impression guy. That’s why we call him FIG for short.”
“FIG?” Lloyd says with a laugh. “No one ever told me that before. But I think I like it. FIG.” He says the word to himself as if he is trying it on to see if it fits.
The man from building services turns up exactly on time. Mrs. Lu is with him, as well as two other cleaners. “Let’s start by getting those windows open!” the building-services guy tells one of them. Mrs. Lu dips her mop into her bucket, and I can feel her watching us, waiting for us to leave the cafeteria so she can begin cleaning the floor.
Mason and Nathaniel are still photographing the scene. “Okay, forensic photography team, we’re done here!” Samantha tells them.
Nathaniel leans down to snap one last photograph of the cafeteria floor. Nico must not be worried about getting grease on his clothes, because he drops to the floor. Then he stretches out on his side, waves his hands and sticks out his tongue. “Photo bomb!” he shouts. I am starting to wonder whether Nico ever takes anything seriously.
We head back up to the conference room to have our snacks and watch a video. Samantha tosses Nico a pair of gray shorts and a T-shirt. “They’re from the lost and found,” she explains. “But at least they’re clean. The chair of the department would have our heads if you got grease on the furniture.”
Nico’s eyes light up, and I brace myself for another bad joke. “So you’re saying the chair is worried about her chairs?” he asks.
Lloyd groans.
“Don’t encourage him,” Samantha tells him.
Stacey predicts the video will be about analyzing footwear evidence. Muriel hopes it will have something to do with digital forensic science. “That’s when forensic scientists look for evidence on people’s computers,” she says.
Mason sits across from me at the conference table. He sighs when he sees what his mom has packed for his snack: a baggie of celery and carrot sticks. He eyes my slice of lemon pound cake. “Any chance you’d want to trade?”
“Not a chance. But thanks for asking.”
Mason crunches on a celery stick. “Celery has no flavor,” he says after he’s eaten it.
I break off a chunk of pound cake and hand it to him.
“Hey, thanks.” Mason pops the cake into his mouth.
Nico is back from the bathroom, dressed in the fresh clothes, which are a little baggy. Stacey and her cousins have the same snack: cubes of cheddar and apple slices. Only Stacey’s are packed in separate reusable containers.
“I can’t stand when different foods touch each other,” she says when she catches me watching her.
The video is stored on a memory card. Samantha has trouble getting the card into the forensic department’s laptop. She fiddles with the card, turning it upside down and trying it that way, but it is still not sliding in the way it should. Then she tries another hub, but that one is too narrow. “Hmm, I don’t know what the problem is,” she mutters to herself.
“Let me try,” Lloyd offers, only he cannot get the card into any of the hubs either.
Muriel watches them as she pops a cube of cheddar into her mouth. “There could be some dust in there,” she says after she has swallowed the cheese. “D’you want me to try something?”
“It’s all yours,” Samantha says, stepping away from the laptop to make room for Muriel.
Lloyd hands Muriel the memory card, which she inspects carefully. Then she crouches down so her face is level with the side of the laptop and blows into the second hub. When she tries inserting the card, it slides right in. “Ta-da!” she says. “The SD card hub was clogged. It happens sometimes, especially if a computer hasn’t been used in a while.”
“Thanks for the save, Muriel.” Then Lloyd turns to Samantha and shrugs. “Can you believe we couldn’t figure that out?”
“I know,” Samantha says. “It’s humiliating. And she’s only thirteen. Do you realize that in twenty years these kids could be leaders in the field of forensics? We could end up taking orders from them!”
So what if Muriel solved the problem? I still feel proud. After all, I’m one of those future leaders Samantha is talking about.