Part 31 (2/2)

”Exactly.”

”But what about his other duties?”

I didn't voice what I was really thinking. Reporting on a conference or meeting is one thing, but how does a deaf officer cover himself when someone goes for the jugular?

”Constable Quickwater is a skilled and dedicated officer. He was injured in the line of duty and no one can say if the hearing loss is permanent or not. Obviously he can't do everything he used to do, but for now, the force is working with it.”

I was about to circle back to Dorsey when Claudel stood and placed a paper on my desk. I braced myself for more bad news.

”This is the DNA report on the blood found on Dorsey's jacket,” he said.

I didn't have to look. The expression on his face told me what the form would say.

28.

WHEN C CLAUDEL LEFT I I JUST SAT THERE, MY THOUGHTS SLIP JUST SAT THERE, MY THOUGHTS SLIP streaming in and out of the conversation just concluded. streaming in and out of the conversation just concluded.

DNA doesn't lie. The victim's blood was all over the jacket, meaning Dorsey had killed Cherokee just as Claudel suspected. Or had he? Dorsey had said the jacket was not his.

The man knew nothing about Savannah Osprey. He'd been scamming me to save himself, and I had fallen for it.

And my visit to the jail had gotten Dorsey killed. Or had it? Was he killed because he was the killer or because he was not the killer? Either way, he was dead because someone feared what he would tell me.

I felt burning behind my eyelids.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. I swallowed hard.

And there was Quickwater. He hadn't been glaring, he'd been reading my lips. Who had treated whom badly? But how was I to know?

And Kit. Were the surveillance shots truly chance encounters as I'd said, or was Kit involved with the Bandidos? Did that explain the Preacher? Was the real reason he'd come here something other than anger with his father? Or fondness for his dim-witted aunt?

And the eyeball. Did Did Kit find it on the winds.h.i.+eld? Kit find it on the winds.h.i.+eld?

Claudel had gotten his report. Dammit, where was mine?

I slammed my palms on the blotter and shot to my feet. Weaving through clerical staff carrying papers and folders and technicians pus.h.i.+ng specimen carts, I strode down the hall, took the stairs to the thirteenth floor, and went straight to the DNA section. I spotted my target bending over a test tube at the far end of the lab, and closed in.

”Bonjour, Tempe. Comment ca va?” Robert Gagne greeted me. Robert Gagne greeted me.

”a va.”

”Your hair is different.” His own was dark and curly, though graying at the temples. He kept it short and carefully combed.

”Yes.”

”Are you going to let it grow?”

”It's difficult to stop it,” I replied.

”It looks good, of course,” he mumbled, laying down a gla.s.s pipette. ”So, I guess that jacket will nail this Dorsey character. Claudel actually smiled when I gave him the news. Well, almost. He twitched.”

”I'm wondering if you've had time to do the comparison I requested.”

”Unnumbered, right?”

I nodded.

”Eyeball?”

I nodded again.

”To be compared with sequencing from LML 37729.”

”Yes.” His memory for case numbers always impressed me.

”Hold on.”

Gagne walked over to a honeycomb of folders, riffled through those in a middle cell, and pulled one out. I waited as he scanned the contents.

”The comparison is done, but the report isn't written.”

”And?”

”It's a match.”

”Without question?”

”Mais, oui.” His eyebrows shot up. ”The eye and the tissue sample come from the same person.” His eyebrows shot up. ”The eye and the tissue sample come from the same person.”

Or persons, I thought, if they happen to be twins. I thanked him and hurried back to my office.

My suspicion had been right. The eyeball belonged to one of the Vaillancourts. A member of the Vipers had probably found it at the scene and kept it for some macabre reason. But who had placed it on my car?

I heard the phone before I reached my door, and bolted the last few steps. Marcel Morin was calling from downstairs.

”We missed you at the morning meeting.”

”Sorry.”

He went straight to the point. In the background I could hear voices and the sound of a Stryker saw.

”A s.h.i.+p arrived at the port two weeks ago and several cargo containers were off-loaded for repair.”

”The big ones that go onto eighteen-wheelers?”

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