whom,” the chief of detectives stressed. “We have got one of the finest police departments in the country,” he reminded the people gathered around him. “Let’s put that to good use.”
Everyone knew that wasn’t a suggestion—that was a quietly issued order.
“Well, that certainly didn’t take long,” Sean commented to Finn several hours later as he and two other members of his crime-scene investigation team carefully circled around the abandoned, badly battered vehicle that had been tracked down. The car had been discovered less than ten miles away from the parking lot where Seamus had been found.
Finn had been the one who had found the car, after beginning his search the moment he had left the hospital. As soon as he had verified that the vehicle was the one that had belonged to Seamus, he had immediately placed a call to Sean.
Sean and his team were out there within twenty minutes, snapping photographs and documenting anything that could even remotely be considered evidence.
“When do you think I’ll be able to run prints?” Finn asked Sean. “Provided you find them,” he qualified.
“When we find them, you’ll be the first to know,” Sean assured him. He looked thoughtfully at the smashed-up vehicle. “You know, for a carjacker, this guy was certainly very careful not to leave any incriminating fingerprints around,” he observed.
“No matter how careful, there’s always a slipup,” Finn told the older man, trying to smother the impatience that was mounting within him.
“I hope you’re right,” Sean replied. “By the way, thanks for the heads-up when your men came across this,” he said to Finn.
“My dad always said that if you want the best results, make sure you go with the best,” Finn answered, never taking his eyes off the members of the CSI team as they systematically worked in and around the vehicle. He kept his fingers crossed.
“I’m sorry I never got to meet your father,” Sean told Donnal Cavanaugh’s son.
Finn paused for just a moment, recalling his father. “You would have liked him,” he told Sean. “Come to think of it, he was a lot like you,” he decided. The next moment, he cleared his throat. “I’d better stay out of your way,” he told Sean. “You’ve got my number if you find any prints.”
“Like I said,” Sean told him, getting back to work as Finn began to walk to his own car, “you’ll be the first one I call.”
Finn picked up his phone the second that he heard it ring. He didn’t bother checking the caller ID—he just naturally assumed that it was Sean on the other end of the line.
“Did you find any fingerprints?” he asked immediately.
“It was the cleanest car I’ve ever dusted,” Sean admitted.
He knew going in that it was only a slim chance that the crime-scene investigators would find a print, but even so, Finn felt deflated. “So then the answer’s no?” he asked, disappointed.
Instead of a confirmation, Sean began, “Except—”
Instantly alert, Finn interrupted the head of the crime-scene lab. “Except what?”
“Except that whoever stole that car from my father didn’t stop to think when they went to adjust the rearview mirror. They wiped down every surface except for that one.” He could hear Finn all but champing at the bit, so he put him out of his misery. “We found just one partial fingerprint on the back of the rearview mirror.”
“Do you have any idea who the print belongs to?” Finn asked. If anyone would have asked him for a description of himself, Finn would have said that, in general, he was usually a patient man. But at the same time, there was something about waiting that really got to him. Especially when he was involved like this.
“Not yet,” Sean answered. “But we will. We’ve got Valri running the print, looking for a match. If whoever stole the car is in the system in any manner, shape or form, I guarantee that she’ll find them. Valri’s the best all-around computer tech that we have,” Sean said.
Finn still saw a slight problem with that. “What if the person’s not in the system?”
“Well, then we’re no worse off than we were before,” Sean answered. “But remember, there are a lot more people in the system now than there used to be. People need to be fingerprinted for any number of reasons these days. Keep a positive thought,” he told his nephew cheerfully.
Finn pressed his lips together. “Right,” he murmured.
“Oh, and, Finn?” Sean said just as Finn was about to hang up.
“Yes?”
“There was one more thing.” Sean paused and it was for effect, something he didn’t usually do, but given the nature of this case, he felt he could be forgiven this one time.
“Yes?” Finn asked again.
“We found blood in the trunk.”
“Blood?” Finn repeated, stunned.
“Yes. It looks like there was a body transported in the trunk,” Sean said.
“Talk about burying the lead!” Finn cried. Pulling himself together, he asked, “Do you know who the blood belongs to?”
“Not yet,” Sean answered. “We’ll call you about that, too,” he promised.
“I will be waiting,” Finn said, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt.
More than an hour later, the phone rang again. Finn had just gotten up from his desk and was about to leave the robbery division’s squad room. The moment he heard his phone, he hurried back and yanked up the receiver. “Finn Cavanaugh.”
“You know that positive thought I told you to keep earlier?”
Finn recognized Sean’s voice immediately. Hope sprang up in his chest. “Yes?”
“We found a match to that print,” Sean told Finn. “Or rather, Valri did.”
Sometimes things really did work themselves out, Finn thought. “Who does the print belong to?”
“It belongs to a Marilyn Palmer,” Sean answered. “There was only one arrest down in her file. Nothing too spectacular. She was part of some sort of group staging a college protest a few years ago. She spent the night in jail, then was released to her mother. As near as Valri could tell, there have been no repeat performances since that date.”
“Until she stole Seamus’s car,” Finn reminded Sean grimly, “and carted off a body in the trunk.”
“Right, until then,” Sean agreed.
