Shift Page 7

  “The missing equipment was discovered over there? In one of those bins?”

  Hudson paused before answering. “Yes. In the farthest container.”

  “Thank you.” I walked to the corner and knelt before the bin in question.

  Hudson watched, but didn’t interfere.

  I was right. There was something on the floor.

  A pattern, pressed to the concrete.

  Like a waffle iron.

  I pulled out my iPhone and snapped a picture.

  “Anything amiss, Dr. Brennan?” Hudson’s tone was frosty. “Please don’t touch anything.”

  This freaking guy.

  “Of course not.”

  The impression could be nothing. But I had that itch.

  I moved my eyes slowly across the floor, foot by foot, expanding the radius outward. A similar waffle mark lay by the mechanics’ workstations.

  “Hmm.”

  Hudson appeared at my elbow, a stony expression on his face. “We’ve already searched Mr. Terry’s workspace. Please don’t disturb it.”

  Ignoring him, I glanced toward the interior door. “Can I access the employee lockers through there?”

  “Yes, but the door is locked.” Hudson didn’t move.

  I waited.

  With a grunt Hudson produced a key ring and opened the door.

  “Knock for reentry.” Lips so tight they blanched at the edges, Hudson resumed cataloging evidence.

  Locating the lockers, I squatted for a closer look at the floor. Saw immediately.

  Two more waffle prints. I snapped another iPhone shot.

  These marks were fainter than those in the garage. More recent?

  A bit puzzled, I returned to the door and knocked as instructed.

  Waited. Knocked again.

  Finally, the heavy guard opened the door. “Chief Hudson headed back to his office.”

  “Of course he did.” I read his name tag. “Thank you, Mr. Szuberla.”

  Time to find Kit.

  On the driveway, another gleam caught my eye. I dropped down once more to inspect it. Waffle print. Barely perceptible.

  As I snapped my third pic, the answer struck me.

  “A sneaker.”

  The police should check for a matching shoe.

  I did a thorough 360, but found no more shoe prints.

  “These suckers always leave a trace.”

  I slipped back into the depot. One more pass wouldn’t hurt.

  Thirty minutes later, I found Kit in his office still on the phone.

  He twirled a wrist, indicating I should sit. A minute later he hung up with a grunt. “We got him. Trey Terry, one of our environmental techs.”

  “That was quick. You’re certain?”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “Terry folded as soon as the cops appeared on his doorstep. Confessed to everything. Not that it matters, since a LIRI laptop was sitting on his table.”

  “Not a bad day’s work.”

  “The guy’s been with us seven years.” Kit sighed. “We paid him well. I’ll never understand why people do things like this.”

  I shrugged. “Greed. Opportunity. Some perceived slight.”

  Kit’s expression grew thoughtful. “I checked Terry’s file. He was passed over for a supervisor’s gig last spring. The job went to Glasnapp, who has more experience. Maybe that pissed him off.”

  Kit leaned back in his chair. “I just can’t believe how sloppy he was.”

  I debated how much to share. Decided to go full out. “About that. I found some distinct—”

  The phone rang. Kit answered, then covered the mouthpiece. “Police,” he mouthed.

  I nodded, rose, and slipped from the office. My discovery could wait.

  Exiting the director’s suite, I walked to the elevators, admiring the modern offices populating the floor. Despite the morning’s excitement, I couldn’t help being impressed with LIRI. What a wonderful place to work. Nicer digs than mine in Charlotte or Montreal, that’s for sure.

  On a whim, I snuck into a corner office for a bird’s-eye view of the grounds. Gazing through the glass, I saw the entire complex laid out below.

  And spotted my grandniece and her pals, lounging on benches in courtyard.

  Watching Tory, feelings of love and pride surged through me. Such a terrific young lady. So smart! There was a fire in her eyes that reminded me of . . . me.

  Kit was doing a great parenting job, though I wasn’t sure who actually ran their household.

  The kid’s a pistol.

  Impulsively, I decided to join Tory and her friends.

  I swung back into Kit’s office just as he was finishing his call.

  “Tory’s in the courtyard. Thought I’d go say hi.”

  “I’ll come, too.” Kit popped from his chair. “I have no idea why she’s out here. Not a novel state of affairs.”

  I smiled sympathetically. “She’s headstrong. Ambitious. Those are good things.”

  “She’s a rampaging rhino and I’m a parked car.” Kit laughed. “Life is certainly more interesting since she came to live with me. You know she wants to become a forensic anthropologist? Must have good taste in role models.”

