Ashes, Ashes, They All Fall Dead Read online

  “I’m sure you could, since you have a master’s in mathematics,” she said drily. “I hadn’t thought about the number of letters as being significant, other than that there are a lot of potential victims.”

  He shrugged. “It may not be significant, especially if he sends more letters. I’m just throwing that out there. You never know which facts might become significant in an investigation until it’s over. You said the letters were all mailed in the past three years?”

  “Yes. They’ve trickled in at no particular interval, the latest just last month.”

  “And you’ve searched for hits on the names on the letters and haven’t found any?”

  “I said none of them panned out. I didn’t exactly say there were no hits. Two of the names came up during the initial database search. Our cold-case unit solved one of the cases, tying it back to the victim’s ex-husband. The second case is still unsolved, but there’s nothing about it that makes it seem likely it’s related to the letters. I went over all of the cold-case team’s work and agree with their conclusions.”

  “I’ll want to look at your notes on those two cases.”

  She bristled at his request. He was second-guessing her again, just like on the Simon Says Die case. Then again, she’d second-guessed her fellow agents by doing the same thing, reviewing their case notes. She tamped down her irritation and nodded her agreement.

  He flipped through the slim file folder she’d amassed on the letters. He tapped one of the pages. “This is the entire latent fingerprint report?”

  “Yes. Whenever a new letter arrives, the receiving agent dusts for prints, then forwards the letter to the cold-case team. So far we’ve found latent prints on three different letters, but they were too small, partials. We couldn’t get anything detailed enough to run through IAFIS, the FBI’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System.”

  “Let’s try it again.”

  “Try what again?”

  “Pulling prints off the letters.”

  She stiffened.

  He put his hand on top of hers and waited until she met his gaze. “I’m not questioning your abilities,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “I’m questioning your resources.”

  She reminded herself that she needed his help. She needed to keep her emotions out of this or she’d blow her chance to work the case. “I don’t understand.”

  “The FBI doesn’t have the equipment I have. It’s possible they missed some prints that my scanner can pick up. Let me show you what I mean.”

  “All right.”

  He strode to one of the bookshelves on the far wall.

  Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “You may be rolling in money because of B and B Construction, but the FBI has way more resources and state-of-the-art equipment you could only dream of owning.”

  He grabbed a shoebox from one of the shelves and brought it to the table. “B and B was started by my oldest brother, Braedon, with some help from my father. Braedon was kind enough to give the rest of us small shares, which we paid for in sweat equity. But the land I own, the cabin, and any money I have now didn’t come from B and B. I earned every penny.”

  His curt reply surprised Tessa. She hadn’t meant to insult him, but apparently she had. She was about to apologize, but her attention was diverted when he lifted a piece of equipment out of the box. It was long and black, rectangular on the top and bottom like a three-hole punch, but with two slim rollers in the middle.

  “What kind of scanner is that?” she asked.

  “A very special one. Something the FBI doesn’t have.” He reached for the plastic bag that contained one of the letters that had black fingerprint powder on it.

  “How do you know the FBI doesn’t have one?” She scooted her chair closer so she could better see what he was doing.

  “Because this is the only one in existence. Patent pending by yours truly.”

  “You invented something?”

  His mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “I’ll try to not be offended by the incredulous tone of your voice. Yes, I invented this scanner, and the software that goes with it, and several other useful gadgets.”

  He attached the scanner to his computer and positioned one of the letters between the rollers. They slowly pulled the paper into the unit and out the back. A program window opened on the computer monitor and Matt typed a series of instructions. In a matter of seconds, a digital picture of a latent print popped up on the screen.

  “That’s the same print we already found,” Tessa said.

  “Which proves the scanner works.” He reached for the envelope that went with the letter.

  “Are you going to scan everything?” Tessa asked.

  “Yes. Then my program will crunch the data.”

  Tessa organized the Baggies in an assembly line and helped him, careful to ensure each letter remained with its respective envelope. “What do you mean, crunch the data?”

  “You’ll see.”

  It took half an hour to feed everything through the rollers. When the evidence was safely stowed in Tessa’s briefcase, she and Matt both pulled off their gloves and tossed them in the stainless-steel trash can beside the table.

  Matt typed another combination of symbols and letters on the keyboard.

  “Now what?” Tessa asked.

  “Magic.” He turned the monitor so she could see it better. The scanner had detected a full dozen more latent prints than the FBI had found using fingerprint powder. And all of the latent prints were now on the screen, moving around, rotating, bumping against each other. Several of them suddenly disappeared.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “The program discarded those prints because they were too degraded to use.”

  A few more disappeared, then two of them stuck against each other and held, forming a larger print.

  “It’s putting them together like a puzzle,” she exclaimed, somewhat in awe of the process.

