Page 5 of Nightshade
A minute went by and nothing happened. Stilwell flicked on the flashlight, turned the saw handle over, and sprayed the new side with the chemical. While he had the light on, he swept the beam across the garage to locate Gaston. He had moved away from the garage door and was now standing ten feet behind Stilwell, trying to see what he was doing.
“Stay right there for me, Henry,” he said.
“How come?” Gaston said. “I work here. I’m entitled to be anywhere I want.”
“I need to know where you are when the lights are off. Don’t fuck with me. You won’t want that.”
“Fine. I’m staying right here. Whatever makes you happy.”
“Thank you.”
Stilwell turned the light off and looked at the workbench. The holes in the saw handle where the blade had been attached were filled with a pale blue phosphorescent glow. It meant that blood had most likely seeped into the holes and so had not been washed away during cleaning.
“You can turn the lights on, Henry,” Stilwell said.
Gaston went back to the switch and the overhead lights came on. Stilwell approached the garage door holding the saw handle in a gloved hand.
“Open it,” he said.
Gaston pulled down on the chain, and the garage door began to rise.
“What’s that mean,presumpive?” he asked.
“Presumptive,” Stilwell corrected. “It means it looks like there was blood but the lab will have to confirm.”
“So you’re taking that?”
“Under the authority of the search warrant, yes. Who were you talking to on the phone, Henry?”
“I called Baby Head at the booth. He’s on his way.”
“Not going to make a difference. I’m still taking it.”
Stilwell walked out to the UTV and took an evidence bag from the storage compartment. He placed the saw handle in it, sealed it, and used a red marker to write the date, time, and search warrant number on it. He put the bag in the storage compartment and locked it with a key.
He moved to the cart’s seat and grabbed the clipboard fromthe shelf below the dashboard. Gaston was standing in the garage doorway, watching.
“I’m writing you a receipt for the handle I’m taking,” he said.
“What’s that do?” Gaston said.
“Documents chain of evidence.”
“‘Chain of evidence’?”
“A record of who has handled evidence and where it’s gone.”
“Evidence of what?”
“You know what, Henry? It’s not like Baby Head went out there and cut up the buffalo himself. He’s too clever for that. I’m guessing he had someone do it. I’ll be sending this saw handle to the lab in overtown. If the blood on it matches that mutilated buffalo’s, I’ll be back. Those are protected animals, and killing one—that’s a felony. We’re going to have a big weekend, and I’ll probably be running my ass off with drunk-and-disorderlies. I’m thinking about taking Tuesday off to recoup and then I’ll get this to the lab Wednesday or Thursday. I figure from there, it will take a few weeks for the lab to get to it. Homicides of humans take priority. But once I deliver it, there’s no turning back. So what I’ll do is give you till then—Wednesday—to come in, talk to me, and work something out. After that, it will be out of my hands.”
He took the receipt from the clipboard, pulled off the yellow copy, and got out of the cart. He walked over and handed it to Gaston.
“Wednesday, Henry,” he said.
The whole thing was a bluff. Stilwell knew that the lab would apply negative priority to his DNA request. He’d be lucky to get results before the end of the year.
“Baby Head ain’t going to allow this shit,” Gaston said. “He knows people.”
