“Yeah,” DeMarco said. “And it seems to be a match with the one you gave us.”
At the mention of the scrap of fabric, Kate set the plastic bag Palmetto had given her on the table. “As of right now, it’s the only solid evidence we have that links the murders in any concrete way.”
“And forensics found pretty much nothing on that one,” Palmetto said. “Aside from Mrs. Nash’s DNA.”
“The forensic report I’m seeing from the scrap from the Langleys offers up nothing, either,” DeMarco said.
“Still might be worth a trip to the forensics lab,” Kate said.
“Good luck with that,” Palmetto said. “When I spoke with them about the Nash scrap, they were clueless.”
“Were you at all involved with the scene at the Langley home?” Kate asked.
“No. I came in right after it had happened. I saw the bodies and checked the place over, but there was nothing. When you talk to forensics, though, ask them about the stray hair found on the clean laundry. It didn’t seem to belong to Mrs. Langley, so they’re going to run some tests on it.”
“Before you go,” Kate said, “do you want to offer up any theories?”
“I don’t have one,” Palmetto said dryly. “From the digging I’ve done, there seems to be absolutely no link between the Nashes and the Langleys. The fabric in the throats, though…something that personal and explicit to the killer has to link them somehow, right?”
“That’s my thought,” Kate said.
Palmetto gave the door a playful slap and then Kate saw him smile for the first time. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’ve heard about you, you know? A lot of us on the State PD have.”
“I’m sure,” she said with a smirk.
“Mostly good things. And then you came out of retirement to bring someone down a few months ago, right?”
“You could say that.”
Palmetto, seeing that Kate wasn’t going to just sit there and soak in accolades, gave her a shrug. “Give the state boys a call if you need anything on this one, Agent Wise.”
“I’ll do that,” Kate said as Palmetto took his leave.
When Palmetto had closed the door behind him, DeMarco playfully shook her head. “You ever get tired of hearing people sing your praises?”
“Yes, actually,” Kate said, but not in a rude way. While it was uplifting to be reminded of all that she had done throughout her career, she knew deep down that she had always just been doing her job. Perhaps she done her job with a bit more passion than others had, but it had been just that—a job well done…a job she could not seem to leave behind her.
Within a few minutes and some help from the station’s systems administrator, Kate and DeMarco had access to the station’s database. They worked together, looking into the pasts of the Nashes and the Langleys. Neither family had records of any kind. In fact, both families had records that made it hard to imagine anyone having a grudge against them. As for the Langleys, they had served as foster parents for a few years of their lives, so they’d had to undergo rigorous background checks several times throughout the course of their lives. The Nashes were heavily involved in their church and had been on several mission trips in the past twenty tears, most notably to Nepal and Honduras.
Kate gave up after a while and started pacing the floor. She used the conference room’s dry erase board to jot down notes, hoping that seeing everything written down in one place would help her to focus. But there was nothing. No link, no clues, no clear course of where to go.
“You, too, huh?” DeMarco said. “Nothing?”
“Not so far. I think maybe we just go with what we do have rather than trying to find something new. I think we need to reevaluate the fabrics. While the forensics tests came up with nothing, maybe the fabric itself can point us somewhere.”
“I don’t follow you,” DeMarco said.
“That’s fine,” Kate said. “I’m not sure I do, either. But I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”
Kate felt the first true pangs of fatigue as she and DeMarco drove from the police station to the forensics lab. It was a stark reminder that she had not slept in about twenty-seven hours and that her work day had started insanely early. Twenty years ago, this would not have bothered her. But with fifty-six staring her right in the face from a few weeks across the calendar, things were different now.
The drive to the lab was only five minutes, located in close proximity to a little network consisting of the PD, the courthouse, and a holding jail. After showing their IDs, they were escorted past the front desk of the forensic sciences lab and into the central laboratory area. They were asked to sit in a small lobby for a moment while the technician who had been in charge of the fabric swabs was paged.
“You think there’s any chance the fabric is just some kind of calling card for the killer?” DeMarco asked.
“It could be. Might not have anything to do with the why of the case. It could just mean something to the killer. Either way, right now it seems that the fabric—from a blanket of some kind, I feel quite sure—is our only real connection to him.”
It made Kate recall a gruesome case she’d once been a part of early in the nineties. A man had killed five people—all ex-girlfriends. Before killing them by choking them, he had forced each one to swallow a condom. In the end, he had no real reason for doing so other than his hatred for wearing condoms during sex. Kate could not help but wonder if these fabric fragments would turn out to be just as insignificant to the case.
Their wait was a short one; a tall older man came hurrying out of a door directly across from them. “You’re with the FBI?” he asked.
“We are,” Kate said, showing her ID. DeMarco did the same and the man studied each one quite carefully.
“Nice to meet you, Agents,” he said. “I’m Will Reed, and I ran the tests on the fabric from the recent murders. I assume that’s why you’re here? Agent DeMarco, I believe you are the one I sent the picture to earlier?”
“That’s right,” DeMarco said. “We were hoping you could shed some more light on those scraps.”
“Well, I’d be more than happy to assist with whatever you need, but if it’s about those two scraps of fabric, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can offer. It seems that the killer not only went through great lengths to shove the fabric into the mouths of the victims, but that he was also quite careful about not leaving any traces of himself behind.”
“Yes, we understand that,” Kate said. “But without any firm physical results to go on, I was wondering if there’s anything you could tell me about the fabric itself.”
“Oh,” Reed said. “That, I can help with.”
“I’m of the opinion that both scraps came from the same source material,” Kate said. “Most likely a blanket.”
“I think that’s a safe bet to place,” Reed said. “I wasn’t too sure until I saw the second scrap. They fit together rather well—color, texture, and so forth.”
“Is there any way to tell how old the blanket might be?” Kate asked.
“I’m afraid not. What I can tell you, though, is what the blanket is made up of. And it stuck with me because as far as I know, it’s an odd fabric combination for a traditional blanket as you’d think of one. The vast majority of the blanket is made of wool, which, of course, is not uncommon at all. But the secondary material used in the fabric is bamboo cotton.”
“Is that all that different from regular cotton?” Kate asked.
“I’m not positive,” he said. “But we see a lot of clothes and fabric-related material come