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He had a point. Still, Sheila was undeterred.
"Maybe the killer knew her well enough to know she wouldn't let just anyone walk her dog," she said. "Either way, it seems like just the sort of devious thing our killer would do. He poses as a priest, he kills one woman in a confessional and lures another into an alley…"
"He's clever, that's for sure."
Sheila nodded. "And that's why I want to take this to the lab. Because if we just focus on the big break, the obvious explanation…we might never catch this guy."
***
This place is a jungle,Sheila thought, gazing around in surprise.
The forensics lab was located in the basement of the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. Ordinarily the lab, all gleaming stainless steel and state-of-the-art equipment, was fairly quiet, humming with efficiency. Today, however, the lab seemed particularly chaotic.
On the drive here from Jason Reeves' apartment, Dawson had called for an update and explained that the ColdwaterConfessor case had exploded in the media, because of which the mayor had ordered a review of all unsolved homicides from the past five years, looking for any possible links to the current case. This meant that boxes of old evidence had been dragged out of storage, filling every available surface in the lab.
Adding to the mayhem, a local reporter had leaked information about DNA evidence found at one of the crime scenes. This had led to a flood of calls from concerned citizens, each claiming to have information about suspicious individuals who might match the DNA profile. The lab was now processing hundreds of voluntary DNA samples, trying to rule out potential suspects.
Amidst all this, the regular caseload of the department hadn't decreased. If anything, the general sense of unease in Coldwater had led to an uptick in reported crimes, each requiring its own set of forensic analyses.
Sheila and Finn had to weave their way through a maze of busy technicians and towering stacks of evidence boxes to reach Dr. Patel, the head forensic analyst. Despite the chaos around him, Dr. Patel stood out like a calm eye in the storm. He was a tall, lean man in his fifties, with skin the color of polished mahogany and a shock of prematurely white hair that seemed to defy gravity. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes: heterochromatic, one a deep brown and the other a startling blue. These mismatched eyes peered out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, giving him an air of both eccentricity and intense focus.
Dr. Patel was hunched over a microscope, his lab coat rumpled and his tie askew. A half-empty cup of cold coffee sat precariously close to the edge of his workstation. He barely looked up as they approached, his mismatched eyes fixed intently on whatever sample he was examining.
"Dr. Patel," Sheila began, "we need your help with—"
"Let me guess," he said, finally turning to face them. "Another rush job?"
Finn nodded. "We have a soup sample we need tested for poison. It could be crucial to—"
Dr. Patel held up a hand, stopping Finn mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, deputies, but we're swamped here. The mayor's pushing for results on three different high-profile cases, not to mention the backlog from last month's evidence room flood. I simply don't have the manpower or the time to add another test to our workload right now."
Sheila felt her frustration rising. "This isn't some decades-old unsolved homicide. This is the Coldwater Confessor case, an active serial killer investigation."
Dr. Patel blinked at her as if a light had just gone on in his head. "Of course," he murmured. "I'll run a test right away. But I have to warn you: This test will only detect a limited number of common toxins—it won't give us a comprehensive analysis. So don't get your hopes up."
"Thank you, Dr. Patel," Sheila said, relieved.
"Alright then," Dr. Patel said. "Let's see what your mysterious soup has to tell us."
He gestured for them to follow him to a less crowded corner of the lab, where he donned a fresh pair of gloves and carefully opened the soup container.
He dipped the paper strip into the soup, then placed it on a small device that looked like a cross between a scanner and a spectrometer. The machine hummed to life, and a series of numbers and graphs appeared on its attached screen.
As they waited for the results, Sheila couldn't help but ask, "Dr. Patel, how did you end up in forensics? It seems like a...unique career choice."
The scientist's lips quirked in a small smile. "I was pre-med in college, but I found I preferred working with the dead more than the living. Less complaining."
Before Sheila could respond to this rather morbid joke, the machine beeped. Dr. Patel leaned in, scanning the results rapidly.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered.
"What is it?" Sheila asked, leaning forward.
Dr. Patel turned to face her, his expression grave. "Your hunch was right, deputy. This soup contains significant traces of ipecac syrup—an emetic agent used to induce vomiting."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Father sat in his dim living room, the afternoon sun barely penetrating the heavy curtains. His eyes were fixed on the television screen, where Samantha Chen, Coldwater's most prominent news anchor, was delivering the latest update on the case. Her sleek black hair and crisp blue blazer were immaculate, perfectly arranged.