  “Basically, but there’s a lot more to it than that. It uses complex mathematical computations and actuarial tables on whorls, ridges, arches, all the main identifiers in fingerprint analysis. It uses the data to decide if latent prints are from the same finger, and tries to put them together. It uses other calculations to fill in gaps.”

  “Like a puzzle with a piece missing, only the computer guesses at what the piece might look like?”

  “More or less.”

  “That doesn’t sound like exact science.”

  “Don’t sound so skeptical. I’ve used this on several other cases, cases I solved.”

  “I’ll bet those prints didn’t hold up in court.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “Such a skeptic. But yes, you’re right. They weren’t admissible. But they weren’t needed in court. They gave the detectives a solid lead so they could focus their investigation on one suspect. From there they got enough evidence to present at trial and get a conviction.”

  “Well, if it gives me a suspect, I won’t care about your pseudoscience either.”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  The computer beeped.

  Matt punched a few more keys. One nearly complete fingerprint popped up on the screen.

  “You got that one print from all those partials?” Tessa asked.

  “From four of them. The others were discarded. Now we can search through IAFIS to see if any criminals—or FBI agents—left the print.”

  Tessa lightly punched him in the arm. “The only way an FBI agent’s print would be on those letters is if an agent was sloppy about handling them. I guarantee I’m not sloppy.”

  “I didn’t think you were. But unlike you, I don’t put the entire FBI up on a pedestal and assume every agent is above reproach. You’re not the only one who has worked with those letters.”

  “True, but no one I work with is sloppy either.”

  “Let’s just run this print and see if we get a hit. Can you log in remotely, or do we have to go back into town to submit the search request?”
>
  “I can log in from here if you can get me to the Internet.”

  “No problem.” He punched some keys and turned the laptop back over to her.

  She grabbed her electronic SecureID card from her briefcase and used the code and her password to access the FBI network. A few moments later, the fingerprint was submitted.

  “I marked it as a high-priority search. Hopefully, we won’t have to wait days for results. But this is still going to take a while. Might as well take a stretch break.” She pushed back her chair and crossed to the sliding glass doors. Beyond the pond out back were thick groves of pine trees, interspersed with the occasional oak, with low, sweeping branches dotted with Spanish moss. Although she could appreciate the picturesque scene, she still could never picture herself living in a place like this. There was something menacing about those thick trees, the nearly impenetrable darkness beyond.

  Then again, maybe she’d been working for the FBI far too long and imagined danger everywhere she looked.

  “Tessa?”

  She turned at the sound of Matt’s voice, which sounded oddly strained.

  He was still sitting in front of his computer. But he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was staring at her.

  “What is it? Did the computer crash or something?” she asked.

  “No. The computer didn’t crash. The search came back. There’s a match.”

  “A match?” Excitement had her pulse slamming through her veins. A match was like manna from heaven. A match meant she’d have the name of the criminal who’d sent the letters. A match meant she’d be able to get justice for all the people behind those names on the letters.

  She hurried across the room and looked at the screen. Her hand flew to her throat. The face staring back at her, the face of the person who’d written those names and the Ashes taunt, the face that belonged to a killer . . . was a face she knew all too well.

  Because it was her own.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  MATT HANDED TESSA a soda from the mini fridge in his studio. “Here, drink. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  That was an understatement. Her face was so pale the small smattering of freckles high up on her cheekbones stood out like little red jewels. Matt had never had a particular fondness for freckles, but on her, they were charming. Or at least on any other day they would be, if she didn’t look like she was going to faint.

  She absently sipped the soda, still staring at the computer screen showing the match between the fingerprint found on the letters and her fingerprint from the FBI database.

  “I don’t understand. There has to be a mistake,” she whispered.

  Matt sat beside her. “Maybe there is. Are you sure you’ve never touched any of the letters without wearing gloves?”

  She arched a brow and some of the color returned to her face. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Okay. The fingerprints in the database could have been switched with someone else’s prints. Far-fetched. Difficult. But not impossible.”

  She immediately shook her head, apparently unwilling to entertain the possibility of anyone in the FBI being crooked.

  “No,” she said. “When I go back to the office, I’ll have myself reprinted to rule out that possibility. But I’m absolutely certain no one would do that on purpose, so it could only have happened by accident. And I don’t see that happening. Ever.”

  Matt didn’t have the same faith in humanity she did, which was ironic considering she’d been in law enforcement for close to a decade. He would have expected her to be at least a little jaded by now. He didn’t consider himself to be jaded either, but not because of his lack of worldly experience. Being jaded required one to be an idealist whose vision of the world has been shattered. He was a realist. He dealt in facts, not fantasy or assumptions.

  “No need for you to wait to have fresh prints taken. We can do that here.”

  She nodded, looking relieved that she didn’t have to wait.

  He imported the digital print into another program. Then he shoved his chair back from the table.

  “What are you doing now?” Tessa asked.

