“Give me your bandanna?” He had it tied around his head, holding the loose hair away from his face.
He didn’t ask me why—either because he knew I needed some way to grab the object without putting fingerprints on it, or he simply trusted that I wouldn’t ask for no reason. I appreciated it either way. He handed it to me, the cloth damp with his sweat.
“Thanks.”
I took a couple photos as best I could from outside the shrubbery, then reached in, wincing a little as the long tendrils of blackberry vines poked at my arms. I grimaced as I squatted down, then sidled my way into the bushes, cursing under my breath as the thorns from the wild blackberries scraped along my skin, made sensitive by sun and heat.
“You okay, baby?” Elliot asked, his voice concerned.
“Fine,” I grumbled, taking a few more photos close to the knife, showing it situated in the foliage. Then I put my phone away and retrieved the blade, earning myself several long scratches for my trouble. “Goddamn bush.”
I swore I heard him chuckle, but when I emerged, his expression gave nothing away. I held up what he’d seen: a hunting knife, most of the blade still silver, except for the scalloped top edge, which still held a few brownish stains.
“Fuck,” Elliot breathed.
I nodded. “We need to get this back to the house and in a baggie,” I said.
“A baggie?”
“I mean, Ineedan evidence baggie, but I’m pretty sure Ziplock is the best I’m gonna be able to do.”
“You’re turning it over?” he asked me.
I looked back at him. “Well, I don’t exactly have a DNA test kit here.”
“They’re going to lose it. Or fuck it up,” he said grimly. “Or lie about it.”
Although I’d seen little from the Augusta County Sheriff’s Office to inspire confidence, I also hadn’t seen anything thatwould indicate that level of corruption—although I suppose I couldn’t blame him for distrusting police. But that didn’t mean it was bad advice.
I decided to take a swab from one of the scalloped edges before I put it in the baggie. “Let’s go,” I said, wanting to get back to the house and get this taken care of. I was pretty sure I’d be able to find cotton swabs in the bathroom, and I could boil water to sterilize it. Not as good as sterile swabs and distilled water, but beggars can’t exactly be choosers.
My heart started poundingat the soft thump that echoed from somewhere within the house a few seconds after we walked in the back door. Had my father come back to the scene of the crime? Had someone else from the Community come to investigate the house or look for valuables? Had Helen or Ray come looking for us for some reason?
An insistentmrowcame from the doorway, and I immediately felt foolish.
Beside me, Elliot let out a laughing sigh, and I realized that he’d tensed up as much as I had.
“Hello, cat,” he said to the small brown animal.
“Mroow!” This was was drawn out longer.
“Do you need more food?” he asked her. “Water?”
“Mrrrrrew.”
I left him to deal with the cat, going into the kitchen in search of baggies. They were in the same place I remembered them being, and I grabbed several, knowing I’d need to wrap the blade before dropping it in, since dropping a hunting knife unwrapped into a baggie was a good way to drop a hunting knife down my leg or into my foot.
I laid one on the counter, then set the knife down on it and put a pot of water on to boil before going in search of cotton swabs. I found them in a drawer in the bathroom, and brought back a few, preparing to take a sample from the knife.
“What are you doing?” Elliot asked, coming into the kitchen.
“Merowl,” the cat put in, seeming to echo his question.
“Making sure the water I use to take a sample doesn’t have any biological organisms in it,” I replied. “The mineral content won’t be ideal, but it shouldn’t interfere with a good DNA test.”
“Does the Sheriff’s Office have a good DNA test?” he asked.
“I’m not giving it to them,” I replied. “I’ll hand over the knife, but the swab will go to Hart.”