  When they spotted us coming, whispers flew.

  Teenagers. Always changing. Never changing.

  “Why, hello there, guys!” Kit spoke with exaggerated animation. “Fancy meeting you here!”

  “Hi, Dr. Howard.” The skinny black kid was fidgeting with his earlobe. I struggled to remember his name. Sheldon? Elton?

  “Hey,” the chunky one said. Hiram? He seemed bummed. Slouching back, he muttered something about a mountain-sized Twix.

  The muscular kid simply nodded.

  Tory was the only one who seemed glad to see us. “Hey, Kit. Didn’t you know we were coming?”

  “No, I did not,” Kit said patiently. “You neglected to mention it at breakfast, outside on the lawn, or as you bolted out the door.”

  “Oh, sorry. My bad.” She smiled sweetly.

  Kit shrugged.

  Hiram suddenly sat up. “Any news on the break-in?”

  The other kids shot glances his direction. For some reason, they glared.

  Huh?

  Kit missed the exchange. “You’re not going to believe this. The robbery was an inside job. One of LIRI’s own techs.”

  “Get out!” Hi exclaimed.

  “Oh.” Sheldon/Elton studied his shoes. “Neat.”

  Muscle Boy didn’t even blink.

  Huh?

  “Wow.” Tory cocked her head. “Tell us what happened.”

  “The suspect made several crucial mistakes.” Kit summarized what he’d pieced together in the last few hours. “Though I still don’t get why Terry shut down the sprinkler system,” he finished. “Maybe he worried the equipment would get wet.”

  “Sounds like you saved the day.” Tory, face neutral. “Great job, Kit.”

  Hiram groaned and slumped back again, staring up at the sky.

  Their reactions surprised me. No curiosity? No barrage of questions?

  Earlier this morning, Tory had seemed fascinated.

  Now? She simply smiled. Listened. Nodded in the appropriate places.

  Only one word described her expression. Smug.

  Something wasn’t right. I looked each of them over, top to toe.

  Hiram lay flat on his back, legs outstretched, sneakers propped on the bench’s stone armrest. He wore an older style of tennis shoe—a black-and-white checkerboard pattern popular two decades back. Hideous.

  I recognized the brand. In middle school, my daughter, Katy, had been obsessed with Vans.

  But more importantly, with his feet up I could see th
e tread on his soles.

  Waffle print.

  Identical to the marks I’d found inside the garage and by Terry’s locker.

  The marks I hadn’t described to Kit. Given Terry’s confession, my finding had no longer seemed important.

  Casually, I pulled out my cell phone and examined the three photos I’d taken.

  Then I stepped closer to Hiram and scanned the bottom of his shoe.

  I’ll be damned.

  Hiram noticed me eyeballing his footwear. Eyes narrowing, he tried to swing his feet away, but overbalanced and rolled off the bench.

  “Nice one,” Sheldon/Elton said. Muscle Boy smirked.

  I caught Hiram’s eye. “Cool shoes. Classic tread. Very distinctive.”

  “Thanks?” He sounded a touch nervous.

  Hi lurched back onto the bench, but kept his soles firmly planted on the ground.

  In my periphery, I noticed Tory watching me intently. The smugness was gone.

  My my my.

  My eyes dropped to the images on my iPhone.

  These four were hiding something. What?

  I was sure they wouldn’t have done anything really wrong. But I was equally certain of something else: They’d been inside that garage.

  I looked at Tory. Our eyes locked. She knew I was suspicious. Which confirmed my suspicion.

  I held her gaze. Saw what I needed to see.

  Keep your secret.

  Pocketing my phone, I snagged Kit’s elbow. “Come on, Monsieur L’Directeur. These guys didn’t come out here to hang with us.”

  “Right.” Kit ruffled Tory’s hair. “Stay out of trouble.”

  Walking back toward Building One, I felt eyes on my back. Knew Tory was tracking our retreat.

  And I had a devilish thought.

  “Give me a sec, Kit. I’ll meet you inside.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I snagged my phone and selected the best footprint photo of the series.

  Attached it to a text message.

  Selected the recipient.

  Hit send.

  Paused. Waited.

  Out in the courtyard, I saw Tory reach into her pocket. She glanced down, then stiffened.

  Her eyes whipped my way.

  With a five-finger-waggle, I slipped inside.

  Gotcha.

  Click here for more books by this author.

  Also by Kathy Reichs and Brendan Reichs

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  SEIZURE

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  Kathy Reichs, Shift

 

 

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