  “I cannot teach her. No patience, the girl has.”

  “Are you quoting Yoda at me?”

  “If the galactic boots fit . . .”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He grinned, relieved she was responding to his jokes again and rejoining the land of the living. He’d already realized she wasn’t big on waiting. And she hated being teased, which of course meant he wanted to tease her even more.

  He selected the piece of equipment he wanted from the bookshelf and brought it back to the table.

  “What’s that?” she asked, as he plugged it into his computer. “Or am I allowed to ask, Jedi Master?”

  “Of course. Much to learn, you still have.”

  She didn’t smile, but he didn’t miss the laughter dancing in her eyes—green eyes, the color of grass in early spring. He’d always had a fondness for redheads with green eyes, especially redheads with bounce in all the right places and long, delicious legs—like Tessa.

  If she’d just get past her silly hang-up about their age difference and let that luscious hair of hers down out of the tight braid she wore, he could show her the advantages of making love with a younger, more energetic, enthusiastic man. There was something to be said for stamina in the bedroom. And if he ever got Tessa out of those prim-and-proper clothes, he’d definitely enjoy taking his time with her.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He blinked and realized he was staring at her. He could well imagine her outrage if he told her he was thinking about getting her naked. He finished attaching the wires. “There, it’s all set.”

  “It looks like an electronic mouse pad.”

  “Good analogy. Same idea. It’s a way to input data into the computer, in this case, fingerprints. Put the fingertips of your right hand onto the silver rectangle.”

  She looked skeptical but did as he asked. He clicked the mouse, capturing her prints into the software.

  “Now do the same with your left hand.”

  “This is cool.” Her voice sounded grudgingly approving.

  “I’ve got lots of cool equipment. Remind me sometime and I’ll show you.” He winked.

  She turned a pretty shade of pink and frowned at him. The woman was too adorable for words.

  “Okay, we’ve got your fresh prints loaded. Now we’ll see if they match the print I constructed from the letters.”

  He typed instructions into the program. The screen immediately filled with arrows and numbers, counting the whorls, arches, and loops that matched between her right index finger and the constructed print. The match percentage certainty showed a whopping ninety-eight.

  Tessa didn’t ask him what the ninety-eight meant. She knew as well as he did that in fingerprint language, ninety-eight percent was as good as one hundred percent.

  She propped her elbows on the table and framed her face with her hands. “This can’t be right. My print can’t be on those pieces of paper.”

  “Occam’s razor.”

  Her perfectly plucked brows rose into her hairline. “What?”

  “It’s a principle used in logic and problem solving. It basically means that when you look at a universe of possibilities, the simplest solution is often the most probable.”

  “Don’t speak geek to me. Speak English.”

  He chuckled. “We proved the print is yours.”

  “But it can’t be. I didn’t send any of the letters.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Yes, you did. You said it’s my print.”

  “Normally I prefer not to make assumptions, but I feel safe assuming that you did not send the letters, even though the evidence seems to suggest otherwise.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “What facts have we ascertained?” he asked.

  “Aside from me not being a serial killer?”

  “
That’s not a proven fact. It’s an assumption. But yes, what else?”

  She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “Okay, fact—my print is on the letters. But that’s impossible.”

  “Facts are facts. You can’t change them because they don’t fit with the conclusion you’ve drawn. You need to open your mind to a different conclusion based on the same set of data.”

  She straightened in her chair. “Okay, I’ll play. What other conclusion can I draw?”

  “We know you touched at least a few of those letters or I wouldn’t have been able to assemble one complete print. That’s a fact.”

  “Only if I accept that your scanner program fills in the fingerprint gaps correctly. You did say patent pending, and that it’s not admissible in court.”

  He grinned. “For the purposes of this discussion, since my program has a solve ratio of three out of three for prior cold cases, in addition to hundreds of tests I performed on my own, I think it’s safe to hypothesize the scanner is accurate.”

  “Fine. Go on.” She didn’t sound convinced, but at least she was still listening.

  “We also know, because I accept your word about always using gloves when touching those letters, that you had to have touched the paper before it was received by the FBI. So, if you aren’t the person sending the letters, we can only conclude one thing.” He paused, waiting to see if she’d voice what seemed obvious to him.

  A look of dawning crossed her face. “You’re saying . . . you’re saying I had to have touched that piece of paper before the killer printed the letter.”

  “Correct. And unless you work part-time in a paper factory, that means . . .”

  She swallowed hard. “I know the killer.”

  TESSA CROSSED HER arms and stared across the small office at her boss.

  Several years ago Tessa had arrogantly assumed Madison McKinley was guilty of staging her own abduction and faking that she had a stalker. At one point she’d even believed Madison might be guilty of murder. At no time, though, even after learning Madison was innocent, had Tessa understood how devastating it could be to be innocent and have someone she knew and respected think she was a liar.