“I checked in with the lab before I left the station. They’re comparing all the fingerprints to eliminate the ones you’d expect to find, so it’s going to take time to see if there are any unidentified prints.” She turned onto the interstate on-ramp, heading south to Birmingham. “I know you said last night you didn’t think your ex could be a suspect—”
“She doesn’t have a motive,” he said bluntly. “She ended our marriage as much because she didn’t want to be a mother as because she didn’t want to be married to me. Maddy was an accident she couldn’t deal with.” He clamped his mouth shut before more bitter words escaped.
“Some women just aren’t mother material,” Kristen murmured.
“Some women don’t even try,” he shot back.
She was silent for a moment, a muscle in her jaw working. After a bit, she said, “Maybe when we get to Birmingham, we’ll have the answer to who’s behind the attack on your niece.”
“Maybe.” He doubted it, though. It wasn’t likely that the guy who broke into his house, nearly killed his niece and tried to kidnap his daughter would send Sam a package that could be traced back to him.
Within thirty minutes they pulled up to the police cordon blocking traffic in front of the Jefferson County District Attorney’s office. Sam directed Kristen to park in the deck across from the county courthouse, and they walked down the street to where the police had set up the barriers.
Sam spotted Tim Melton, the colleague he’d reached earlier. He crossed to Melton’s side. “Any news?”
“I just saw someone from the bomb squad come out and talk to Captain Rayburn,” Tim answered. He gave Kristen Tandy a curious look. “Tim Melton,” he introduced himself.
“Detective Tandy,” she answered.
“Oh. Right.” He looked back at Sam. “How’s your niece?”
“No change,” he answered tersely. “Detective Tandy’s investigating the case.”
“I guess that package might be connected?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” Kristen stepped closer to the police tape. “Any way to get me in there?” she asked Sam.
He searched the crowd of policemen and firefighters on the other side of the cordon to see if he could catch the eye of one of the handful of officers he knew by name. A few seconds later, a sandy-haired detective named Cropwell spotted him and crossed to the tape to greet him.
“Nothing like fan mail, huh?” he said with a bleak grin.
“What’s the latest?”
“Perkins from the Bomb Squad said they’ve x-rayed it and don’t think it’s a bomb. They were about to open it last I heard.” Cropwell glanced over his shoulder. “Rayburn’ll probably be the first to know.”
Kristen Tandy flipped open a slim leather wallet, displaying her badge. Sam had a feeling that Cropwell wouldn’t exactly be impressed—Gossamer Ridge was small potatoes as Alabama towns went—but he had to admire her bravado.
“Kristen Tandy, Gossamer Ridge Police Department. We believe the package delivered to Mr. Cooper’s office may be connected to a home invasion case we’re investigating.”
As Sam had expected, Cropwell looked at Kristen’s badge with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “We’ll let you know if anything in the package is of concern to you, Detective.”
“Detective Tandy is investigating an attack on my niece, who was caring for my daughter at the time,” Sam said firmly. “If this is connected, I want her in on it.”
Kristen didn’t drop her gaze from Cropwell’s, but Sam saw her expression shift slightly, a slight curve of her pink lips in response to his defense.
Cropwell looked at Sam, instantly apologetic. “Yes, sir.”
“May I enter the scene?” Kristen asked, her voice tinted with long-suffering patience that made Cropwell flush.
“Yeah, fine.” He lifted the cordon and let Kristen come under. But when Sam started to follow, he blocked entrance. “Sorry, sir,” he said, his eyes glittering with payback, “but civilians aren’t allowed behind the tape. Not even you, sir.”
Sam nodded, acknowledging Cropwell’s small victory.
Kristen would have died rather than let it show, but mingling with the Birmingham police officers busy outside the Jefferson County District Attorney’s office was beginning to make her feel like the biggest rube that ever walked a city street. It wasn’t that they treated her badly; most of the other policemen on the scene were polite and helpful, answering her questions and helping her get caught up as quickly as possible. But she was clearly the youngest detective there, and she could tell from the wary gazes of some of the Birmingham detectives that she’d still be wearing a uniform and driving patrol if she weren’t on some hayseed rural police force.
She was waiting with the other detectives for word from the bomb squad when her cell phone rang. She excused herself, walked a few feet away and answered. “Tandy.”
“I hear you’re in Birmingham.” Her boss’s familiar voice rumbled over the phone, tinged with the same frustrated affection Carl usually showed when it came to her.
“Why do I feel like I just violated curfew?” she murmured.
“Got anything yet?”
“We’re waiting for word from the bomb squad. All we really know so far is that there’s not actually a bomb in the package.”
“That’s progress, I suppose.”
“Heard anything from Foley? Did he get anything out of the interview with Cooper’s neighbor?”
“A rough description of a blue van she saw circling the neighborhood a few times earlier in the day, but nothing concrete. Foley’s taking her some pictures to look at, see if she can pick out a make and model but right now, he’s going door to door, talking to other neighbors.”
She didn’t miss the slight tone of admonishment. “And you think I should be there doing that instead of being here waiting for news from the Birmingham bomb squad?”
“You said it, not me.”
“You said it without saying it.” Movement to her left caught her attention. “Bomb squad’s coming out. Gotta go.”
She rang off and returned to the queue of police officers waiting for word. A tall, sandy-haired squad member peeled away from the rest of the group and moved toward the detectives. He carried a clear plastic bag containing what appeared to be the remains of a large manila envelope.
“No bomb, no foreign substances. You’re clear to examine it,” he told a tall, barrel-chested man standing near the front of the line. Kristen dug in her memory for the detective’s name. Raymond—no, Rayburn. Captain Rayburn. She took advantage of her small size to slip through the huddle and reach Rayburn’s side just as he donned a pair of latex gloves and carefully opened the plastic bag.
He
