through him. What captured and held his attention were the marks that slashed high across the walls. Deep, gouging marks that were red with what appeared to be fresh blood.
Any irritation he’d felt about being sent here vanished as he stepped into the classroom and pulled a camera from his kit, the woman across the hall already forgotten.
This was where he came alive—in the middle of the chaos of a crime scene. Work was his life, and when he worked was the only time the anger inside him subsided, the only time the guilt silenced, the only time he was at peace within himself.
She watched him from the doorway as he walked around the room, taking pictures of the damage from every point of view. Tamara Greystone knew far more about Clay James than he thought he knew about her.
She’d worked with his mother at the Cherokee Cultural Center and Rita had often confided in Tamara her worry about her eldest child.
He was a sinfully handsome man, with rich black hair and sculptured features that were traditionally Native American—high cheekbones and a proud, strong nose, dark straight brows over intense black eyes. He had thin lips that appeared to have never curved upward in a smile.
Tall and lean, he had shoulders just broad enough to hint at wiry strength. As he moved around the room he displayed a natural, sleek grace that belied the fact that she knew he spent most of his days cooped up in a laboratory.
“Quite a mess, isn’t it?” she said.
He started, as if he’d forgotten her presence, and it was obvious from his look of irritation that he’d like to continue to forget her presence. “Yeah, it’s a mess.”
He put the camera down on the metal suitcase he’d carried in and looked at her once again. “There’s really nothing more you can do here. You’re free to go on home.”
“Thank you, but I’ll stay until you’re finished.”
His frown turned from irritated to positively daunting. “Look, Ms. Greystone. It really would be best if you’d just leave me to do my job.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” She smiled. “Surely you understand my need to be here. I’m sure if somebody had come into your lab and done something like this, no matter who was processing the scene, you’d want to be there. This is more than just the place where I work, Officer James. This classroom is a part of my heart.”
“Then just stay out of my way,” he said curtly.
“I’ll do that.” She remained standing in the doorway as he got back to work.
The initial horror of what had been done to the room had worn off, but the senseless, extensive damage still sent a small wave of disquiet through her.
Who could have done this? And why? She’d always tried so hard to maintain good relationships with her fellow teachers and students.
She focused her gaze at Clay, watching as he studied the marks on the walls. He seemed completely and totally absorbed in his work. That’s part of what had bothered Rita about her son. According to Rita, her only son had no life beyond work, had turned his back on his Native heritage and had become a bitter, angry man with a chip on his shoulder.
The chip wasn’t visible at the moment, but his total concentration on his work was apparent. She knew he’d forgotten about her as he scraped bits of the material that looked like blood into a vial.
She supposed his total absorption in his work was what made him so good at what he did. Rita had always overworried about all her children, not only Clay, but also his sisters, Breanna and Savannah.
Rita. Thoughts of the missing woman filled her with grief. She missed seeing Rita’s beautiful face at the Cherokee Cultural Center, missed her exuberance and enthusiasm for the work and education that the cultural center afforded their community.
“These look like some sort of animal claws,” he said as he studied the marks that rode high on the walls.
“How would an animal have gotten in here?” she asked.
“No animal has been in this room,” he said in direct counter to his previous statement. “If an animal had been loose in here there’d be additional signs, such as odors and waste material.”
“Then how did the claw marks get there?”
He frowned. “That’s what I need to figure out.”
“If animal claws made the marks, can you tell what kind of animal it might be?”
“Not just by looking at them. I’ll have to take plaster casts and get them back to the lab to do some comparison study. There are bits of fur embedded in the marks, so that will make identification easier.”
Apparently he’d talked himself out, because for the next hour he didn’t say another word. That was fine with Tamara. Silence never bothered her. Her parents had taught her as a child that silence was to be respected and revered. It was a time to observe and learn from what was inside you and what surrounded you.
Clay James was far more interesting to watch than listening to her inner thoughts. He radiated a fierce intensity, a focus that was assuring. She had no doubt that his expertise and tenacity would eventually identify the culprit.
“That’s all I can do here,” he finally said as he packed up his samples and tools. “Have you spoken to Will Nichols and let him know what’s going on?”
Will Nichols was the principal of the high school. “Yes, I called him. He stopped by earlier, saw the damage and told me to keep him posted.”
“You won’t be teaching in this room any time soon. I want it left locked for the next couple of days in case I need to come back and take some more samples.”
“I noticed you didn’t try to get any fingerprints.”
His jaw muscle tightened, as if he thought she was questioning his expertise. “It’s pointless to print a room where so many people pass through on a regular basis. If this had been a murder scene, or the scene of an assault, then I might have considered it. But this room could potentially hold the prints of students that had passed through over the years. It would take us months to find out who they belong to.” His gaze was cold as it met hers. “Is there anything else you think I’ve forgotten?”
Prickly, she thought. Definitely prickly. “Officer James, I wouldn’t begin to tell you how to do your job. Just as I wouldn’t expect you to come into my classroom and take over my job.” She offered him a smile. “I just watch a lot of television and it seems on the crime shows everyone is always taking fingerprints.”
He grabbed his kit and walked toward where she stood in the doorway. “You shouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.”
He turned off the light in the room and watched as she locked the door. “I have a spare key.” She fumbled with her key chain until she worked a key off the ring. She held it out to him. “This way if you need to get back inside, day or night, you have access as long as somebody can unlock the front school door for you.”
He took the key from her and slid it into the back pocket of his tight jeans. Together they walked down the silent hallway toward the stairs. Ed and Burt had both stuck their heads
